e said, "and I don't feel
that I ever can. What you have done for me and my father is beyond all
thanks. You have saved his life and you have rescued me from the most
horrible ignominy. Good-bye! and God bless you!"

The hansom that bowled along eastward--at most unnecessary speed--bore
two of the happiest human beings within the wide boundaries of the town.
I looked at my companion as the lights of the street shone into the cab,
and was astonished at the transformation. The pallor of her cheek had
given place to a rosy pink; the hardness, the tension, the haggard
self-repression that had aged her face, were all gone, and the girlish
sweetness that had so bewitched me in the early days of our love had
stolen back. Even the dimple was there when the sweeping lashes lifted
and her eyes met mine in a smile of infinite tenderness. Little was said
on that brief journey. It was happiness enough to sit, hand clasped in
hand, and know that our time of trial was past; that no cross of Fate
could ever part us now.

The astonished cabman set us down, according to instructions, at the
entrance to Nevill's Court, and watched us with open mouth as we
vanished into the narrow passage. The court had settled down for the
night, and no one marked our return; no curious eye looked down on us
from the dark house-front as we said "Good-bye" just inside the gate.

"You will come and see us to-morrow, dear, won't you?" she asked.

"Do you think it possible that I could stay away, then?"

"I hope not. But come as early as you can. My father will be positively
frantic to see you; because I shall have told him, you know. And,
remember, that it is you who have brought us this great deliverance.
Good night, Paul."

"Good night, sweetheart."

She put up her face frankly to be kissed and then ran up to the ancient
door; whence she waved me a last good-bye. The shabby gate in the wall
closed behind me and hid her from my sight; but the light of her love
went with me and turned the dull street into a path of glory.

CHAPTER XIX

A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM

It came upon me with something of a shock of surprise to find the scrap
of paper still tacked to the oak of Thorndyke's chambers. So much had
happened since I had last looked on it that it seemed to belong to
another epoch of my life. I removed it thoughtfully and picked out the
tack before entering, and then, closing the inner door, but leaving the
oak open, I lit the gas and fell to p