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Updated: May 5, 2025
Ah, and you would tell him you!" she gasped in a broken voice, her sweet, innocent face blanched to the lips in an instant. "You would drag my good name into the mire, and blast my life for ever with just as little compunction as you would shoot a rabbit. I know I know you only too well, Mr. Flockart! I stand in your way; I am in your way as well as in Lady Heyburn's.
The serious face of the man she loved so well rose before her blurred vision. She had been his his very own until she had sent off that fateful letter. In five minutes Flockart had again overtaken her. His attitude was appealing. He urged her to at least see her lover again even if she refused to write or return to her father.
"But even though we made fools of ourselves in Athens, and caused the Greek Government to look upon us as rogues and liars, the girl is suspected; and I for one don't mean to give in before we've secured a nice, snug little sum." "How are we to do it?" "By obtaining knowledge of the game being played in Paris, and working in an opposite direction," Flockart replied.
"Then, before you do so, pray weigh carefully the dire results," he urged in a changed tone. "Oh, I've already done that long ago," she said. "I know that I am in your hands, utterly and irretrievably, Mr. Flockart, and the only way I can regain my freedom is by boldly telling the truth." "You must never do that! By Heaven, you shall not!" he cried, looking fiercely into her clear eyes. "I know!
"No," cried the old man, "I will hear Flockart." And, turning to his wife's friend, he said hoarsely, "Go on. Tell me the truth." "The tragedy took place at a picnic, just before Gabrielle left her school at Amiens. She placed poison in the girl's wine. Ah, it was a terrible revenge!" "I am innocent!" cried the girl in despair. "Remember the letter which you wrote to your mother concerning her.
I made quite a large circle of friends at the 'Star, who all believed me to be a foreign ornithologist writing a book upon the birds of Scotland. Trust me to tell people a good story." "Well," exclaimed Flockart, after a long silence, "those Whispers are certainly a mystery, more especially if you've actually heard them. On two or three occasions I've spoken to Sir Henry about them.
"Ah!" replied the girl, protesting, but blushing at the same time, "you're poking fun at me, Mr. Flockart. All I can reply is, first, that I'm not good-looking; and, secondly, I'm not in the least dull perhaps I should be if I hadn't my father's affairs to attend to."
But I cannot understand what Flockart means by saying that I have spoken of you. I have not seen the man, nor do I wish to see him. Gabrielle, do not trust him. He is your enemy, as he is mine. He has lied to you. As grim circumstance has forced you to treat me cruelly, let us hope that smiling fortune will be ours at last. The world is very small.
As he was speaking she was wondering if she dared go to Walter Murie and tell him everything. What would her lover think of her? What indeed? He would only cast her aside as worthless. No. Far better that he should remain in ignorance and retain only sad memories of their brief happiness. "I am going to Glencardine to-night," Flockart went on. "I shall join the mail at Peterborough.
"Yes," cried the girl in desperation, "you know I am, dad. You know that I " "It is useless, Flockart, for you to endeavour to seek forgiveness for Gabrielle," declared her father in a firm, harsh voice, "Quite useless.
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