here and stand by her." There was no time to deliberate, and
Denas, acting upon the feeling of the moment, came quickly to Roland,
and was talking to him when Mrs. Burrell entered. They remained in
conversation a moment or two, as if loth to part; then Denas
advanced to the customer with an air of courtesy, but also of
perfect ignorance as to her personality.

"Well, Denas?" said the lady.

"What do you wish, madam?"

"I wish to see Miss Priscilla."

Denas touched a bell and returned to Roland, who had appeared to be
unconscious of his sister's presence. Elizabeth glanced at her
brother; then, without waiting for Priscilla, left the shop. The
lovely face of Denas was like a flame. "Thank you, Roland!" she said
with effusion. "You have paid my account in full for me."

"Then, darling, let me come here to-night and say something very
important to us both. Priscilla will give me house-room for an hour, I
know she will. Here she comes. Let me ask her."

Priscilla affected reluctance, but really she was prepared for the
request. She had expected it before and had been uneasy at its delay.
She was beginning to fear Roland's visits might be noticed, might be
talked about, might injure her custom. It pleased her much to
anticipate an end to a risky situation. She managed, without urging
Denas, to make the girl feel that her relations with Roland ought
either to be better understood or else entirely broken off.

So Roland went back to his inn with a promise that made him
light-hearted. "Elizabeth has done me one good turn," he soliloquized.
"Now let me see. I will consider my plea and get all in order. First,
I must persuade Denas to go to London. Second, the question is,
marriage or no marriage? Third, her voice and its cultivation. Fourth,
the hundred pounds in St. Merryn's Bank. Fifth, everything as soon as
can be--to-morrow night if possible. Sixth, my own money from
Tremaine. I should have about four hundred pounds. Heigho! I wish it
was eight o'clock. And what an old cat Priscilla is! I do not think I
shall give her the fifty pounds I promised her. She does not deserve
it--and she never durst ask me for it."

CHAPTER VII.

IS THERE ANY SORROW LIKE LOVING?

"For love the sense of right and wrong confounds;
Strong love and proud ambition have no bounds."
--DRYDEN.

"The fate of love is such
That still it sees too little or too much."