h he dreaded more than
anything; he had no notion how he should reply to it, beyond a
general impression that he would have to lie, and lie hard.

'Mark,' said Holroyd again, 'I didn't like to worry you about it
before, I thought perhaps you would speak of it first; but--but have
you never heard anything more of that ambitious attempt of mine at a
novel? You needn't mind telling me.'

'I--I _can't_ tell you,' Mark said, looking away out of the window.

'I don't expect anything good,' said Holroyd; 'I never thought--why
should I be such a humbug! I _did_ think sometimes--more lately
perhaps--that it wouldn't be an utter failure. I see I was wrong.
Well, if I was ambitious, it was rather for her than myself; and if
she cares for me, what else matters to either of us? Tell me all about
it.'

'You--you remember what happened to the first volume of the "French
Revolution"?' began Mark.

'Go on,' said Holroyd.

'It--the book--_yours_, I mean,' said Mark (he could not remember the
original title), 'was burnt.'

'Where? at the office? Did they write and tell you so? had they read
it?'

Mark felt he was among pitfalls.

'Not at the office,' he said; 'at my rooms--my old rooms.'

'It came back, then?'

'Yes, it came back. There--there was no letter with it; the girl at
the lodgings found the manuscript lying about. She--she burnt it.'

The lies sprang in ready succession from his brain at the critical
moment, without any other preparation than the emergency--as lies did
with Mark Ashburn; till lately he had hoped that the truth might come,
and he loathed himself now for this fresh piece of treachery, but it
had saved him for the present, and he could not abandon it.

'I thought it would at least have been safe with you,' said Holroyd,
'if you--no, my dear fellow, I didn't mean to reproach you. I can see
how cut up you are about it; and, after all, it--it was only a
rejected manuscript--the girl only hastened its course a little.
Carlyle rewrote his work; but then I'm not Carlyle. We won't say
anything any more about it, eh, old fellow? It's only one dream over.'

Mark was seized with a remorse which almost drove him to confess all
and take the consequences; but Holroyd had sunk back to his position
by the window again, and there was a fixed frown on his face which,
although it only arose from painful thought, effectually deterred Mark
from speaking. He felt now that everything depended on Caffyn. He sat
looking