nd what
Jeffreys had suffered in consequence; how he had struggled to atone for
the past, and what hopes had been his as to the future. Raby's face
glowed more and more as she listened. It was a different soldier's tale
from what she was used to; but still it moved her pity and sympathy
strangely.

"It's a sad story, as your father says," concluded Mr Rimbolt; "but the
sadness does not all belong to young Forrester."

Raby's eyes sparkled.

"No, indeed," said she; "it is like shipwreck within sight of the
harbour."

"We can only hope there may be some hand to save him even from these
depths," said Mr Rimbolt; "for, from what I know of Jeffreys, he will
find it hard now to keep his head above water. Of course, Raby, I have
only told you this because you have heard the story from another point
of view which does poor Jeffreys injustice."

"I am so grateful to you," said the girl.

Mr Rimbolt let her go without saying more. Even the man of books had
eyes that could see; and Raby's face during this interview had told a
tale of something more than casual sympathy.

The season dragged on, and nothing occurred to mend matters at Clarges
Street. Percy moped and could settle down to nothing. He spurned his
books, he neglected his horse, and gave up the river entirely. It was
vain to reason or expostulate with him, and after a couple of months his
parents marked with anxiety that the boy was really ill. Yet nothing
would induce him to quit London. Even his father's offer to take him
abroad for a few weeks did not tempt him.

Raby herself made the final appeal the day before they started.

"Percy, dear, won't you come for my sake?" said she.

"If I came for anybody I would for you," replied he, "but I can't."

"But I had so looked forward to you seeing father."

"I'll see him as soon as he gets to town."

"It will spoil my pleasure so much," said she. "I shall be miserable
thinking of you."

"You're an awful brick, Raby; but don't bother about me. You'd all be
ever so much more miserable if I came, and so should I."

"But what good can it do?" pleaded his cousin.

"I don't know--he might turn up. I might find him after all. If it
hadn't been for your father coming, Raby--I'd have begged you to stay
too. He'd be more likely to come if he knew _you_ were here."

Raby flushed. Between Percy and his cousin there was no hypocrisy.

"Oh, Percy," she said, "do you want to make me fifty times more
mis