“It’s enough to drive a man mad,” said Chris Lisle, as he sat in his room with a book in his hand, one which he had been vainly trying to read.  “To think of him having the run of the Fort, and constant opportunities of being at her side.  But I will not think about it.”

He settled himself back in his chair, raised the open book once more to his eyes, uttered a mocking laugh at his own expense, and threw the volume passionately across the room, for he had realised that he had been sitting there for a full hour making pretence of reading with the book upside down.

“I could not have believed that I was such a fool,” he growled fiercely; “but always with her!” he added softly, as the wearing, tormenting thought uppermost in his brain asserted itself.

“Women are naturally weak, and it is Gartram’s wish.  How could I be surprised if she yielded?  No, she would not; she is too firm, and I am a contemptible brute to want faith in her.”

He felt a little better after that, roundly taking himself to task; and it was like a mental stimulus; but, like the action of most stimulants, the effect was not lasting.

“It is not as if she had confessed her love for me, and promised to be my wife some day.  If she had pledged herself to me, I would not have cared, but I have nothing to hold on by; and if she obeyed her father’s wishes, what right have I to complain?  Oh, it will drive me mad!” he muttered, as he leaped up and paced the room.

At that moment there was a tap at the door.

“Come in!” roared Chris, as impatiently as if he had answered half-a-dozen times.

“It’s only me, Mr Lisle,” said his landlady, “and I’m sure I beg your pardon for coming in; but it does worry me so to hear you walking up and down so in such agony.  Now do be advised by me, sir; I’m getting on in years, and I’ve had some experience of such things.”

“Oh, yes, yes, Mrs Sarson; but, pray, don’t bother me now.”

“Indeed, no, sir, I won’t; but though I can’t help admiring the fortitude you show, it is more than I can bear to sit in my little room and hear you walking up and down in such pain.  Now mark my word, Mr Lisle, sir, it’s not toothache.”

“No, no,” he said impatiently; “it is not toothache.”

“No, sir.  Which well I know.  It’s what the doctors call newrallergeer.”

“My dear Mrs Sarson ­”

“No, no, my dear, don’t be cross with a poor woman whose only idea is to try and do you good.  No one knows what it is better than I do.  I’ve had your gnawing toothache, which is bad enough for anything; but your jig, jigging newrallergeer is ten times worse, and it makes me pity you, Mr Lisle.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs Sarson, I am greatly obliged to you, but ­”

“Take my word for it, sir, ’tis your stomach, and you won’t be no better till you’ve had a tonic.”

“Nonsense, nonsense, Mrs Sarson,” cried Chris impatiently.

“No, sir, it is not nonsense, and I don’t a bit mind you being impatient with me, for it’s quite natural; but do let me ask Doctor Asher to call in.”

“No, no, no,” cried Chris, with increasing loudness and emphasis.  “And now, pray, go and leave me to myself.”

The landlady sighed, and slowly left the room.

“This woman will send me crazy,” muttered Chris.  “What shall I do?  Go right away for a long trip, and try and forget it all.”  And he went and leaned against the side of the window and looked out over the sea, thinking only of Claude seated alone with Glyddyr, listening to his words, and that, as the stone yields before the constant dropping, so would she at last.

“I must see, and will see her, and get her promise,” he said at last excitedly; and, taking his hat, he strode out of the cottage and went right out up the east glen with the intention of getting away round over the high ground by the cliffs, and continuing under the shelter of the night to go up to the Fort by the back, so as to get within the garden, and perhaps manage to call either Claude’s or Mary’s attention by creeping round to the drawing-room window.

It was a miserable, clandestine proceeding, and he felt all the nervous trepidation of a boy on his way to rob an orchard.  Two or three times over he hesitated and turned to go back; but the next moment the sweet, pleading face of Claude seemed to appear before him, and that of Glyddyr mocking and triumphant.

“I can’t help it,” he cried.  “I must, I will see her to-night, if it’s only for a minute.”

It was not so easy a task as he had told himself; and, as he descended the cliff towards where, on a separate little eminence cut off from the main cliff by a deep rift, the Fort stood, he noted for the first time that it was bathed in the soft yellow moonlight which rose above the sea.

