it should bring no wedding-day to him. This was why he
rejoiced in the four months' reprieve. But this was by no means his only
perplexity. Had it been, so stung to renewed action was his sense of
pride and independence, that he would have gone at once to seek, perhaps
to obtain work; but something else was lying like wormwood against his
heart. That story of Mrs. Home's! That explanation of Jasper Harman's!
The story was a queer one; the explanation, while satisfying the
inexperienced girl, failed to meet the requirements of the acute lawyer.
Hinton saw flaws in Jasper's narrative, where Charlotte saw none. The
one great talent of his life, if it could be called a talent, was coming
fiercely into play as he sat now and thought about it all. He had
pre-eminently the gift of discovering secrets. He was rooting up many
things from the deep grave of the hidden past now. That look of care on
Mr. Harman's face, how often it had puzzled him! He had never liked
Jasper; indefinite had been his antipathy hitherto, but it was taking
definite form now. There _was_ a secret in the past of that most
respectable firm, and he, John Hinton, would give himself no rest until
he had laid it bare. No wedding-day could come to him and Charlotte
until his mind was at rest on this point. It was against his interest to
ferret out this hidden thing, but that fact weighed as nothing with him.
It would bring pain to the woman he loved; it might ruin her father; but
the pain and the ruin would be inflicted unsparingly by his righteous
young hand, which knew nothing yet of mercy but was all for justice, and
justice untempered with mercy is a terrible weapon. This Hinton was yet
to learn.

CHAPTER XIV.

LODGINGS IN KENTISH TOWN.

After a time, restless from the complexity of his musings, Hinton went
out. He had promised to return to the Harmans for dinner, but their hour
for dinner was eight o'clock, and it still wanted nearly three hours of
that time. As Charlotte had done before that day, he found himself in
the close neighborhood of Regent's Park. He would have gone into the
park, but that he knew that the hour of closing the gates at this early
period of the year must be close at hand; he walked, therefore, by the
side of the park, rather aimlessly it is true, not greatly caring,
provided he kept moving, in what direction his footsteps took him.

At last he found himself on the broad tram line which leads to the
suburb of Kentish To