"You'll never say anything to him," she said sternly. "Stay in this village if you like, but do not dare to reveal my secret to Reginald Blake--if you do it will be the worse for you; I'm not going to have him ruined for life by your treachery."
"But, Patience--my own son."
"Bah!" she snarled, turning on him viciously, "don't talk like that to me--a scoundrel you were and a scoundrel you are--don't touch me, don't come near me, but breathe one word of my secret and as sure as there's a God above us I'll do what I say."
Beaumont made a step forward as if to seize her, but with a gesture of loathing she drew her dress around her and fled away into the darkness leaving him standing alone by the river. He remained silent for a few moments then his brow cleared and he resumed his nonchalant manner, though his face still remained pale and haggard.
"My son Reginald," he said, lightly rolling a cigarette, "I had no idea of such luck. Ah, you she cat, I'll cut your claws yet; I'll make money out of the voice yet, in spite of your threats my fine madame."
Suddenly a thought struck him as he lighted his cigarette and he laughed softly.
"Good heavens!" he said with a shrug. "I admire Miss Challoner, so does he--it appears," continued Mr. Beaumont sauntering away; "then I'm the rival of my own son."
[CHAPTER XI.]
MR. BEAUMONT MAKES A DISCOVERY.
When one is playing in the game of life
'Tis wrong to throw away a single card,
Lest by some odd mistake of circumstance
The card despised--if played with dext'rous hand--
Should gain an unexpected victory.