ward in the path of a noble duty, that there is not any one who regards you and the work you will do with a greater pride and affection than your friend,
NATALIE."
What could it all mean? he asked himself. This was not the letter of a woman who loved another man; she would have been more explicit; she would have given sufficient reason for her refusal. He read again, with a beating heart, with a wild hope, that veiled and subtle expression of regret. Was it not that she was prepared to sacrifice forever those dreams of a secure and happy and loving life, that come naturally to a young girl, lest they should interfere with what she regarded as the higher duty, the more imperative devotion? In that case, it was for a firmer nature than her own to take this matter in hand. She was but a child; knowing nothing of the sorrows of the world, of the necessity of protection, of the chances the years might bring. Scarcely conscious of what he did—so eagerly was his mind engaged—he opened a drawer and locked the letter in. Then he went hastily into the other room.
"Evelyn," said he, "will you take my place, like a good fellow? I shall be back as soon as I can. Waters will get you everything you want."
"But about Wolverhampton, Mr. Brand?" shouted Humphreys after him.
There was no answer; he was half-way down the stairs.
When the hansom arrived in Curzon Street a hurried glance showed him that the dining-room was lit up. She was at home, then: that was enough. For the rest, he was not going to trouble himself with formalities when so beautiful a prize might still be within his reach.
He knocked at the door; the little Anneli appeared.
"Anneli," said he, "I want to see Miss Lind for a moment—say I shall not detain her, if there is any one with her—"
"They are in the dining-room, sir; Madame Potecki, and a strange gentleman—"