It was Malduke who thus accosted the pale, scared-looking creature as she entered her garden—calm retreat no longer.
"How dare you speak to me? Step from my path at once," imperiously insisted the long-suffering girl, as she moved towards the porch.
"Because Travers Courtenay is a fraud and a deceiver, a specimen of his class."
"Again you lie," was the reply. "He is not false. I will not believe it. But he is nothing to me," she added, recovering herself; "much less so are you. Begone, Richard Malduke, and dare not dog me or cross my path again." She fairly glared at him. She scarce knew what she said.
Like a whipped hound, the young man retired, muttering to himself—
"Not tamed yet! But she shall be."
Meanwhile Gwyneth flung herself on her bed and sobbed her heart out. Then she sat up, put her hair back from her face, and gazed over the lake, on which they had sailed so happily, and said—
"I cannot, I will not believe it. But there is an end to it all. A foolish fancy! But the trouble is—I love him still."
