and the roll of notes, on that shelf in the bookcase. It so chanced that while the backs of the set of books were plumb with the front of the shelf they did not go right against the wall, so that there was space enough behind them to enable her, after a little manipulation, to do what she desired. When the volume had been returned to its place there was nothing whatever to show that behind it were more than three thousand pounds in notes and gold. She surveyed this result with satisfaction.
"Now," she told herself, "I've removed temptation from everybody's way."
The three half-sheets of paper on which Mr. Lindsay had noted the several amounts she folded up together and thrust into the bodice of her dress; possibly she thought that they would be out of harm's way there. She had just done this, and had shut the bookcase door, when, in the silence which prevailed, she distinctly heard the footsteps of some one moving in the grounds without. Instantly she blew the lamp out, and went fluttering through the open window. So soon as she was on the terrace she stood still to listen. Her ear had not deceived her. Some one, not far off, was moving along a gravel path; apparently the sound proceeded from the other side of the house. Either her perceptions must have been very keen, or there was something unusual about the step; though it is strange how quick the ear is to recognize a step with which one is familiar.
"I do believe," she told herself, "that it's his step." She ran along to the end of the terrace; then stopped again. "It is!" she said. With lifted skirts she tiptoed round the side of the house till she came to where a path branched off among the trees, then, drawing herself under their shadow, she stood and waited, smiling. The steps came nearer, close to where she was. She moved out from under the shadow. "Herbert!" she said.
The man-it was a man-was evidently taken by surprise; he stepped back so quickly that he almost stumbled.
"By George!" he exclaimed, "what a start you gave me!"
She laughed, half to herself.
"Did she frighten him, the poor thing! I heard you coming ever so far off; I knew it was you. And pray what are you doing here at this time of night?"
"I came upon the off-chance of getting a word with you."
"With me-at this hour!"
"Well, I've found you, and that's what I wanted."
"Herbert!" She went still closer, almost as if expecting a caress; but when he showed no inclination to take advantage of his opportunities, she saw from his face, in the moonlight, that there was something wrong. "My lord, what ails you?"
"Everything; I've come up to tell you that what we were talking about yesterday is clean off."
"And of what were we talking-yesterday?"
"Why, about our marriage, and all that kind of thing. I can't marry; I don't suppose I ever shall be able to; you'd better give me the mitten right away. To begin with, I've found out-or, rather, I've had the fact forced upon me, that I'm in a mess."
"What kind of mess?"
"Money, of course; what else counts?"
"How much?"
"If I don't get two hundred pounds-and where am I going to get two hundred pounds? why, I haven't as many shillings-and get it pretty soon, I shall have to-"
"What?"
He had left his sentence unfinished; he gave it a conclusion which one felt had not been originally intended.
"Well, I shall be in Queer Street."
He paused, and she was silent; she was thinking.
CHAPTER IV
THE AVERNIAN SLOPE
When she spoke again a quick observer might have noticed that in her voice there was a new intonation.
"Two hundred pounds is not such a very large sum."
"Isn't it? I'm glad you think so. It's a large sum to me; a lot too large. I've about as much chance of getting it as I have of getting the moon. And if I did get it I shouldn't be much forwarder so far as marriage is concerned. What's the use of my talking of marrying when I hardly earn enough to buy myself bread and cheese? and it's as certain as anything can be that in this place I never shall earn enough."
"Why not?"
"For one reason, if for no other, because in this place there's only room for one solicitor; and old Dawson's that one. He's got all the business that's worth having; and, what's more, he'll keep it. Now if I could buy old Dawson out-I happen to know that he's made what he considers pile enough for him, and would be quite willing to retire; or even if I could buy a share in his business, he might be willing to sell that; then it might be a case of talking; but as it is, so far as I'm concerned, marriage is off."
"How much would be wanted?"
"If I could lay my hands on a thousand, or fifteen hundred pounds in cash, then I might go to Dawson and make a proposal; but as I never shall be able to lay my hands on it, it would be better for both of us if we talked sense; that's what I've come for, to talk sense."
"Does all this mean that you've found out that you made a mistake when you told me that you loved me?"
"It means the exact opposite; I've found out that I love you a good deal more than I thought I did. If I didn't love you I might be disposed to behave like a cad, and marry you out of hand; but as I do love you I'm not taking any chances."
"I don't quite follow your reasoning."
"Don't you? It's clear enough to me. I'm in a hole, and because I love you I'm not going to drag you in as well."
"But suppose I should like to be dragged?"
"You don't understand, or you wouldn't talk like that."
"Shouldn't I? Don't be too certain. You are sure you love me?"
"I love you more than I thought I could love any one, and that's the mischief."
"Is it? I don't agree; because, you see, I love you."
"It's no good; I wish you didn't."
"Do you? Then I don't. If you wanted me to, I'd marry you to-morrow."
"Elaine!" Then he did take her in his arms, and he kissed her. And she kissed him. Suddenly he put her from him. "Don't! for God's sake, don't! Elaine, don't you tempt me! I'm not much of a chap, and I'm not much of a hand at resisting temptation-there's frankness for you! – and I want to keep straight where you're concerned. I'll make a clean breast of it; the only way I can see out of the mess I'm in is to make a bolt for it, and I'm going to bolt; there you have it. I've come up here to say good-bye."
"Good-bye?"
Her voice was tremulous.
"If ever I come to any good, which isn't very probable, you'll hear from me; you'll never hear from me if I don't; so I'm afraid that this is going to be very near a case of farewell for ever."
"You say two hundred pounds will get you out of that mess you're in?"
"About that; I dare say I could manage with less if it was ready money. But what's the use of talking? I don't propose to rob a bank, and that's the only way I ever could get it."
"And
