ively innocent, and thinks you a disinterested friend."

"I'll go to her this evening," Mountfalcon repeated. "She shall know
what damned misery it is to see her in such a position. I can't hold out
any longer. Deceit's horrible to such a girl as that. I'd rather have
her cursing me than speaking and looking as she does. Dear little
girl!--she's only a child. You haven't an idea how sensible that little
woman is."

"Have you?" inquired the cunning one.

"My belief is, Brayder, that there are angels among women," said
Mountfalcon, evading his parasite's eye as he spoke.

To the world, Lord Mountfalcon was the thoroughly wicked man; his
parasite simply ingeniously dissipated. Full many a man of God had
thought it the easier task to reclaim the Hon. Peter.

Lucy received her noble friend by firelight that evening, and sat much
in the shade. She offered to have the candles brought in. He begged her
to allow the room to remain as it was. "I have something to say to you,"
he observed with a certain solemnity.

"Yes--to me?" said Lucy, quickly.

Lord Mountfalcon knew he had a great deal to say, but how to say it, and
what it exactly was, he did not know.'

"You conceal it admirably," he began, "but you must be very lonely
here--I fear, unhappy."

"I should have been lonely, but for your kindness, my lord," said Lucy.
"I am not unhappy." Her face was in shade and could not belie her.

"Is there any help that one who would really be your friend might give
you, Mrs. Feverel?"

"None indeed that I know of," Lucy replied. "Who can help us to pay for
our sins?"

"At least you may permit me to endeavour to pay my debts, since you have
helped me to wash out some of any sins."

"Ah, my lord!" said Lucy, not displeased. It is sweet for a woman to
believe she has drawn the serpent's teeth.

"I tell you the truth," Lord Mountfalcon went on. "What object could
I have in deceiving you? I know you quite above flattery--so different
from other women!"

"Oh, pray, do not say that," interposed Lucy.

"According to my experience, then."

"But you say you have met such--such very bad women."

"I have. And now that I meet a good one, it is my misfortune."

"Your misfortune, Lord Mountfalcon?"

"Yes, and I might say more."

His lordship held impressively mute.

"How strange men are!" thought Lucy. "He had some unhappy secret."

Tom Bakewell, who had a habit of coming into the room on various
pretences during the noblem