his story before, sir,
and I have furnished myself with proofs of its falsehood. This,
gentlemen," he added, drawing some papers from his pocket, "is Mr.
Thorndyke's receipt for the two hundred and sixty guineas for a
victoria, signed, as you will see, in his own handwriting, and here
is the lady's cheque with Mr. Thorndyke's endorsement, cancelled
and paid."

The papers were handed round. Thorndyke picked up his hat, but
Matravers barred his egress.

"With regard to the insinuation which you coupled with your
falsehood," he continued, "both are equally and absolutely false. I
know her to be a pure and upright woman. A short time ago you took
advantage of your position to make certain cowardly and disgraceful
propositions to her, since when her doors have been closed upon you! I
would have you know, sir, and remember, that the honour of that lady,
whom last night I asked to be my wife, is as dear to me as my own,
and if you dare now, or at any future time, to slander her, I shall
treat you as you deserve. You can go."

"And be very careful, sir," thundered the old Earl of Ellesmere,
veteran member of the club, "that you never show your face inside
these doors again, or, egad, I'm an old man, but I'll kick you out
myself."

Thorndyke left the room amidst a chilling and unsympathetic silence.
As soon as he could get away, Matravers followed him. There was a
strange pain at his heart, a sense of intolerable depression had
settled down upon him. After all, what good had he done? Only a few
more days and her name, which for the moment he had cleared, would be
besmirched in earnest. His impeachment of Thorndyke would sound to
these men then like mock heroics. There would be no one to defend her
any more. There would be no defence. For ever in the eyes of all
these people she was doomed to become one of the Magdalens of the
world.

It seemed a very unreal London through which Matravers was whirled on
his way from the club to Paddington. But before a third of the
distance was accomplished, there was a sudden check. A little boy, who
had wandered from his nurse in crossing the road, narrowly escaped
being run over by a carriage and pair, only to find himself knocked
down by the shaft of Matravers' hansom. There was a cry, and the
driver pulled his horse on to her haunches, but apparently just a
second too late. With a sickening sense of horror, Matravers saw the
little fellow literally under the horse's feet, and heard h