He was a pleasant-faced, agreeable young fellow, and there was an honest look about his eyes and a straightforward manner which I liked, and which convinced me of his sincerity. He had a private income, he told me, and had recently been offered a very comfortable living about twelve miles away. "Of course," he added, hesitatingly, "he felt some diffidence in proposing to take Marian away from me, and thus leaving me to live by myself--but, but, the long and short of it was, he wanted to get married as soon as I could possibly spare her. They would not be far away; indeed, if my prospective loneliness was an objection, I could take up my abode with them. Anything so that I would give him Marian, and give him her soon." I did not waste any time in affecting to consider the matter, but, pledging him first to secrecy, I told him our history, what was our rightful name, and my reasons for not bearing it. If I had had any doubt before, I knew by his behaviour when I had finished my story that he was a good fellow. He held out his hand and grasped mine, with the tears standing in his eyes. "Mr. Devereux," he said, emphatically, "I don't know how to express my sympathy for you. I heard of this sad affair when I was a very little boy, and I have heard my father say many a time that he would never believe Herbert Devereux to be a coward. I hope to God that you will succeed in your quest." "I hope so," I echoed, fervently. "Marian knows nothing of this, Mr. Holdern." "Nor need she ever," he answered. "I think you have been quite right to keep it from her! There would have been no object gained in her knowing, and women do not understand these things like men." "Do you know anything of Rupert Devereux?" I asked. He shook his head. "Very little. I have seen him once--a tall, dark man, handsome, but very unlike the Devereuxs. I have heard him spoken of as a Sybarite and a pleasure-seeker. He is seldom in England, I believe." A Sybarite! A pleasure-seeker! I thought of him wandering at will through the countries of the world, steeping his senses in every luxury that money could buy, and living at ease and in comfort, and I thought of my father, also a wanderer on the face of the earth, seeking neither comfort nor pleasure nor ease, at war with the world and with himself, with no joy in the present or hope for the future, seeking only for a chance to throw his life away in the miserable quarrels of any pettifogging country who would accept his sword! Mr. Holdern watched me in silence while I walked up and down the room for a few minutes almost beside myself with compressed passion. Then he walked up to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Devereux," he said, earnestly, "I can understand your feeling like this, but you must try and keep it under control, or I'm afraid there will be trouble soon." "What do you mean?" I asked, turning round and facing him. He hesitated, and then answered slowly--