This checked him for the moment, till it occurred to him that though the moon shone brightly in parts, there were plenty of spots where he could approach the place in the deep shadows; and taking advantage of the clumps of furze, and the ragged, stunted pines, which had obtained a foothold for their precarious existence here and there, he crept on and on, selecting the narrow little gully for his course, down which gurgled the tiny spring which supplied the moat with water.

“It’s easy enough,” muttered Chris, as he lowered himself down here, clung to a rock there, and managed all the time to keep in the shadow till he was at the end of the gully, where it opened on the moat, beyond which, and about fifty yards away, rose the fantastic, granite-built home of the woman he loved.

There was the moat to cross, and, beyond, the massive wall, beyond which again was the well-planted garden, with its southern wall covered with well-trained fruit trees.

It was for this part of the garden that Chris Lisle aimed, with every step of the way bringing up old remembrances of boy and girl life, and the hours he had spent in the grounds with Claude.

“And will again,” he muttered.  “I am not a beggar now.”

After a glance or two at the back of the house, which he was facing, he took hold of one of the pendant boughs overhanging the moat, stepped to the very edge, and then lowered himself into the water.

It was deeper than he had anticipated, rising at once to his middle, and he paused for a moment, wondering whether he should have to swim; but fortunately, as he advanced, the depth was only increased by a few inches, and in a few seconds he had waded across, and was half dragging himself up by the ivy, half climbing to the foot of the wall, where, without thinking of what he was doing, he stood for a time to drain, the clear stream water trickling down, and forming a pool beneath the ivy at his feet.

All seemed still, and he crept through the abundant ivy to where a huge, massive buttress sloped down from the top of the wall to the rock, where the architect had studied the strength of his work as regarded the attacks of time, and not those of men who had designs upon the wealth Gartram would not trust in the banks.  This buttress, when first built, might have been climbed by an active boy, while now, it was so densely coated with the ivy of many years’ growth that Chris had no difficulty in making his way to the top of the wall, where he lay down for a few moments to reconnoitre, and, finding all still, he had only to make use of the trunk of a pear-tree, whose horizontally trained bows were as easy to descend as a ladder.

He felt perfectly determined, but, all the same, a sensation of shame, mingled with dread, assailed him as he thought of how contemptible a figure he would cut if he were discovered.

That was but a momentary thought, chased away by the recollection that he was once more within the walls which held the woman he loved; and, perfectly familiar with every foot of the ground, he soon crossed the rather open part devoted to fruit-growing, and made his way to the shrubs surrounding the upper and lower lawns.

Here there were plenty of shadowy spots, among which he crept till he was brought to a standstill by the sound of steps coming along the terrace walk, and he recognised the voices at once as those of Gartram and Doctor Asher.

The hot blood flushed the young man’s face for two reasons.

If he stayed there, he would be forced to play the eavesdropper; and for the second reason, Gartram and the doctor being together, it, in all probability, meant that Glyddyr had been left alone with Claude.

At the risk of being heard, he drew back among the bushes, and crept slowly away, the voices seeming to follow him as he made from the side to the back of the house, and then in and out among the trees till he was right on the other side, where a light shone out from the drawing-room windows, and where, by a little manoeuvring, he was able to look in.

His heart beat faster as he caught sight of a black coat and the bright dress of Claude.  It was just as he thought; and, unable to contain himself, he was about to cross the narrow patch of lawn, and make straight for the room, when a female figure passed the window, and he recognised Mary Dillon.

He drew a catching breath, full of relief, and remained in the shade.

Thank heaven! they were not alone.

Still, there seemed to be no opportunity for a word with Claude, and to have done what he felt he would like to do ­go boldly in and speak to her ­would only mean a scene with her father, and pain to her.  There was nothing for it but to wait, and he remained there hidden, with his eyes fixed upon the window, and seeing, if he could not hear, much that was going on.

He heard, though, the doctor’s step, and knew when he left, his heart beating fast as he saw Glyddyr leave the room.

This was his opportunity, and he cautiously approached the window, meaning to risk all, and tap upon the pane, but before he put his plan into effect the door re-opened, and Glyddyr returned, sending Chris back among the bushes, where, unable to bear the sight of his rival in Claude’s presence, playing the part of the accepted lover, he stole off, intending to make his way round to the other side of the house, hoping that Gartram might be by this time following out a custom perfectly familiar to Chris, and having his after-dinner nap.

