"No," he said, "but I hoped to be. If I went now and told him what I wish to impart to you, he might look upon me as responsible for what has occurred." He put his hand over his eyes, from which the tears were flowing. "What is it you wish to impart to me?" I inquired, "and why should you suppose you would be held responsible for so horrible a crime?" "I scarcely know what I am saying," he replied. "But my secret intimacy with Lizzie"--I caught my breath at his familiar utterance of the name--"becoming known to him now for the first time, might put wrong ideas into his head." "Your secret intimacy with Lizzie?" I exclaimed. "We have known each other for more than four months," he said. "Secretly?" "Yes, secretly." "And the poor girl's parents were not aware of it?" "They were not. It was partly my poor Lizzie's wish, and partly my own, I think, until I was sure that I possessed her love. She kept it from me for a long time. 'Wait,' she used to say, smiling--pardon me, sir; my heart seems as if it would break when I speak of her--'Wait,' she used to say, 'I am not certain yet whether I really, really love you.' But she did, sir, all along." "How do you know that?" I asked, in doubt now whether I should regard him with favour or suspicion. "She confessed it to me last Tuesday night as she walked home from Baker Street." "You were in the habit of meeting her, then?" "Yes. I beg you to believe, sir, there was nothing wrong in it. I loved and honoured her sincerely. I wanted then to accompany her home and ask her parents' permission to pay my addresses to her openly: but she said no, and that she would speak to them first herself. It was arranged so. She was to tell them to-night, and I was to call and see her father and mother to-morrow. And now--and now--" Again he paused, overpowered by grief. Presently he spoke again. "See here, sir." He detached a locket from his chain, and opening it, showed me the sweet and beautiful face of Lizzie Melladew. "It was taken for me," he said, "on Wednesday morning. She obtained permission from her employers for an hour's absence, and we went together to get it taken. The photographer hurried the picture on for me, I was so anxious for it. I had my picture taken for her, and put into a locket, which I was to give her to-morrow with this ring in the presence of her parents." He produced both the locket and the ring. The locket was a handsome gold ornament, set with pearls; the ring was a half-hoop, set with diamonds. The gifts were such as only a man in a good position could afford to give. "I shall never be happy again," he said mournfully, as he replaced the locket on his chain, after gazing on the beautiful face with eyes of pitiful love. "Were you in the habit of writing to her?" I asked.