"This will all come right, love," she whispered softly; "and it will make no difference, will it? Promise me that when it is over you will come straight to me. Promise me that, and I will be brave. If you do not, I shall break my heart."
"Then I promise it," he answered, with a slight tremble in his voice.
But looking at him anxiously, she was not satisfied. His white face, firm and resolute though it was, had a certain despair in it which chilled her. The hopefulness of her words seemed to have found no echo in his heart.
"Dearest," she whispered, "it will all come right."
His expression changed, but the effort of it was visible. His smile was forced, and his words, light though they were, troubled her.
"We must hope so. Nay, it will come right, dear. Wish me good-by now, or rather, au revoir. My guardians will be getting impatient."
They were virtually alone, and he drew from her lips one long, passionate kiss. Then, with a few cheerful words, he turned resolutely away. Mr. Thurwell, who had been waiting outside, came to him at once.
"The brougham is at the door," he said, with an anxious glance at Helen, who was leaning back against a chair, her hands locked in one another, ghastly pale, and evidently on the point of fainting. "These men have only an open trap, and it is a cold drive across the moor. To-morrow you go to York to be brought before the magistrates. I shall be there."
"You are very good," Bernard Maddison said earnestly; "but, so far as defence is concerned, I will have no lawyer's aid. What little there is to be said, I will say myself."
Mr. Thurwell shook his head.