"Yes, sir—I hope I have not put you or your daughter to any inconvenience."
"No, sir," was his reply, beginning to turn up the collar of his coat above his ears, "no inconvenience. You are a stranger to this neighbourhood, and I'll just see you in the straight way, if you'll allow me."
"Oh! dear no, thank you," said the alarmed Maurice; "I'm well up in the way now—I could not think of taking you away from home at this time of night—thank you, thank you!"
He seized his hat, dashed at the lock, wrenched open the door, and flew for his life down the dark streets—no matter whither, or how far out of his route, so that he escaped Mr. Gray's companionship.
Half an hour afterwards, he was at New Cross railway station—the scene of his old duplicity—arranging for a telegraphic message to a Dr. Bario, resident in Paris.
CHAPTER III.
A DECLARATION.
Harriet Wesden had settled down like the rest of the world, that is, this little world wherein live and breathe—at least we hope so—these characters of ours.
She had settled down! Life had taken its sombre side with her; the force of circumstances had set her apart from those for whom her heart yearned; she became bound more to this dull home; disappointment had wondrously sobered her; when her heart had been at its truest and best, it had seemed as though the whole world had turned against her, and misjudged her.