By means of a little scheming he contrived to get down among the bushes below the terrace in front of the study, but it was no easy task, for the cliff, in whose interstices the bushes were placed, sloped rapidly down here, and a false step or slip would have meant a fall of fifty or sixty feet.

Accustomed to rough climbing, though, as he was, he did not hesitate, and raising himself up till he could look over the edge, he was in time to see the study door open, and Sarah Woodham enter the room.

It was a little disappointing, for at the first glimpse of the woman’s dress he thought it was Claude; and, in utter ignorance of the fact that his opportunity had come, and that the ladies were now alone in the drawing-room, he remained watching for a time, and then crept slowly back, wishing that he had had the foresight to bring a note, for, had he borne one, he could easily have contrived to send it, with a pebble inside, through Claude’s open window.

Low-spirited and despondent, ready to take himself to task for coming upon so mad an expedition, he made his way cautiously back towards the garden, hesitating still as to whether he should go away, or wait about on the chance of getting a word with Claude.  Common sense and manly pride advocated the return, but there was the natural desire to see the woman he loved, even if he were playing the part of a spy; and with a sigh he crept from bush to bush, keeping well in the shadowy till once more he was within range of the drawing-room window, and in the act of parting two boughs to gaze between, when there was a rustling sound, a strong hand held him by the collar, another grasped his wrist, and a deep voice said ­

“I’ve got you, have I?  What are you doing here?”

Stung to the quick by shame and annoyance, Chris swung himself back to make a desperate leap and escape ­feeling that he had been discovered by Gartram, and like a flash the degradation and bitterness of what was to come seemed to blaze through his brain.

But there is a good old saying:  Look before you leap.

Chris Lisle did not look before he leapt, and the consequence was that he went with a crash in among the elastic boughs of a short sturdy Weymouth pine, and was thrown back into his captor’s arms.

“Oh, no; you don’t,” rang in his ears, as he was borne to the ground, falling back on the grass with his face right out in the moonlight.

“Mr Lisle!”

“You, Brime!” whispered Chris huskily, as the hands were taken from his collar, and he struggled up, to stand facing the gardener.

“Why, sir, if I didn’t think it was one of them young dogs from down the harbour after the fruit.  They’ve got a dinner party on, and I come out of the house and ketched sight of you.  I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t know you were asked.”

“Hush!  Don’t talk so loud.  No, I was not asked, Brime, but ­that is ­I thought I’d ­I was looking at the drawing-room window.”

“I understand, sir.  I see, sir; but how did you manage to get in?”

“Don’t ­don’t ask me questions, man.  I ­there, for heaven’s sake, hold your tongue.  Take this.  Get yourself a glass.”

“Thankye, sir.”

“And don’t say you saw me here.”

“Oh, dear, no, sir; certainly not.”

“It was a bit of a freak, Brime,” continued Chris, feeling his cheeks burn, as he faltered and stumbled in his words, ready to bite out his own tongue at being compelled to lower himself like this to the man, as he was sure to go and chatter to the maids about how he had caught Mr Chris; and perhaps give Claude the credit of a clandestine meeting.

“Yes, sir; young gents will have their larks sometimes,” said the gardener drily, and mentally adding to himself, “Shabby beggar!  Sixpence!  Bound to say if it had been Mr Glider he’d ha’ made it half-a-crown.”

“I trust to your discretion, Brime.  Can you let me out through the side gate?”

“Oh, yes, sir:  of course.  I’ve got the key in my pocket.  But don’t let me interrupt you, sir, till you’ve quite done.”

“Done!  What do you mean?” cried Chris in an angry whisper, as he fancied he detected a sarcastic ring in the man’s voice.

“Oh, nothing, sir.  I thought perhaps you might be going to see somebody, and I’m in no hurry to go back home.”

“No, no; nonsense.  I am not going to see anybody,” said Chris hurriedly.  “Go on first; and look here, Brime, once more I must beg of you not to speak to any one of this meeting.  It might cause trouble.”

“You may trust me, sir,” said the man sturdily.

“Thank you.  Of course,” said Chris hastily, as the man led the way to a door in the thick wall of the garden, which door he opened, and Chris passed out.

