own satisfaction, and not for your amusement. You had
better go upstairs and court the girl; for my part, I stay here."

"And I stay with you," I returned. "Do you think I would steal a march,
even with your permission?"

"Frank," he said, smiling, "it's a pity you are an ass, for you have the
makings of a man. I think I must be _fey_ to-day; you cannot irritate me
even when you try. Do you know," he continued softly, "I think we are the
two most miserable men in England, you and I? we have got on to thirty
without wife or child, or so much as a shop to look after--poor, pitiful,
lost devils, both! And now we clash about a girl! As if there were not
several millions in the United Kingdom! Ah, Frank, Frank, the one who
loses his throw, be it you or me, he has my pity! It were better for
him--how does the Bible say?--that a millstone were hanged about his neck
and he were cast into the depth of the sea. Let us take a drink," he
concluded suddenly, but without any levity of tone.

I was touched by his words, and consented. He sat down on the table in the
dining-room, and held up the glass of sherry to his eye.

"If you beat me, Frank," he said, "I shall take to drink. What will you
do, if it goes the other way?"

"God knows," I returned.

"Well," said he, "here is a toast in the meantime: '_Italia irredenta_!'"

The remainder of the day was passed in the same dreadful tedium and
suspense. I laid the table for dinner, while Northmour and Clara prepared
the meal together in the kitchen. I could hear their talk as I went to and
fro, and was surprised to find it ran all the time upon myself. Northmour
again bracketed us together, and rallied Clara on a choice of husbands;
but he continued to speak of me with some feeling, and uttered nothing to
my prejudice unless he included himself in the condemnation. This awakened
a sense of gratitude in my heart, which combined with the immediateness of
our peril to fill my eyes with tears. After all, I thought--and perhaps
the thought was laughably vain--we were here three very noble human beings
to perish in defense of a thieving banker.

Before we sat down to table, I looked forth from an upstairs window. The
day was beginning to decline; the links were utterly deserted; the
dispatch box still lay untouched where we had left it hours before.

Mr. Huddlestone, in a long yellow dressing gown, took one end of the
table, Clara the other; while Northmour and I faced each other from