"Did you receive my other letters?" said Colonel Tempest, pulling himself together, and beginning to walk slowly down the path. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of going to so many places, 'specially as I saw for myself how regular you turned up at 'em. But I wanted to make sure you were in earnest before I showed. My character is my livelihood, sir. There was a time when I was in trouble and got into Mr. Johnson's hands, but before that I'd been in service in 'igh families, very 'igh, sir. Mr. Tempest took me on the recommendation of the Earl of Carmian. I was with him two year." "Mr. Johnson," said Colonel Tempest, stopping short, and turning a shade whiter than he had been before. "By ---- I don't know anything about a Mr. Johnson. What do you mean?" The two men eyed each other as if each suspected treachery. "Did you write this?" said Marshall, producing Colonel Tempest's last letter. "Yes." "Then it's all right," said Marshall, who had forgotten the _sir_. "He had a sight of names. Johnson he was when he found I'd took up your--your bet. But I wrote to him, I remember, at one place as Crosbie." Colonel Tempest recalled the curate's mention of Swayne under the name of Crosbie. "Swayne, or Crosbie, or Johnson, it's all one," he said hastily. "I want a certain bit of paper you have in your possession, and I have ten Bank of England notes, of a hundred each, in my pocket now to give you in exchange. I suppose we understand each other. Have you got it on you?" "Yes." "Produce it." "Show up the notes, too, then." Unnoticed by either, the manner of both, as between gentleman and servant, had merged into that of perfect equality. Love is not the only leveller of disparities of rank and position. They were walking together side by side. There was not a soul in sight. Each cautiously showed what he had brought. The dirty half-sheet of common note-paper, with Colonel Tempest's signature, seemed hardly worth the crisp notes, each one of which Colonel Tempest turned slowly over. "Ten," said Marshall. "All right." "Stop," said Colonel Tempest, hoarsely, the date on the ragged sheet he had just seen suggesting a new idea. "You're too young. You're not five and thirty. By ---- it's nearly sixteen years ago. You weren't in it. You couldn't have been in it. How did you come by that? Whom did you have it from?" "From one who'll tell no tales," returned Marshall. "He was sick of it. He had tried twice, and he was near his end, and I took it off him just before he died." "Did he die?" said Colonel Tempest. "I am not so sure of that." "I am," said the man; "or I'd never have had nothing to do with the business." "How long have you been with Mr. Tempest?" "A matter of three months. He engaged me when he came back from Russia in the spring." "You will leave at once. That, of course, is understood." "Yes. I will give warning to-night if----" and the man glanced at the packet in Colonel Tempest's hand.