"Rupert," I replied, "I am not disposed to desert you at so critical a period of our life. We are both young. You are enthusiastic; your good opinion of mankind has before now led you into error. Have you well pondered on this step? Can you rely on Elinor Travis." "What do you mean?" "Is she as brave as she is gentle--as faithful as she is fair?" "I would answer for her with my life." "Yes, or with twenty lives, if you had them, for the venture. Yet you have not known her long." "Long enough to value and to love her. Does it require an age to discover truthfulness so palpable as hers?" "I have done, Sinclair," said I. "God grant you may be happy!" "You return to London, then?" "Such is my intention." "You do wisely. I would not have you stay with me. You must be clear from all participation in this business, let it end as it may. I know my father. His anger and his vengeance, however undeserved, would fall on you." "Would these were my greatest fears!" I answered, with a sigh. "Fear not for _me_, Wilson. The happiness of your friend is bound up with that of Elinor Travis. I tell you, in all sincerity, I cannot live without her. Fate decrees our movements. No woman but she has made me conscious of that great fountain of love which lies within the bosom of us all--none has had power to direct the stream, and to enchain me, heart and soul, to her will." "And should that will," I quickly urged, "be found as evil as resistless"---- "Prove it so, and its power ceases on the instant. No; it is resistless, because virtuous and pure. I submit to an enchantment, but it is practised by a fairy as good as she is beautiful." It was useless to argue so abstruse a point with so interested and impassioned a reasoner. I remained silent. "One promise I must exact from you," continued Sinclair. "In passing through London, you will not see my father." "I shall not wait upon his lordship," I replied. "Nor mention, if you please, one syllable of this affair, should chance bring you together. For the present, I have sufficient reasons for wishing you to keep my secret sacred. In good time all will be known." "You shall be obeyed, of course." "Thanks," said Sinclair, grasping my hand, and holding it affectionately: "all will be well, I trust." For the rest of the day, the subject was not revived. I begged Sinclair to follow his own pleasure, without reference to me, and to leave me to the few arrangements necessary before departure. He insisted, however, upon spending the last day with me; and during many hours of well-remembered intercourse, he evinced a friendliness and affectionate regard such as I had never before experienced--even from him. We sat together until the early hour of morning chid us to our beds.