"Heavenly," he answered, dropping a hand upon hers, to the detriment of
any speedy compliance with her last injunction. "But how did you manage
to get away alone?"

"Father's gone to a sale at the Krumi Post. He won't be back till
to-morrow."

Wyvern's face clouded.

"Has he? That accounts for it. Do you know, dearest, he seems to have
changed towards me. Not over anxious for you to see too much of me in
these days. Well, I know what that is going to mean."

"Hush--hush! I am going to have some serious talk with you presently,
but--not now. At table that sort of thing interferes with digestion I
believe."

Wyvern dropped his knife and fork, and looked at her fixedly.

"That means--trouble," he said, a world of bitterness in his tone and
face.

"No--no. It doesn't. Perhaps quite the reverse. So be reassured!--and
trust me. Now tell me. What have you been doing with yourself since we
last met?"

"Oh, trying to put more of the too late drag on the coach that is
whirling down the hill to its final crash."

"No--no. Don't talk despondently," she said. "I want to think of you
as strong--and despondency is not strength. You have me and I have you,
does that count for nothing?"

"Good Lord, but you make me feel mean. Come now, we'll throw off this
gloomy talk," with a sudden brightening that was not all forced, so
stimulating was the effect of her presence, so soothing that of her
love-modulated voice.

"That's right. Now, what have you been doing with yourself?"

"The latest is that I had a sort of adventure this morning. I caught
Sixpence `slaag-ing,' caught him red-handed. There was another _schelm_
in it with him." And he told her the whole incident.

The colour heightened in her cheeks as she listened, and her eyes were
opened wide upon his.

"But they would have killed you, the wretches," she exclaimed.

"Such was their amiable intent. I believe it will take even Sixpence's
thick skull some little while to get over that stone I let him have."

"Pity you didn't kill him," said the girl, fiercely; and meaning it too.

"No, dearest. Think again. Are times not hard enough in all
conscience, without having to meet the costs of a trial for
manslaughter, for that's about what it would have meant. What? `Self
defence?' That might not have counted. There were no witnesses, and
they'd have tried to make out I did it because I was mad with him for
`slaag-ing.'"

"That's true. I ha