Lester Vane retired to the garden.
Folding his arms, he paced the sinuous paths thoughtfully.
“So,” he muttered, “the mystery is solved. This youth, Hugh Riversdale, was my assailant in the alcove, and Helen was his companion there. Hem! His merchant uncle has despatched his clerk to India. He, out of his love-sick grief, like a mad fool, leaps into the sea, and she swoons to hear of his folly. She is selfish; but she loves him and seeks to fool me. ’Um! He struck me—this clerk. Well, she shall avenge the blow: away with thoughts of marriage! No; Miss Wilton, young, exquisitely lovely, of proud descent, and great wealth, she shall be my bride; while you, Helen, you—’um! we shall see.”
He leaned upon the slight iron rail which ran along the end of the garden, and gazed thoughtfully into the depths of the flowing stream running soundlessly by.