ad an odd thought;
his question was its result.

'All told, I should think my profession! Perhaps it doesn't seem to you
much to swear by; but it is all my world! But I have been brought up in
honour, and you may trust my promise--as much as anything I could swear.'

'All right! My reason for wanting to get away was because I knew Lady de
Lannoy!'

'What!' Then after a pause: 'I should have thought that was a reason for
wanting to stay. She seems not only one of the most beautiful, but the
sweetest woman I ever met.'

'She is all that! And a thousand times more!'

'Then why--Pardon me!'

'I cannot tell you all; but you must take it that my need to get away is
imperative.' After pondering a while Mr. Hilton said suddenly:

'I must ask your pardon again. Are you sure there is no mistake. Lady
de Lannoy is not married; has not been. She is Countess in her own
right. It is quite a romance. She inherited from some old branch of
more than three hundred years ago.' Again Harold smiled; he quite saw
what the other meant.

He answered gravely

'I understand. But it does not alter my opinion; my purpose. It is
needful--absolutely and imperatively needful that I get away without her
recognising me, or knowing who I am.'

'She does not know you now. She has not seen you yet.'

'That is why I hoped to get away in time; before she should recognise me.
If I stay quiet and do all you wish, will you help me?'

'I will! And what then?'

'When I am well, if it should be so, I shall steal away, this time
clothed, and disappear out of her life without her knowing. She may
think it ungrateful that one whom she has treated so well should behave
so badly. But that can't be helped. It is the lesser evil of the two.'

'And I must abet you? All right! I will do it; though you must forgive
me if you should ever hear that I have abused you and said bad things of
you. It will have to be all in the day's work if I am not ultimately to
give you away. I must take steps at once to keep her from seeing you. I
shall have to invent some story; some new kind of dangerous disease,
perhaps. I shall stay here and nurse you myself!' Harold spoke in
joyful gratitude:

'Oh, you _are_ good. But can you spare the time? How long will it all
take?'

'Some weeks! Perhaps!' He paused as if thinking. 'Perhaps in a month's
time I shall unbandage your eyes. You will then see; or . . . '

'I understand! I shall be pat