He picked up his pen and plunged it into a brass inkstand, then paused in thought.

His face was perturbed and uneasy.

It may be that he was reviewing the events of the day, wondering, perhaps, whether he had paid too high a price for the attainment of his ambition.

For it he had sacrificed his daughter and the woman who now slept in the churchyard near by, indifferent to it all.

Nothing could restore to him the secret he had divulged that afternoon.
A shade of apprehension deepened on his downcast face.