Telford looked at the sketch with a cold smile. "Yes, that's right," he said. "You've painted in a good bit of the devil too. You owe me something for this. I have helped you to a picture and have given you a sitting. There is no reason why you should paint the truth to the world. But I ask you this: When you know that her husband is dead and she becomes your wife, tell her the truth about that, will you? How the scoundrel tried to kill me—from behind. I'd like to be cleared of cowardice some time. You can afford to do it. She loves you. You will have everything, I nothing—nothing at all."
There was a note so thrilling, a golden timbre to the voice, an indescribable melancholy so affecting that Hagar grasped the other's hand and said, "So help me God, I will!"
"All right."
He prepared to go. At the door Hagar said to him, "Shall I see you again?"
"Probably in the morning. Good-night."
Telford went back to the hotel and found the horse he had ordered at the door. He got up at once. People looked at him curiously, it was peculiar to see a man riding at night for pleasure, and, of course, it could be for no other purpose. "When will you be back, sir?" said the groom.
"I do not know." He slipped a coin into the groom's hand. "Sit up for me. The beast is a good one?"
"The best we have. Been a hunter, sir."
Telford nodded, stroked the horse's neck and started. He rode down toward the gate. He saw Mildred Margrave coming toward him.
"Oh, Mr. Telford!" she said. "You forsook us to-day, which was unkind. Mamma says—she has seen you, she tells me—that you are a friend of my stepfather, Mr. Gladney. That's nice, for I like you ever so much, you know." She raised her warm, intelligent eyes to his. "I've felt since you came yesterday that I'd seen you before, but mamma says that's impossible. You don't remember me?"