"And I tell you that he's dying while we are standing here. The odds are that he'll be dead by the time that I get back." "How do you know?" "Then everything he has will be mine--ours." "Ours?" "Ours!--yours and mine!--if you can keep a still tongue in your head, and keep on pretending that you know nothing about me." He was trembling. "What about the Mrs. Grahame?" "Stuff the Mrs. Grahame! After he's dead I can soon be Mrs. Lamb again. What's to stop me?" "Shall we have to live here?" She shuddered, involuntarily. "Live here?--not much! We'll clear out of this in double quick time. We'll take a house in London, and live like princes." He moistened his lips with his tongue. "You'll act on the square with me?" "Of course I will, if you'll act on the square with me. Look here, there's a ten-pound note for you. It's all I've got about me, but as you seem hard up you may find it useful. You go back, and unless I'm mistaken by to-morrow morning you'll hear he's dead. It won't take me long to put things ship-shape. Don't you write or try to see me, unless I give you the office. I'll keep you posted in how things are going. And so soon as I can lay hands on a good lot of the ready, if you like we'll go up to town together, and we'll have a real old spree as we go." "Belle, you--you're----" He stopped, as if his vocabulary failed him altogether. "Yes, I know I am; I'm all that, and more besides." She laughed, and he laughed. In the laughter of neither of them was there any merriment. The sounds they emitted were merely mechanical. CHAPTER XIV IN CUTHBERT GRAHAME'S ROOM On Isabel's return to the house she was greeted on the threshold by Martha, the Martha Blair whose connection with Gregory Lamb's present place of residence seemed destined to have a considerable bearing on Isabel's future life, and, at least, to settle the debated question of what her future name and title were to be. Martha's whole attitude was significant of some great happening. Her hands were raised; it seemed that if possible her hair would have been raised too; her eyebrows were elevated to quite a perceptible degree. Her eyes and mouth were wide open; agitation, of a not unpleasant kind, streamed from every pore of her. Behind was Jane, every whit as interested as her companion; but as she happened to be both the younger and the smaller her opportunities for display were less pronounced. Outside stood Dr. Twelves' dogcart; the horse, untended and untethered, apparently content to stand still as long as any one desired. Martha broke into speech before Isabel had a chance to plant her foot upon the doorstep. "Oh, Mrs. Grahame, the master! Mr. Cuthbert, ma'am!" "Mr. Cuthbert, ma'am!" echoed Jane from the rear. "Mr. Cuthbert? Well, what's the matter with Mr. Cuthbert? Let me come in, don't stand there blocking up the way! Do you hear, what's the matter with Mr. Cuthbert?" "He's dead, ma'am--he's dead."