ne. "I spend the
Christmas Day where you don't, and as I like, and the rest doesn't
concern you. I drink with you, I play with you--'bien!' As you say
yourself, 'bien,' isn't that enough?"

"'Pardon!' We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day after
the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon's Drive! Adieu!"

Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white
teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his
gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person.
Poor Aleck.

"Poor Aleck!" That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone
awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and
against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the
ne'er-do-weel!

That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey's door, carrying
with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. The chilly outer
air of the world seemed not to touch him, Love's curtains were drawn
so close. Had one stood within "the Hunter's Room," as it was called,
a little while before, one would have seen a man's head bowed before a
woman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where
dissipation had drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised the
head until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man.

"You will not go to Pardon's Drive again, will you, Aleck?"

"Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I have
given my word."

"I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh,
Aleck, isn't the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put
this on me as well?"

"My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I for
mine."

There was a moment's silence. He bowed his head again.

"And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab."

She leaned over and caressed his hair. "I forgive you, Aleck."

A thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. Yet this man had
given his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the woman
he loved. But to Pretty Pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keep
his word. She understood it better than most of those who read this
brief record can. Every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiar
to itself.

"You will come to me on Christmas morning, Aleck?"

"I will come on Christmas morning."

"And no more after that of Pretty Pierre?"

"And no more of Pretty Pierre."

She