u'd call an
unusual man, Madame Zabriska--and she is an unusual woman, you know. It
was--yes, it was amusing, and there's an end of it." He paused, and
added, by way of excuse, "Oh, I know her so well, you see. She wouldn't
be left alone with him; she wanted another sinner there."

Mina marked the change in him--the new expansiveness, the new appeal for
sympathy. He had forgotten his suspicion and his watchfulness; she was
inclined to say that he had forgotten himself. On her death-bed Addie
Tristram had exerted her charm once more--and over her own son. Once
more a man, whatever his own position, thought mainly of her--and that
man was her son. Did Neeld see this? To Neeld it came as the strongest
reinforcement to the feelings which bade him hold his peace. It seemed
an appeal to him, straight from the death-bed in the valley below. Harry
found the old gentleman's gaze fixed intently on him.

"I beg your pardon for troubling you with all this, Mr Neeld," he said,
relapsing rather into his defensive attitude. "Madame Zabriska knows my
ways."

"No, I don't think I know this new way of yours at all," she objected.
"But I like it, Mr Tristram. I feel all you do. I have seen her." She
turned to Neeld. "Oh, how I wish you had!" she cried.

Her earnestness stirred a little curiosity in Harry. He glanced with his
old wariness at Neeld. But what could he see save a kindly precise old
gentleman, who was unimportant to him but seemed interested in what he
said. He turned back to Mina, asking:

"A new way of mine?"

"Well, not quite. You were rather like it once. But generally you've got
a veil before your face. Or perhaps you're really changed?"

He thought for a moment. "Things change a man." And he added, "I'm only
twenty-two."

"Yes, I know," she smiled, "though I constantly forget it all the same."

"Well, twenty-three, come the twentieth of July," said he. His eyes were
on hers, his characteristic smile on his lips. It was a challenge to
her.

"I shan't forget the date," she answered, answering his look too. He
sighed lightly; he was assured that she was with him.

The twentieth of July! The Editor of Mr Cholderton's Journal sat by
listening; he raised no voice in protest.

"I must get back," said Harry. "Walk with me to the dip of the hill."

With a glance of apology to Neeld, she followed him and stepped out of
the window; there were two steps at the side leading up to it. "I'll be
back directly," she cried