is face buried in his hands.

"Take him away," he groaned, "before I rue the day that I saw him!"

Hugh Ritson rose to his feet.

"Paul, what has happened?" cried Greta.

"Take him away."

And still Paul covered his eyes from the sight of what he had done and
had been tempted to do.

"Hugh, what is it?"

Hugh Ritson stepped to the door.

"Ask your husband," he said, with emphasis, and an appalling calmness.
"And remember this night. You shall never forget it!"

Then he halted out of the room.

CHAPTER VII.

Hugh Ritson walked to the bare room opposite. The handle of the door did
not turn in his hand. Drayton held it at the other side, and with head
bent low he crouched there and listened.

"Who is it?" he whispered, when Hugh Ritson unlocked the door and pushed
at it.

"Let me in," said Hugh, sullenly.

"Does he suspect?" whispered Drayton, when the door closed again. "Did
he follow me? What are you going to do for a fellow? Damme, but I'll be
enough for him!"

And Drayton groped in the dark room among the dead cinders on the
hearth, and picked up the poker.

"You fool!" said Hugh, in a low voice. "Put that thing down."

"Isn't he after me? D'ye think I'm going to be taken? Let him come here
and see!"

Drayton tramped the room, and the floor creaked beneath his heavy tread.

"Speak lower, you poltroon!" Hugh whispered, huskily. "He knows nothing
about you. He has never heard of you. Be quiet. Do you hear?"

There was a light, nervous knock at the door.

"Who's there?" said Hugh.

"It's only me, sir," said Mrs. Drayton, from without, breathing audibly,
and speaking faintly amid gusts of breath.

Hugh Ritson opened the door, and the landlady entered.

"Lor's a mercy me! whatever ails the gentleman? Oh, is it yourself in
the dark, Paul? I'm that fearsome, I declare I shiver and quake at
nothing. And the gentleman so like you, too! I never did see nothing
like it, I'm sure!"

"Hush! Stop your clatter. What does he say?" said Hugh.

"The gentleman? He says and says and says as nothing and nothing and
nothing will make him leave the lady this night."

"He'll think better of that."

"And wherever can I put them? And me on'y one room, forby Paul's. And no
cleaning and airing, and nothing. That's what worrits me."

"Hold your tongue! Put the lady in your son's room. Your son won't need
it to-night."

"That's where I did put her."

"Very well; leave her there."

"And the gentlem