agement."
"How much do you owe, Val?"
"I can't tell."
Lord Hartledon thought this an evasion. But it was true. Val Elster knew
he owed a great deal more than he could pay; but how much it might be on
the whole, he had but a very faint idea.
"Well, Val, I have told the doctor I shall look into matters, and I hope
to do it efficiently, for Anne's sake. I suppose the best thing will be
to try and get you an appointment again."
"Oh, Edward, if you would! And you know you have the ear of the
ministry."
"I dare say it can be managed. But this will be of little use if you are
still to remain an embarrassed man. I hear you were afraid of arrest in
London."
"Who told you that?"
"Dawkes."
"Dawkes! Then, Edward--" Val Elster stopped. In his vexation, he was
about to retaliate on Captain Dawkes by a little revelation on the score
of _his_ affairs, certain things that might not have redounded to that
gallant officer's credit. But he arrested the words in time: he was of a
kindly nature, not fond of returning ill for ill. With all his follies,
Val Elster could not remember to have committed an evil act in all his
life, save one. And that one he had still the pleasure of paying for
pretty deeply.
"Dawkes knows nothing of my affairs except from hearsay, Edward. I was
once intimate with the man; but he served me a shabby trick, and that
ended the friendship. I don't like him."
"I dare say what he said was not true," said Lord Hartledon kindly. "You
might as well make a confidant of me. However, I have not time to talk
to-day. We will go into the matter, Val, after Monday, when this race has
come off, and see what arrangement can be made for you. There's only one
thing bothers me."
"What's that?"
"The danger that it may be a wasted arrangement. If you are only set up
on your legs to come down again, as you have before, it will be so much
waste of time and money; so much loss, to me, of temper. Don't you see,
Val?"
Percival Elster stopped in his walk, and withdrew his arm from his
brother's; his face and voice full of emotion.
"Edward, I have learnt a lesson. What it has cost me I hardly yet know:
but it is _learnt_. On my sacred word of honour, in the solemn presence
of Heaven, I assert it, that I will never put my hand to another bill,
whatever may be the temptation. I have overcome, in this respect at
least, my sin."
"Your sin?"
"My nature's great sin; the besetting sin that has clung to me thr
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