She had run round to him—away from both
—and was on his arm. Vivian saw how things
stood in a second.

"Surely," he said, perhaps on purpose, "with
your friend, Mr. West, here, no one would have
ventured—"

"And what do you want?" said the "colonel
in retreat," now baffled. "So you are her
preserver! Then, let me tell you, mees was not so
anxious for you, after all. Bah! What are
you worth?"

"Don't speak to me," said Vivian, coolly,
and it seemed to Lucy with the most splendid
hauteur. "Why do you intrude your drunkenness
here on a private party? I give you two
seconds, or I call that gendarme, who has his
eye on you already."

The colonel gave one look of ferocity, then
recollected himself and became quite changed.
With a ferocious politeness he bowed, and
then drew himself up, saying: "I see; very
good, monsieur, and very good, you, too,
monsieur. All in good time; every one in his turn.
I have the honour to wish you good night.
Mademoiselle, receive my homage."

"Another minute," said Vivian, when he had
gone, "and I had taken him by his thick throat
and kicked him out of the place. A low ruffian!
But, Mr. West, I am astonished! You, an
Englishman and a friend, to look on so long!"

"Yes," said Lucy, her voice trembling, "Mr.
West was letting me be insulted there before
his face. He would have let this man go on, only,
thank God, you came. As I live, he was taking
no notice, and, as I believe, would have left
me there, dear Vivian."

West was speechless, and looked from one
to the other a little wildly. "No! no! You
to say this!"

"He was too busy," Lucy went on, in the
same tone of bitter contempt, "listening and
eavesdropping to our conversation. He could
do that, but he could not be generous to raise
his hand for one he hated!"

West said not a word. Vivian looked at him
from head to foot, and said, half pityingly: "I
am sorry for this. But come away, dearest, we
must get back. Your good father, it seems, went
off long ago to Dieppe. I have got a carriage
waiting, and I think it better that we should
get home as quickly as possible."

West stood there looking after them in a
sort of stupefaction. Long after did he recal
Lucy's haughty contempt. It had pierced him
like a dagger. Suddenly he felt Vivian's hand
on. his arm. "The carriage is here, and you
had better return with us. You should do this,
and I think it would be only right."

"What!" said the other, bitterly. "You
think I am so weak and unsettled in mind, that
I cannot be trusted here alone?"

"What folly! This sensitiveness is worthy
only of pity; but I am sorry you should have
condescended to that."

"You dare not charge me with such a thing,"
said West, vehemently. "She dare not, either!
It is a slander. Do not think I will submit to
you two—leagued to torture me out of
happiness, and honour, and life itself!"

"There is no such thing dreamed of," the
other said, calmly, "except, in your own morbid
imagination. The reason I ask you to return
with us is for her sake. You know what sort
of a place Dieppe is."

"I see," said West, bitterly; "for fear of
the stories! But will that affect the matter?
What about the rest of this precious day? All
this evening, when she was wandering over the
country with you! Who will explain or clear up
that? I tell you it is shocking and discreditable.
And you come to me to patch up things. I shall
have no part in it. I refuse."

Vivian looked at him in astonishment and
sorrow, and, without a word, turned away. In
a few moments, West heard the wheels of their
carriage.

The unhappy gentleman, looking still in the
direction in which they had disappeared, repeated
vacantly: "Yes, they are right; it is coming
fast to that. Madness will finish all; and
perhaps it will be the best end of all. The cruel,
cruel girl! But she—they shall not be happy
in my shipwreck. They shall have real cause
to fear or to hate me."

     CHAPTER XXVII. A CHANGE

SUDDENLY a scheme darted into his head.
That Frenchman, "the colonel in retreat," he
would not pass over what had occurred. Then he
would gladly meet him, anywhere and anyhow.
"And if he kills me, which he is sure to do,
that pitiless girl will have that blood on
her head, and may then repent!" Here was a
practical plan, action, something "to do," which
he longed for.

"Why, West, my boy," said a voice, "you
look like Hamlet and the ghost. Methinks I see
my father's spirit. Hey? What ails you?
Where's 'my Lulu'? as that fool of a Dacres
calls her; and where's l'among—l'among aimay?
Eh? Does that touch you under the fifth rib?"

West was quite ready to resent Captain
Filby's impertinence; but he had a reason for
restraint. "They are gone away," he said,
calmly; "gone home."

"What, together? Oh, nice pranks! I
saw some of their proceedings to-day."

"I dare say," said West. "I can believe
anything—of him, at least. Is it generous, is it
honourable, is it fair, for a man who should
know the world, to take advantage because a
young girl likes him, and bring her to a place
of this sort, to be insulted by common ruffians?"

"Insulted by common ruffians? Phew!"
said the captain, greatly interested. "You
don't tell me so."

"I am afraid—that is, I am glad—I have
been drawn into a quarrel with a French captain
here about it. I have no friend. I never had
any in my whole life, and perhaps it has been
the best for me. But you, even as an Englishman,
you wouldn't stand by and see one of the
same country go out to be murdered?"

Captain Filby shaded his old eyes to get a