st
night," he said. "I will try to make amends for it this morning. I will
hear everything you wish to say to me on the subject of Miss Gwilt."

"I hardly like to worry you," said Allan. "You look as if you had had a
bad night's rest."

"I have not slept well for some time past," replied Midwinter, quietly.
"Something has been wrong with me. But I believe I have found out the
way to put myself right again without troubling the doctors. Late in the
morning I shall have something to say to you about this. Let us get back
first to what you were talking of last night. You were speaking of some
difficulty--" He hesitated, and finished the sentence in a tone so low
that Allan failed to hear him. "Perhaps it would be better," he went on,
"if, instead of speaking to me, you spoke to Mr. Brock?"

"I would rather speak to _you_," said Allan. "But tell me first, was I
right or wrong last night in thinking you disapproved of my falling in
love with Miss Gwilt?"

Midwinter's lean, nervous fingers began to crumble the bread in his
plate. His eyes looked away from Allan for the first time.

"If you have any objection," persisted Allan, "I should like to hear
it."

Midwinter suddenly looked up again, his cheeks turning ashy pale, and
his glittering black eyes fixed full on Allan's face.

"You love her," he said. "Does _she_ love _you_?"

"You won't think me vain?" returned Allan. "I told you yesterday I had
had private opportunities with her--"

Midwinter's eyes dropped again to the crumbs on his plate. "I
understand," he interposed, quickly. "You were wrong last night. I had
no objections to make."

"Don't you congratulate me?" asked Allan, a little uneasily. "Such a
beautiful woman! such a clever woman!"

Midwinter held out his hand. "I owe you more than mere congratulations,"
he said. "In anything which is for your happiness I owe you help."
He took Allan's hand, and wrung it hard. "Can I help you?" he asked,
growing paler and paler as he spoke.

"My dear fellow," exclaimed Allan, "what is the matter with you? Your
hand is as cold as ice."

Midwinter smiled faintly. "I am always in extremes," he said; "my hand
was as hot as fire the first time you took it at the old west-country
inn. Come to that difficulty which you have not come to yet. You are
young, rich, your own master--and she loves you. What difficulty can
there be?"

Allan hesitated. "I hardly know how to put it," he replied. "As you
said just now, I love