to you."

Cautiously as I had expressed myself, her delicacy took the alarm.

"Promise that you won't ask me to borrow money of you for Mr. Van
Brandt," she rejoined, "and I will accept your help gratefully."

I could honestly promise that. My one chance of saving her lay in
keeping from her knowledge the course that I had now determined to
pursue. I rose to go, while my resolution still sustained me. The sooner
I made my inquiries (I reminded her) the more speedily our present
doubts and difficulties would be resolved.

She rose, as I rose--with the tears in her eyes, and the blush on her
cheeks.

"Kiss me," she whispered, "before you go! And don't mind my crying. I am
quite happy now. It is only your goodness that overpowers me."

I pressed her to my heart, with the unacknowledged tenderness of a
parting embrace. It was impossible to disguise the position in which I
had now placed myself. I had, so to speak, pronounced my own sentence of
banishment. When my interference had restored my unworthy rival to his
freedom, could I submit to the degrading necessity of seeing her in his
presence, of speaking to her under his eyes? _That_ sacrifice of myself
was beyond me--and I knew it. "For the last time!" I thought, as I held
her to me for a moment longer--"for the last time!"

The child ran to meet me with open arms when I stepped out on the
landing. My manhood had sustained me through the parting with the
mother. It was only when the child's round, innocent little face laid
itself lovingly against mine that my fortitude gave way. I was past
speaking; I put her down gently in silence, and waited on the lower
flight of stairs until I was fit to face the world outside.

CHAPTER XXIX. OUR DESTINIES PART US.

DESCENDING to the ground-floor of the house, I sent to request a
moment's interview with the landlady. I had yet to learn in which of the
London prisons Van Brandt was confined; and she was the only person to
whom I could venture to address the question.

Having answered my inquiries, the woman put her own sordid construction
on my motive for visiting the prisoner.

"Has the money you left upstairs gone into his greedy pockets already?"
she asked. "If I was as rich as you are, I should let it go. In your
place, I wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs!"

The woman's coarse warning actually proved useful to me; it started
a new idea in my mind! Before she spoke, I had been too dull or too
preoccupied to see