n heart
and the anxious dread that is making every breath a torture to her.

"What if he should be taken to-night?" she is saying to herself. "How
do we know that that child is to be trusted? How dare he trust any one
when there is such a heavy reward out for him--poor Power?"

The tears come into her eyes as she thinks of him. It grows more bitter
to her every moment, the thought of this meeting that is so close at
hand now.

"Honor," Brian says gently, "will you not let me help you? You are in
some trouble, I know." He has crossed the room and is standing beside
her. "You can trust me, surely?"

"I could trust you with my life; but this secret is not my own."

"I know it is not; nevertheless you might trust it to me."

She raises her head and looks at him, and something in his face brings
the color into her own. He is very brave and true, a safe shelter in
trouble--she has proved that--and her heart yearns for the help he
could give her. But it may not be. His sympathies are all on the side
of law and order, and she has ranged herself, for this one night at
least, among the opposite ranks.

"Don't think me curious, Honor," he says earnestly; "but I am sure you
are in need of a friend's help, and I would like you to let me give it."

"No one can help me--not even you," she answers gently, getting up and
looking at him with those troubled eyes that move him so strangely.

"And yet you are so good to me always that I should like to tell you my
trouble if I might. But it is better not, perhaps."

"Let me say one thing, Honor. If this trouble of yours is connected
with Power Magill--and I believe it is--you will not forget that he is
a dangerous man, a man not to be trusted."

"I will not forget," she answers with a shiver, as she thinks of the
meeting that is drawing nigh so rapidly.

The sun has set, and a cold mist is rising. It is very peaceful but
rather dreary outside; and inside, in the familiar pretty room, the
shadows are gathering.

Brian Beresford draws a step nearer. He had not meant to say one word
of love to her--this willful girl who makes so light of him and his
devotion; but, standing so close beside her in this tender gray
twilight, impulse masters his judgment.

"Honor, has my love no power to touch you? Must this man forever stand
between us even in his----" He is going to say disgrace, but the
piteous look on the girl's face stays him.

"Oh, Brian, don't talk to me of love now--I cann