“Who’d ever think as such games as that was being carried on?” muttered the gardener; “and Miss Claude all the while so prim, and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  If it had been Miss Mary I shouldn’t have wondered, for she can be a bit larky.  But he wouldn’t come to see her, poor little crooked wench.  Now, I wonder what Mr Glider would say if he knowed,” continued the gardener, as he thoughtfully turned the key, and went slowly back towards the house.  “There’d be a row, and I’ll bet a tanner that he’d come down handsome if I told him; and it would serve t’other right ­a mean snob.  Sixpence!  Yah!”

He turned the coin over in his hand, and looked at it in the bright moonlight before putting it in his pocket.

“Sixpence!” he said, half aloud.  “Why, I’d have given a bob myself if it had been me, and ­well!  That it is!  Half-a-suffrin!  He’s a trump, and I wouldn’t let out about it for any money.

“Why, of course!” he continued, “I might have known.  So he came to see Miss Claude on the sly when the governor was asleep, and couldn’t see her because there’s company.  Well, why not?  He’s a good sort, that’s what he is, and if I can help him without getting into trouble with the gaffer, I will, and no mistake.  Half-a-suffrin! why, that may be just like a bean as I sticks in the ground.  It may come up and have lots more half-suffrins.  I’m glad I come up to-night.  Better than gardening ever so much, that it is.  Now, if I knowed exactly when he was coming next, I might happen to be here again ­by accident, of course.”

He stopped for a few minutes, thinking, and then walked slowly up towards the back entrance, musing slowly and deeply, as gardeners will muse.

“I don’t seem to move her yet much, but I’m not going to give up.  Hang me if I didn’t for a moment think he might have been after her.  But no; he couldn’t be.  Poor lass! so quiet and serious, and full o’ trouble, just the sort o’ woman a man could trust to bring all his savings to.  Now, I wonder what it is in a widow as leads a chap on so.  I don’t know, but she’s leading me on, and the day as she’s been a widow twelve month, sir, I’ll speak to her like a man.”

Reuben Brime, the biggest fool in Danmouth, according to his mother, opened the back door, and went into the house just at the same moment that Doctor Asher entered up the front.

Meanwhile, Chris Lisle had walked quickly down the narrow paved stone alley leading to the main path, crossed the lower drawbridge, and, with his teeth set, felt ready to curse himself for his folly.

“The contemptible, degrading position,” he muttered.  “To be under the thumb of a servant who will look at me furtively, and whom I shall have to bribe into silence for fear of his confounded tongue.  Oh, my darling, forgive me.  It was for your sake I came, but I must have been half-mad.”

He was walking quickly down the roadway leading to the public cliff path, so intent upon the events of the night that he was right upon some one coming in the other direction before he realised the fact, and they met just in a part where the moon shone clearly.

“Ah, Mr Lisle,” said the doctor’s cheery voice, “nice evening, isn’t it?”

He passed on, and Chris almost staggered and reeled.

“Good heaven!” he groaned to himself.  “I can’t ask him, and now he will go and tell them all that he met me coming from the house.  What will Claude think.  What will Gartram say?”

He went on, trying to find some excuse for his presence in that private roadway, but there was none.  Any one coming along there must have been up to the Fort, and he had done a bad night’s work in yielding to his passionate desire to see Claude, and hear from her lips words of encouragement such as would make the situation more bearable ­a worse night’s work than he realised for some time to come.

Chris Lisle went straight back to his lodgings, for the glorious night and the glittering sea had no attraction for him now.  His landlady looked at him pityingly, and longed to ask him whether he was better, but did not dare.

“Poor young man,” she said to herself, as she heard him go up to bed early; “a good night’s rest is better than balm.”

She was quite right; but Chris Lisle had neither rest nor balm, but lay in his bed all night wakeful, seeing a pale, despicable looking man discovered like a thief in the Fort garden after he had waded the moat and climbed the wall.

“I shall have to meet Gartram and face him, and listen to his sneers and insolent bullying reproaches.  Oh, how could I be such a fool?”

Chris Lisle lay awake all night working up his defence, the more strongly that he felt that he now stood more upon an equality with Claude’s father; but the slip he had made troubled him sorely.

“There’s only one way out of the difficulty,” he said at last, as the sun shone brightly in through his window.  “Go up to him, confess what one has done, and boldly and frankly ask him once more to give me a chance.”

There was something so refreshing in that thought, backed as it was by forty thousand pounds, that Chris Lisle turned over and went to sleep.

But it might have been because he was utterly tired out.