“This much you cannot mistake,” said he, sternly; “that my name is not to be uttered, nor written, mind that If, in his short visit, Loyd should speak of me, stop him at once. Say, ‘Mr. Loyd, there are reasons why I will not discuss that person; and I desire that my wish be understood as a command.’ You will impress your nieces with the same reserve. I suppose, if they hear that it is a matter which involves the life of more than one, that they will not need to be twice cautioned. Bear, in mind this is no caprice of mine; it is no caprice of that Calvert eccentricity, to which, fairly enough sometimes, you ascribe many of my actions. I am in a position of no common peril; I have incurred it to save the fair fame of a fellow I have known and liked for years. I mean, too, to go through with it; that is, I mean up to a certain point to sacrifice myself. Up to a certain point, I say, for if I am pushed beyond that, then I shall declare to the world: Upon you and your slanderous tongues be the blame, not mine the fault for what is to happen now.” He uttered these words with a rapidity and vehemence that made her tremble from head to foot This was not, besides, the first time she had witnessed one of those passionate outbursts for which his race was celebrated, and it needed no oath to confirm the menace his speech shadowed forth. “This is a pledge, then,” said he, grasping her hand. “And now to talk of something pleasanter. That old uncle of mine has behaved very handsomely; has sent me some kind messages, and, what is as much to the purpose, some money;” and, as he spoke, he carelessly drew from his pocket a roll of the bank-notes he had so lately won at play. “‘Before making any attempt to re-enter the service,’ he says, ‘you must keep out of the way for a while.’ And he is right there; the advice is excellent, and I mean to follow it. In his postscript he adds: ‘Thank Grainger’--he means Miss Grainger, but you know how blunderingly he writes--‘for all her kindness to you, and say how glad we should all be to see her at Rocksley, whenever she comes next to England.’” The old lady’s face grew crimson; shame at first, and pride afterwards, overwhelming her. To be called Grainger was to bring her back at once to the old days of servitude--that dreary life of nursery governess--which had left its dark shadow on all her later years; while to be the guest at Rocksley was a triumph she had never imagined in her vainest moments. “Oh, will you tell him how proud I am of his kind remembrance of me, and what an honour I should feel it to pay my respects to him?” “They’ll make much of you, I promise you,” said Calvert, “when they catch you at Rocksley, and you’ll not get away in a hurry. Now let us go our separate ways, lest the girls suspect we have been plotting. I’ll take the boat and row down to the steps. Don’t forget all I have been saying,” were his last words as the boat moved away.