“I can’t. I shall never be able to pay you——”
“I don’t think you will,” slowly, almost inaudibly, came the retort.
“But it’s just like you. I knew you wouldn’t refuse me, though you might not like it at first.”
“I don’t like it at last. But go now, Cherub,” and he laid his hand half protectingly, half pityingly, upon Bertie’s shoulder and gently led him to the door.
“Good-night, old fellow; and thank you a thousand—thousand——Look!” and he sprang into the bush. “Faradeane, there is some one—some man here in the garden!” he exclaimed in a hushed and startled whisper.
Faradeane was at his side in a moment.
“Where?” he asked in a low, calm voice.
“There—there in the shrubs in the shadow. I saw him!”
Faradeane sprang to the spot indicated by Bertie’s pointed finger, and searched among the bushes.
“There is no one there,” he said, quietly and calmly. “Your nerves are overstrained.”