o go to
law with me."

"Law with you! I'll give you law!" and letting go the horse, that
immediately began to browse, he rushed at Mike, his whip in the air.

Mike fought, his long legs wide apart, his long arms going like
lightning, straight from the shoulder, scattering blood over necktie
and collar; and presently the man withdrew, cursing Mike for an Irish
horse-stealer.

"I never heard of such a thing!" said Frank. "You got on his horse
and rode away, leaving him standing on the outside of the cover."

"Yes," shouted Mike, delighted with his exploit; "I felt I must go
after the hounds."

"Yes, but to go away with the man's horse!"

"My dear fellow, why not? Those are the things that other fellows
think of doing but don't do. An excitement like that is worth
anything."

While waiting for Lily's answer, Mike finished the last chapter of
his book, and handed the manuscript to Frank. Between the sentences
he had speculated on the state of soul his letter would produce in
her, and had imagined various answers. "Darling, how good of you! I
did not know you loved me so well." She would write, "Your letter
surprised me, but then you always surprise me. I can promise you
nothing; but you may come and see me next Thursday." She would write
at once, of that there could be no doubt; such letters were always
answered at once. He watched the postman and the clock; every double
knock made tumult in his heart; and in his stimulated perceptions he
saw the well-remembered writing as if it lay under his eyes. And the
many communications he received during those days whetted the edge of
his thirst, and aggravated the fever that floated in his brain.

And towards the end of the week, at the end of a long night of
suffering, he went to London. And for the first time, forgetful of
himself, without a thought of the light he would appear in, he told
the cabman where to drive. His heart failed him when he heard that
Miss Young had been ordered abroad by the doctor. And as he walked
away a morbid sense instilled in him that Lily would never be his
bride. Fear for her life persisted, and corrupted all his joy. He
could not listen to Lady Seeley's solicitors, and he could not
meditate upon the new life which Helen had given him. He had
inherited sixty thousand pounds in various securities, yielding three
thousand a year; the estate in Berkshire brought in fifteen hundred a
year; and a sum of twelve hundred pounds lay in the bank for