“If you wouldn’t mind letting her know I’m waiting,” said the young man, brokenly. Mr. Mott rose, and went slowly upstairs. More slowly still, after an interval of a few minutes, he came back again. “She doesn’t want to see you,” he said, slowly. Mr. Hurst gasped. “I—I must see her,” he faltered. “She won’t see you,” repeated Mr. Mott. “And she told me to say she was surprised at you following her down here.” Mr. Hurst uttered a faint moan, and with bent head passed into the little passage and out into the street, leaving Mr. Mott to return to the sitting-room and listen to such explanations as Miss Garland deemed advisable. Great goodness of heart in the face of persistent and unwelcome attentions appeared to be responsible for the late engagement. “Well, it’s over now,” said her uncle, kindly, “and no doubt he’ll soon find somebody else. There are plenty of girls would jump at him, I expect.” Miss Garland shook her head. “He said he couldn’t live without me,” she remarked, soberly. Mr. Mott laughed. “In less than three months I expect he’ll be congratulating himself,” he said, cheerfully. “Why, I was nearly cau—married, four times. It’s a silly age.” His niece said “Indeed!” and, informing him in somewhat hostile tones that she was suffering from a severe headache, retired to her room. Mr. Mott spent the evening by himself, and retiring to bed at ten-thirty was awakened by a persistent knocking at the front door at half-past one. Half awakened, he lit a candle, and, stumbling downstairs, drew back the bolt of the door, and stood gaping angrily at the pathetic features of Mr. Hurst. “Sorry to disturb you,” said the young man, “but would you mind giving this letter to Miss Garland?” “Sorry to disturb me!” stuttered Mr. Mott. “What do you mean by it? Eh? What do you mean by it?” “It is important,” said Mr. Hurst. “I can’t rest. I’ve eaten nothing all day.” “Glad to hear it,” snapped the irritated Mr. Mott. “If you will give her that letter, I shall feel easier,” said Mr. Hurst. “I’ll give it to her in the morning,” said the other, snatching it from him. “Now get off.” Mr. Hurst still murmuring apologies, went, and Mr. Mott, also murmuring, returned to bed. The night was chilly, and it was some time before he could get to sleep again. He succeeded at last, only to be awakened an hour later by a knocking more violent than before. In a state of mind bordering upon frenzy, he dived into his trousers again and went blundering downstairs in the dark. “Sorry to—” began Mr. Hurst. Mr. Mott made uncouth noises at him. “I have altered my mind,” said the young man. “Would you mind letting me have that letter back again? It was too final.” “You—get—off!” said the other, trembling with cold and passion. “I must have that letter,” said Mr. Hurst, doggedly. “All my future happiness may depend upon it.”