h the patience of a slumbering animal that has
been prodded.

"Yes," he said--"your advocate. There is one more chance I should advise
any man to shun--to cast to the four winds, and hold on only to that
tangible possibility of happiness in the present--it is the chance of
enjoying, in some dim and distant future, the satisfaction of having, in
a half-forgotten past, done one's duty. One's first duty is to secure,
by all legitimate means, one's own happiness."

"What is the proposition?" interrupted Barebone, quickly; and Turner,
beneath his heavy lids, had caught in the passing the glance from
Miriam's eyes, for which possibly both he and Loo Barebone had been
waiting.

"Fifty thousand pounds," replied the banker, bluntly, "in first-class
English securities, in return for a written undertaking on your part
to relinquish all claim to any heritage to which you may think yourself
entitled in France. You will need to give your word of honour never to
set foot on French soil--and that is all."

"I never, until this moment," replied Barebone, "knew the value of my
own pretensions."

"Yes," said Turner, quietly; "that is the obvious retort. And having
made it, you can now give a few minutes' calm reflection to my
proposition--say five minutes, until that clock strikes half-past
nine--and then I am ready to answer any questions you may wish to ask."

Barebone laughed good-humouredly, and so far fell in with the suggestion
that he leant his elbow on the corner of the mantelpiece, and looked at
the clock.

CHAPTER XXIX. IN THE DARK

Had John Turner been able to see round the curve of his own vast cheeks
he might have perceived the answer to his proposition lurking in a
little contemptuous smile at the corner of Miriam's closed lips. Loo
saw it there, and turned again to the contemplation of the clock on the
mantelpiece which had already given a preliminary click.

Thus they waited until the minutes should elapse, and Turner, with a
smile of simple pleasure at their ready acquiescence in his suggestion,
probably reflected behind his vacuous face that silence rarely implies
indecision.

When at last the clock struck, Loo turned to him with a laugh and a
shake of the head as if the refusal were so self-evident that to put it
into words were a work of supererogation.

"Who makes the offer?" he asked.

Turner smiled on him with visible approbation as upon a quick and worthy
foe who fought a capable fight with