A lucky escape. He grunted, and his grip gave. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. . ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. For a few minutes all was silent. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good.
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