s latchkey; she fell fast asleep,
and must have remained so for the greater part of an hour.

The fire went down, and its flickering flame no longer illuminated the
room. The soft light of the lamp did not extend very far, and the
screen, which was tall and dark, threw the sofa on which Nan lay into
deep shadow. The rug completely covered the lower part of her dress, and
as the sofa stood between the wall and the fire-place on that side of
the room furthest removed from the door, any one entering might easily
believe that the room was empty. Indeed, unless Nan stirred in her
sleep, there was nothing at all to show that she was lying on the couch.

Thus, when Sydney entered his study about a quarter to seven, with a
companion whom he had found waiting for him on the door-step, it would
have been impossible for him to conjecture the presence of his wife. He
did not light another lamp. The first words of his visitor had startled
him into forgetting that the room was dark--perhaps, as the interview
went on, he was glad of the obscurity into which his face was thrown.
And the sounds of the low-toned conversation did not startle Nan from
her slumber all at once. She had heard several sentences before she
realized where she was and what she was listening to, and then very
natural feelings kept her silent and motionless.

"No, I've not come for money," were the first words she heard. "Quite a
different errand, Mr. Campion. It is some weeks since I left you now,
and I left you because I had a competency bequeathed to me by an uncle."

"Pleased to hear it, I am sure, Johnson," was Sydney's response. "As you
mentioned the name of another person, I thought that you had perhaps had
a letter from her----"

"I have seen her, certainly, several times of late. And I am the bearer
of a message from her. She has always regretted that she took a certain
sum of money from you when she first found out how you had deceived her;
and she wishes you to understand that she wants nothing more from you.
The fact is, sir, I have long been very sorry for her misfortunes, and
now that I am independent, I have asked her to marry me and go with me
to America."

There was a little silence. "I am quite willing to provide for the
child," said Sydney, "and----"

"No," said the man, almost sternly; "hear me out first, Mr. Campion. She
owes her misery to you, and, no doubt, you have always thought that
money could make atonement. But that's not my view