though if Ned knew the cur he is! Captain Marsett is easy-going.'

'I should like to know where he lives.'

She went straight to the mantelpiece, and faced about with a card,
handing it, quite aware that it was a charge of powder.

Desperate things to be done excused the desperate said; and especially
they seemed a cover to the bald and often spotty language leaping out of
her, against her better taste, when her temper was up.

'Somewhere not very distant,' said Dartrey perusing. 'Is he in the town
to-day, do you know?'

'I am not sure; he may be. Her name . . .'

'Have no fear. Ladies' names are safe.'

'I am anxious that she may not be insulted again.'

'Did she show herself conscious of it?'

'She stopped speaking: she looked at the door. She may come again--or
never! through that man!'

'You receive him, at his pleasure?'

'Captain Marsett wishes me to. He is on his way home. He calls Major
Worrell my pet spite. All I want is; not to hear of the man. I swear he
came yesterday on the chance of seeing--for he forced his way up past my
servant; he must have seen Miss Radnor's maid below.'

'You don't mean, that he insulted her hearing?'

'Oh! Captain Fenellan, you know the style.'

'Well, I thank you,' Dartrey said. 'The young lady is the daughter of my
dearest friends. She's one of the precious--you're quite right. Keep the
tears back.'

'I will.' She heaved open-mouthed to get physical control of the tide.
'When you say that of her!--how can I help it? It's I fear, because I
fear . . . and I've no right to expect ever . . . but if I'm never again
to look on that dear face, tell her I shall--I shall pray for her in my
grave. Tell her she has done all a woman can, an angel can, to save my
soul. I speak truth: my very soul! I could never go to the utter bad
after knowing her. I don't--you know the world--I'm a poor helpless
woman!--don't swear to give up my Ned if he does break the word he
promised once; I can't see how I could. I haven't her courage. I
haven't--what it is! You know her: it's in her eyes and her voice. If I
had her beside me, then I could starve or go to execution--I could, I am
certain. Here I am, going to do what you men hate. Let me sit.'

'Here's a chair,' said Dartrey. 'I've no time to spare; good day, for the
present. You will permit me to call.'

'Oh! come'; she cried, out of her sobs, for excuse. They were genuine, or
she would better have been able to second her efforts to