“I have been a student in the reading-room at intervals, for years past,” he said. “Let me assist you, and I shall have something to do in my holiday time.” He was so anxious to be of use that he interrupted her before she could thank him. “Let us take alternate years,” he suggested. “Did you not tell me you were searching the newspapers published in eighteen hundred and seventy-six?” “Yes.” “Very well. I will take the next year. You will take the year after. And so on.” “You are very kind,” she answered--“but I should like to propose an improvement on your plan.” “What improvement?” he asked, rather sharply. “If you will leave the five years, from ‘seventy-six to ‘eighty-one, entirely to me,” she resumed, “and take the next five years, reckoning _backward_ from ‘seventy-six, you will help me to better purpose. Sir Jervis expects me to look for reports of Central American Explorations, through the newspapers of the last forty years; and I have taken the liberty of limiting the heavy task imposed on me. When I report my progress to my employer, I should like to say that I have got through ten years of the examination, instead of five. Do you see any objection to the arrangement I propose?” He proved to be obstinate--incomprehensibly obstinate. “Let us try my plan to begin with,” he insisted. “While you are looking through ‘seventy-six, let me be at work on ‘seventy-seven. If you still prefer your own arrangement, after that, I will follow your suggestion with pleasure. Is it agreed?” Her acute perception--enlightened by his tone as wall as by his words--detected something under the surface already. “It isn’t agreed until I understand you a little better,” she quietly replied. “I fancy you have some object of your own in view.” She spoke with her usual directness of look and manner. He was evidently disconcerted. “What makes you think so?” he asked. “My own experience of myself makes me think so,” she answered. “If _I_ had some object to gain, I should persist in carrying it out--like you.” “Does that mean, Miss Emily, that you refuse to give way?” “No, Mr. Morris. I have made myself disagreeable, but I know when to stop. I trust you--and submit.” If he had been less deeply interested in the accomplishment of his merciful design, he might have viewed Emily’s sudden submission with some distrust. As it was, his eagerness to prevent her from discovering the narrative of the murder hurried him into an act of indiscretion. He made an excuse to leave her immediately, in the fear that she might change her mind. “I have inexcusably prolonged my visit,” he said. “If I presume on your kindness in this way, how can I hope that you will receive me again? We meet to-morrow in the reading-room.” He hastened away, as if he was afraid to let her say a word in reply. Emily reflected.