Stay here with
me--at least till Monday."

But he shook his head sadly.

"I couldn't bear it, my darling," he answered in a low voice. "How can
I possibly enjoy dancing and fun when I know that in a few days I
shall go to prison in disgrace. My firm are not the kind of people to
let me off."

"Four thousand five hundred!" the girl repeated as though to herself.

"Yes. And I haven't the slightest prospect of getting it anywhere. If
I could only borrow it I could sail along into smooth waters again.
But that is quite out of the question."

Peggy remained silent for a few moments. Then, of a sudden, she looked
straight into her lover's eyes, and taking his hand in hers said:

"Poor dear! What can I do to help you?"

"Nothing," was his low reply. "Only--only forget me. That's all. You
can't marry a man who's been to prison."

Again a silence fell between them, while the dead leaves whirled along
the path.

"But you will stay here over the week-end, won't you, dear?" she
urged. "I ask you to do so. Do not refuse me--will you?"

He tried to excuse himself. But she clung to him and kissed him,
declaring that at least they might spend the week-end together before
he left to face the worst.

Her lover endeavored to point out the impossibility of their marriage,
but she remained inexorable.

"I still love you, Charlie--even though you are in such dire straits.
And I do not intend that you shall go back to London to brood over
your misfortune. Keep a stout heart, dear, and something may turn up
after all," she added, as they turned and went slowly back over the
rustling leaves towards the park.

He now realized that she loved him with a strong and fervent
affection, even though he had confessed to her his offense. And that
knowledge caused his burden of apprehension the harder to bear.

That night there were, after the day's shooting, merry junketings at
Hawstead, and Charles Otley bore himself bravely though his heart was
heavy. Ever and anon when Peggy had opportunity she whispered cheering
words to him, words that encouraged him, though none of the gay party
dreamed that they were chatting and dancing with a man who would in a
few days stand in a criminal dock.

Next day was Sunday. The whole house-party attended the village church
in the morning, and in the afternoon the guests split up and went for
walks.

Soon after dinner Otley, whose seat had been between the steel
magnate's wife and her daughter, wen