nd. Her husband is--Me. Not that I'm married to
her yet, you understand. I have only promised to marry her. She has gone
on first (on the sly) to a place four miles from this. And we settled I
was to follow, and marry her privately this afternoon. That's out of
the question now. While she's expecting me at the inn I shall be bowling
along to London. Somebody must tell her what has happened--or she'll
play the devil, and the whole business will burst up. I can't trust any
of the people here. I'm done for, old chap, unless you help me."

Arnold lifted his hands in dismay. "It's the most dreadful situation,
Geoffrey, I ever heard of in my life!"

Geoffrey thoroughly agreed with him. "Enough to knock a man over," he
said, "isn't it? I'd give something for a drink of beer." He produced
his everlasting pipe, from sheer force of habit. "Got a match?" he
asked.

Arnold's mind was too preoccupied to notice the question.

"I hope you won't think I'm making light of your father's illness," he
said, earnestly. "But it seems to me--I must say it--it seems to me that
the poor girl has the first claim on you."

Geoffrey looked at him in surly amazement.

"The first claim on me? Do you think I'm going to risk being cut out of
my father's will? Not for the best woman that ever put on a petticoat!"

Arnold's admiration of his friend was the solidly-founded admiration
of many years; admiration for a man who could row, box, wrestle,
jump--above all, who could swim--as few other men could perform those
exercises in contemporary England. But that answer shook his faith. Only
for the moment--unhappily for Arnold, only for the moment.

"You know best," he returned, a little coldly. "What can I do?"

Geoffrey took his arm--roughly as he took every thing; but in a
companionable and confidential way.

"Go, like a good fellow, and tell her what has happened. We'll start
from here as if we were both going to the railway; and I'll drop you at
the foot-path, in the gig. You can get on to your own place afterward by
the evening train. It puts you to no inconvenience, and it's doing the
kind thing by an old friend. There's no risk of being found out. I'm
to drive, remember! There's no servant with us, old boy, to notice, and
tell tales."

Even Arnold began to see dimly by this time that he was likely to pay
his debt of obligation with interest--as Sir Patrick had foretold.

"What am I to say to her?" he asked. "I'm bound to do all I can do