l; after
breakfast, however, Mark proposed to spend some time in seeing the
place, an arrangement which he thought would lead the way to
confession. But Holroyd would not hear of this; he seemed possessed by
a feverish impatience to get to London without delay, and very soon
they were pacing the Plymouth railway platform together, waiting for
the up train, Mark oppressed by the gloomy conviction that if he did
not speak soon, the favourable moment would pass away, never to
return.

'Where do you think of going to first when you get in?' he asked, in
dread of the answer.

'I don't know,' said Holroyd; 'the Great Western, I suppose--it's the
nearest.'

'You mustn't go to an hotel,' said Mark; 'won't you come to my rooms?
I don't live with my people any longer, you know, and I can easily put
you up.' He was thinking that this arrangement would give him a little
more time for his confession.

'Thanks,' said Holroyd gratefully; 'it's very kind of you to think of
that, old fellow; I will come to you, then--but there is a house I
must go to as soon as we get in: you won't mind if I run away for an
hour or two, will you?'

Mark remembered what Caffyn had said. 'There will be plenty of time
for that to-morrow, won't there?' he said nervously.

'No,' said Holroyd impatiently; 'I can't wait. I daren't. I have let
so much time go by already--you will understand when I tell you all
about it, Mark. I can't rest till I know whether there is still a
chance of happiness left for me, or--or whether I have come too late
and the dream is over.'

In that letter which had fallen into Caffyn's hands Holroyd had told
Mabel the love he had concealed so long; he had begged her not to
decide too hastily; he would wait any time for her answer, he said, if
she did not feel able to give it at once; and in the meantime she
should be troubled by no further importunities on his part. This was
not, perhaps, the most judicious promise to make; he had given it from
an impulse of consideration for her, being well aware that she had
never looked upon him as a possible lover, and that his declaration
would come upon her with a certain shock. Perhaps, too, he wanted to
leave himself a margin of hope as long as possible to make his exile
endurable; since for months, if no answer came back to him, he could
cheat himself with the thought that such silence was favourable in
itself; but even when he came to regret his promise, he shrank from
risking all