“I did not beg you to walk on here with me to-night in order to answer your questions,” Mr. Croft interrupted; “my object was merely to put one or two of my own. To my first, your face has already replied. I see you know nothing of your cousin’s whereabouts. If you should do so, will you at all events let me know that you have heard from or seen her, and that she is well?” “No,” Alick Dudley replied, “I will not.” “That settles my second question,” observed Mr. Croft. “Now, the last point on which I desire information is this: does Mrs. Dudley know we have met before, and where?” “She knows I have seen you,” was the answer; “but I have not told her when, or where, or what I suspect.” “That is to say, Mrs. Dudley does not in any way connect me with your cousin’s disappearance?” Mr. Croft remarked inquiringly; and when Alick answered in the affirmative, he proceeded: “Will you still respect my secret, so far as you know it?” “I shall make no promise,” Alick answered. “At least, will you let me tell my story for myself?” “There is nothing to prevent your doing that,” the other replied, “any more than there is to prevent my telling mine.” “You are sternly uncompromising,” said Mr. Croft. “I should be sorry to compromise with a seducer and a villain,” was the reply. “You are talking at random, boy, on a matter concerning which you know literally nothing,” the person so politely addressed observed, sadly. “Had I spoken to an older man, as I have spoken to you to-night, I should not have been so repulsed.” “Possibly not by an older man like yourself,” retorted Alick, with a sneer. “Good-night,” said Mr. Croft, “we will not spoil our naturally sweet tempers by further argument. Here comes Ned. Shall we shake hands over it? No; good-bye then, and pleasant thoughts as you travel to town. Some day you will think you have not been all in the right in your judgment of me; but I do not quarrel with you for that judgment. It is human to err, and your humanity has erred, perhaps, on the safest side. On a safer side than mine, certainly,” he muttered, as Alick, jumping up beside Ned, took the reins, and, with a cold farewell to Mr. Croft, drove off at a rattling trot along Berrie Down Lane, and thence through Fifield to Palinsbridge. As they passed Fifield church, the moonlight fell clear and cold on the mound of freshly-turned mould, which was heaped over the spot where Heather’s darling lay all alone, and the tears came welling up into Alick’s eyes when he thought of the dead child. Any one might have imagined that such tears must soften the heart, and render it for the time, at least, pitiful and tender even to a sinner; but no such change was wrought on Alick Dudley’s mood. All the way up to town, sitting in a corner of the compartment, he pondered over his interview with Mr. Croft—pondered and wondered; but it never once occurred to him that perhaps he had judged the man harshly, that he had repulsed his semi-confidence very rudely.