She thought a moment, holding the paper in her hand; then she said:
“Take it to Lord Neville, and put an end to his anxiety; but, remember your promise, and do not tell him from whom you got the money.”
Then she lowered her veil, and left him.
He walked back to Clarges street—almost ran, indeed—and, opening the door in response to Lord Cecil’s gloomy “Come in,” entered, and pantingly surveyed him with a smile.
“Well?” said Lord Cecil, grimly. “You are agreeably surprised at finding me here still! Most jailbirds would have taken advantage of your absence and flown, would they not?”
“Yes, they would,” assented the man, emphatically. “But I spoke the truth when I said you were a real nobleman. And I didn’t hurry back because I was afraid. No!—I knew you’d wait! You are the right sort, you are, my lord!”
“Thanks,” said Lord Cecil, curtly; “and where have you been?”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, that’s a secret; but I’ve been on business, and there it is!” and he laid the discharge on the table.
Lord Cecil took it up indifferently; then, when he had realized its purport, he started and flushed.
“Why!—what does this mean?” he demanded.