“And what did he say to all this?” asked the young man eagerly. “I can guess, my darling, that you pleaded very well.” “He listened very attentively, and was very quiet for a long time. When I had finished, he asked me if I wished him to send for detectives from Scotland Yard. I hastily said that I did, and that I was sure you would wish it too. ‘My poor child, you don’t know what you are talking about,’ was his answer. ‘The certain result of that would be that the man in whom you believe would be arrested, and once having taken the case up, I could not drop it, I should be bound to prosecute.’ That scared me dreadfully, you may be sure. His final words were spoken in a very sad voice. ‘Let sleeping dogs lie, my poor wronged Rosabelle. Richard Croxton through his own act has passed away from my life, as he must pass away from yours. You are young, and in time your grief will heal, and some day you will meet a man worthy of your love.’” The young man’s head sunk on his breast. Yes, Mr. Morrice was right. Appearances were too black against him; if the authorities were called in, arrest would be sure to follow. The girl went on in a low, tearful voice. “I told him that the day to which he looked forward would never come, that if I could not marry you, no other man should be my husband. And then, Dick, I ended with the boldest thing I had said yet—I am pretty brave as a rule but I own I trembled as I said it—I told him I was coming to see you here, that I would no more forsake you in your trouble than your mother would have done. She would have clung to you in your darkest hour because she loved you, and that I did not love you less.” “And he did not forbid you?” cried the young man in amazement. He knew Rupert Morrice so well, of a nature singularly kind and generous, but hard as flint to evil-doers, to those who betrayed his trust. “No, he did not forbid me, Dick, and I am almost as amazed as you are, but I think that reference to your mother softened him. It was a long time before he spoke, and then his words came very slowly. ‘If I allow you to do this, at any rate for the present, till I have thought matters out further, will you give me your solemn promise that you will only play the rôle of consoler, that you will do nothing rash?’ Of course I knew what he meant, that we might get secretly married. So I gave him that promise, Dick; do you blame me?” “A thousand times No, my darling,” cried Croxton, as he took her in his arms and kissed away the tears on the sweet face. “And considering what he believes me to be, nay more, what he is sure I am, I cannot but marvel at his giving his consent.” For a long time the young people talked together, and all through their conversation the one thought uppermost in Rosabelle’s mind was that her lover should take steps to clear himself, that he should not be content to rest under the unmerited stigma, that he should not meekly consent to pass out of their lives.