zed to
come to me at all. It is useless your saying that there is no one else.
You know very well that the authorities, some of them--the
chaplain--would go and see Mrs. Hasketh for you. He could have a great
deal more influence with her than any one else could, if he felt like
saying a good word for you. As far as I am concerned, you have expiated
your offence fully; but I should think you yourself would see that you
ought not to come to me with this request; or you ought to come to me
last of all men."

"It is just because of that part of my offence which concerned you that
I come to you. I knew how generous you were, and after you told me that
you had no resentment--I acknowledge that it is indelicate, if you
choose to look at it in that light, but a man like me can't afford to
let delicacy stand in his way. I don't want to flatter you, or get you
to do this thing for me on false pretences. But I thought that if you
went to Mrs. Hasketh for me, she would remember that you had overlooked
something, and she would be more disposed to--to--be considerate."

"I can't do it, Tedham," I returned. "It would be of no use. Besides, I
don't like the errand. I'm not sure that I have any business to
interfere. I am not sure that you have any right to disturb the shape
that their lives have settled into. I'm sorry for you, I pity you with
all my heart. But there are others to be considered as well as you.
And--simply, I can't."

"How do you know," he entreated, "that my daughter wouldn't be as glad
to see me as I to see her?"

"I don't know it. I don't know anything about it. That's the reason I
can't have anything to do with it. I can't justify myself in meddling
with what doesn't concern me, and in what I'm not sure but I should do
more harm than good. I must say good-night. It's getting late, and they
will be anxious about me at home." My heart smote me as I spoke the last
word, which seemed a cruel recognition of Tedham's homelessness. But I
held out my hand to him for parting, and braced myself against my inward
weakness.

He might well have failed to see my hand. At any rate he did not take
it. He turned and started to walk out of the woods by my side. We came
presently to some open fields. Beyond them was the road, and after we
had climbed the first wall, and found ourselves in a somewhat lighter
place, he began to speak again.

"I thought," he said, "that if you had forgiven me, I could take it as a
sign that I had