lities gave
him a sinking heart. He tried to imagine himself lecturing, canvassing
for books or insurance policies, writing for newspapers--and remained
frightened. But suddenly one day it occurred to him that these qualms
and forebodings were sheer folly. Was not Celia rich? Would she not with
lightning swiftness draw forth that check-book, like the flashing sword
of a champion from its scabbard, and run to his relief? Why, of course.
It was absurd not to have thought of that before.

He recalled her momentary anger with him, that afternoon in the woods,
when he had cried out that discovery would mean ruin to him. He saw
clearly enough now that she had been grieved at his want of faith in her
protection. In his flurry of fright, he had lost sight of the fact that,
if exposure and trouble came to him, she would naturally feel that she
had been the cause of his martyrdom. It was plain enough now. If he got
into hot water, it would be solely on account of his having been seen
with her. He had walked into the woods with her--"the further the
better" had been her own words--out of pure kindliness, and the
desire to lead her away from the scene of her brother's and her own
humiliation. But why amplify arguments? Her own warm heart would tell
her, on the instant, how he had been sacrificed for her sake, and would
bring her, eager and devoted, to his succor.

That was all right, then. Slowly, from this point, suggestions expanded
themselves. The future could be, if he willed it, one long serene
triumph of love, and lofty intellectual companionship, and existence
softened and enriched at every point by all that wealth could command,
and the most exquisite tastes suggest. Should he will it! Ah! the
question answered itself. But he could not enter upon this beckoning
heaven of a future until he had freed himself. When Celia said to him,
"Come!" he must not be in the position to reply, "I should like to, but
unfortunately I am tied by the leg." He should have to leave Octavius,
leave the ministry, leave everything. He could not begin too soon to
face these contingencies.

Very likely Celia had not thought it out as far as this. With her,
it was a mere vague "sometime I may." But the harder masculine sense,
Theron felt, existed for the very purpose of correcting and giving point
to these loose feminine notions of time and space. It was for him to
clear away the obstacles, and map the plans out with definite decision.

One warm