“Reason or no reason spells nothing but our ruin,” he answered dejectedly. “His resolution is set, and it must give us away. I understand its purpose well enough; he thinks our marrying will put that--that other finally out of court.” “But what other?” she said. “In heaven’s name, what other?” He laughed, even more hollowly than she had. “God knows!” he said. “The devil has hoist us with our own petard.” She passed her hand across her eyes in great grief and misery. “Well,” she said, with a quivering sigh, “we can’t complain; and I don’t. It is not often a woman is given such an education for the natural evil in her. I think it teaches me to welcome the punishment I have striven so hard to avoid. I shall be clean at last in my shame. Let me be the one to confess it to him, that I may drink the cup to its dregs. My suffering after all is worse than yours.” “Is it? Why?” “Cannot you guess? Because I have learned to love him, Herbert, with all my heart and soul, and because I must kill before his eyes the thing he has honoured.” “Kill! you don’t mean--” “O, don’t look so scared! That would be a hateful, a selfish return for all his gentleness and nobility--to curse my love with a heritage of undeserved remorse. But I must kill his trust for ever--O, my dear, I must, I must!” In sudden uncontrollable anguish she threw herself into her chair, and flinging her arms over the desk, buried her face in them. In the meantime Gilead, returning to his chambers, set himself to concoct an epistle, at once guarded and alluring, to the obese one. It was a delicate task, and one or two trials were needed before he could satisfy himself as to the suitable form. This, finally, was the answer he despatched:-- “Mr George Barnwell” (the name occurred to him somehow, without suggesting any associations) “presents his compliments to Mr Winsom Wyllie, and, having noticed that gentleman’s advertisement in the _Daily Post_, begs to offer himself as a candidate for the post in question. Mr G. B. thinks that he may lay claim to the qualifications desired. He has been well educated; he has seen something of life; he has learnt from his Montaigne that Silence and Modesty are qualities very serviceable in conversation. Finally, he may boast, he believes, of being capable of his hands, and he is quite willing to refer the question of the honorarium to the test of his capacities.” He gave his address poste-restante at the nearest office, and settled down to await in some trepidation, the possible reply.