d."

A suppressed oath--no other reply from Mr. Laurence. He gnaws his
mustache, and digs vicious holes with his boots in the soft sand.

"You're a bold card, Mr. Laurence," pursues Mr. Liston's monotonous
voice. "You've played a good many daring games in your life, but this
last daring game I think, has put the topper on the lot. I fancied mock
parsons, sham marriages, and carrying off young ladies by night, went
out of fashion with Gretna Green and Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. If ever
Mr. Darcy hears of it, the sooner you take a rope and hang yourself, the
better."

Another smothered imprecation of rage and impatience from Mr. Thorndyke.
"If I only had Maggs here," he says, clenching his fist.

"You would punch his head for him--very likely. But I don't know that
even that would do much good. He's got the jim-jams to-day, poor brute,
the worst kind. For you, Mr. Laurence--how long before this play of
yours is played out?"

"I'm going to New York to-morrow," growls Mr. Laurence Thorndyke. "I was
just telling her so as you hove in sight."

"Ah! you were just telling her so--the play _is_ played out, then. May I
ask, Mr. Laurence, though it is none of my business, how the poor thing
takes it?"

"No, you mayn't ask," replies Mr. Laurence, with ferocity, "as you say
it's none of your business. Liston! look here, you're not going to turn
State's evidence, are you--honor bright? You are not going to tell the
old man."

His angry voice drops to a pleading cadence. Mr. Liston's shifty light
eyes look up at him for a moment.

"Do I ever tell Mr. Laurence? It is late in the day to ask such a
question as that.

"So it is. You're not half a bad fellow, old boy, and have got me out of
no end of scrapes. Get me out of this and I'll never forget it--that I
swear. One of these days you shall have your reward in hard cash--that I
promise you."

"When you marry Miss Holmes? It's a bargain, Mr. Laurence--I'll try and
earn my reward. What is it you want me to do?"

"I'm going to New York to-morrow," Thorndyke says, hurriedly. "I must
invent some excuse for the governor, and what I say you are to swear to.
And when peace is proclaimed you must come back and tell _her_. I can't
do it myself--by George, I can't."

"Is that all?" asked Mr. Liston.

"You'll look after her--poor little soul! and, if she wishes it, take
her to her friends. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry--for her sake and for my
own. But it's rather late for all that. L