ant alliance, in which I am sure you have our best
wishes--the best wishes of us all," he added pointedly.

"Sylvia," said Horace, still lingering, "before I go, tell me that,
whatever I may have to do, you will understand that--that it will be for
your sake!"

"Please don't talk like that," she said. "We may never see one another
again. Don't let my last recollection of you be of--of a hypocrite,
Horace!"

"A hypocrite!" he cried. "Sylvia, this is too much! What have I said or
done to make you think me that?"

"Oh, I am not so simple as you suppose, Horace," she replied. "I see now
why all this has happened: why poor dad was tormented; why you insisted
on my setting you free. But I would have released you without _that_!
Indeed, all this elaborate artifice wasn't in the least necessary!"

"You believe I was an accomplice in that old fool's plot?" he said. "You
believe me such a cur as that?"

"I don't blame you," she said. "I don't believe you could help yourself.
He can make you do whatever he chooses. And then, you are so rich now,
it is natural that you should want to marry some one--some one more
suited to you--like this lovely Princess of yours."

"Of mine!" groaned the exasperated Horace. "When I tell you I've never
even seen her! As if any Princess in the world would marry me to please
a Jinnee out of a brass bottle! And if she did, Sylvia, you can't
believe that any Princess would make me forget you!"

"It depends so very much on the Princess," was all Sylvia could be
induced to say.

"Well," said Horace, "if that's all the faith you have in me, I suppose
it's useless to say any more. Good-bye, Mrs. Futvoye; good-bye,
Professor. I wish I could tell you how deeply I regret all the trouble I
have brought on you by my own folly. All I can say is, that I will bear
anything in future rather than expose you or any of you to the smallest
risk."

"I trust, indeed," said the Professor, stiffly, "that you will use all
the influence at your command to secure me from any repetition of an
experience that might well have unmanned a less equable temperament than
my own."

"Good-bye, Horace," said Mrs. Futvoye, more kindly. "I believe you are
more to be pitied than blamed, whatever others may think. And _I_ don't
forget--if Anthony does--that, but for you, he might, instead of sitting
there comfortably in his armchair, be lashing out with his hind legs and
kicking everything to pieces at this very moment!"

"I