Some words of delight struggled to her lips, but died in their utterance. Antony Cowlrick placed his hand on her mouth so that they should not be spoken aloud--directing his eyes at the same time towards the spot occupied by our Reporter. The woman pressed her hand upon the man's hand, still at her lips, and kissed it passionately. Then she and Antony Cowlrick conversed hurriedly. Evidently questions were being asked and answered--questions upon which much depended. The last question asked by Antony Cowlrick was answered by the woman with a sad shake of her head. He held her fingers in his hand, and seemed to look at them inquiringly. Did he expect to find rings there which he could convert into money? Her fingers were bare of ornament. He looked at her ears, then at the bosom of her dress. She possessed neither ear-rings nor brooch. Under such circumstances as these, speech was not needed for the understanding of what was passing between the haggard, unshaven, poverty-stricken man and the equally poor and beautiful woman. Antony Cowlrick did not hesitate long. A dozen strides brought him to our Reporter. "I have found a friend," he said. "So I perceive," replied our Reporter. "You offered awhile ago to lend me a sovereign. I refused to accept it. Will you lend it me now?" Our Reporter gave it to him instantly, without a word. The swift graciousness of the response appeared to touch Antony Cowlrick, and an expression of gratitude dwelt on his features. "I thank you. My gratitude will remain ever as a debt. I appreciate your delicacy in not intruding upon my interview with my friend." "She is not a new friend," observed our Reporter. "No, indeed," was the reply. "It seems to me that she might have appeared at the police-court to give evidence in your favour." "Supposing she could say anything _in_ my favour." "It is evident that she would say nothing to harm you. Her joy at meeting you was too palpable." "You have a trick of keen observation. Perhaps she did not know of my awkward position." "How could she help knowing it when your name has been so prominent in the papers for weeks?" "My name? Ah, I forgot. But I cannot offer you a satisfactory explanation. More than ever now will unnecessary and immediate publicity be likely to injure me. You will keep your promise--for three days you will not write about me?" "I will keep my promise. At the end of three days I shall simply publish what has passed between ourselves and Mr. Goldberry." "It seems to me to be singularly devoid of interest." "You are mistaken. Newspaper readers peruse such details as these with eagerness. You must not forget that you are in some way, near or remote, connected with an atrocious crime." "You foil me at every point. Good-day." "Good-day!" exclaimed our Reporter. "Shall I not see you again?" "You will, if you play the spy upon me." "I shall not do that. But you promised to afford me an opportunity of becoming better acquainted with you."