ly found himself on the top of an
omnibus which was to convey him to Bayswater. He was following his
impulse with a beating heart, eyes that blazed with light, and lips
that trembled with emotion. He had been a prisoner tied fast in chains
of his own forging. All of a sudden he was free. Impulse should have
its way. His heart should dictate to him in very earnest at last.
With Louisa's letter and his uncle's letter in his pocket, he presently
reached the great house where Mrs. Faulkner lived. He had often passed
that house since Alison had gone to it, walking hungrily past it at
dead of night, thinking of the girl whom he loved but might never win;
now he might win his true love after all--he meant to try. His
triumphant steps were heard hurrying down the pavement. He pulled the
servants' bell and asked boldly for Alison.

"Who shall I say?" asked the kitchen-maid who admitted him.

"Say Jim Hardy, and that my message is urgent," was the reply.

The girl, who was impressed by Jim's goodly height and breadth, invited
him into the housekeeper's parlor, where Alison joined him in a few
minutes. Her face was like death when she came in; her hand shook so
that she could scarcely hold it out for Jim to clasp. He was master,
however, on this occasion--the averted eyes, the white face, the
shaking hand were only all the more reasons why he should clasp the
maiden he loved to his heart. He strode across the room and shut the
door.

"Can we be alone for a few minutes?" he said.

"I suppose so, Jim, if--if it is necessary," said Alison.

"It is necessary. I have something to say."

Alison did not reply. She was trembling more than ever.

"I have got to say this," said Jim: "I am off with Louisa Clay. We're
not going to be married. I don't want her, I never wanted her, and now
it seems that she don't want me. And, Alison, you are cleared of that
matter of the five-pound note."

"Cleared?" said Alison, springing forward, and her eyes lighting up.

"Yes, darlin', cleared," said Jim boldly. "I always knew you were as
innocent as the dawn, and now all the world will know it. Sampson,
good fellow, ferreted out the truth, and it seems--it seems that Louisa
is the thief. Sampson can give you all particulars himself to-morrow;
but I have come here now to talk on a matter of much more importance.
I have always loved you, Alison, from the first day I set eyes on you.
From that first moment I gave you all my hear