And there was no doubt in Dora's mind that her father had killed him. It seemed a cruel thing, for, after all, in marrying her mother Edermont--or Dargill, as he was called--had sinned unconsciously. Why should her father have so ardently desired his death? Dora began to think that her mother had not told her all, that there was something still hidden--a something which might account for the persistent desire of Carew for the death of Edermont.
Again, she had not asked her mother what was the bar which existed to prevent her marriage with Allen. Dora thought her mother knew this, and might reveal the obstacle. But then she would be forced to tell the portion of her story which she had hidden. Would she do so? Dora was doubtful, for the weak little coquette was as strong as steel in aught that concerned herself. Unblinded by filial love, Dora estimated her mother's character at its true value. There was no further hope of learning the truth in that quarter. And who, then, would tell her--Allen, Joad, Mrs. Tice? She would be forced to ask one of the three to speak. Since she knew so much, she might as well know more. And a fuller knowledge might enable her to save Allen, to marry Allen, to revenge the death of Edermont, and to win the fifty thousand pounds. But yet, all----
"Dreams, dreams; vain, vain dreams!" sighed Dora, and went to bed in as hopeless a frame of mind as can well be imagined.
Fate always arranges matters much better than ourselves. Here was Dora at a dead stop; she knew not what to do, or in which direction to turn. It seemed that no one would advise her as to the future; and that she must be content to lose Allen, and accept the humiliating position of Joad's wife. But while she was steeling her heart to face this dreary prospect Fate was at work, and next morning Pallant appeared. He came to point out the road.
Dora was surprised when Mrs. Tice informed her that a gentleman wished to see her. She was still more surprised when Pallant was shown into the morning-room where she sat. The old supercilious look was on his face, the old cynicism was looking out of his blue eyes, and as he stood bowing, with the strong sunlight glittering on his red beard, he looked as worldly and evil a man as could be imagined. Dora remembered how he had extorted money from her weak mother for over two years, and rose to meet him with a stern face.
"What has brought you here, sir?" she asked coldly.
"You have," said Pallant, calmly taking a seat. "I saw Lady Burville yesterday, and she gave me the gist of your conversation."
"I do not see how it can interest you," said she contemptuously; "you cannot get out of me what I have not got. I am poor, Mr. Pallant."
"More's the pity!" he replied, quite indifferent to her shaft. "With your beauty and my brains, we might do worse than marry!"
"Marry--marry you!"