"Come with me, Pierce," he said, in hurried nervous accents--"I have news for you--such news as you cannot guess or imagine. Put away all those drawings and come inside the hotel--to my room--" "What? In this guise?" and Armitage shook his head--"My dear fellow, your enthusiasm is running away with you! Besides--there is some one else to consider--" "Some one else? Whom do you mean?" demanded Blythe with visible impatience. Armitage hesitated. "Your wife," he said, at last. Blythe looked him steadily in the eyes. "My wife is dead." "Dead!" Armitage loosened his arm from the other's hold, and stood inert as though he had received a numbing blow. "Dead! When did she die?" In a few words Blythe told him. Armitage heard in silence. Mechanically he began to collect his drawings and put them in a portfolio. His face was pale under its sun-browned tint,--his expression almost tragic. Lord Blythe watched him for a moment, moved by strong heart-beats of affection and compassion. "Pierce," he then said, in a low tone--"I know everything!" Armitage turned on him sharply. "You--you know?--What?--How?--" "She--Maude--told me all," said Blythe, gently--"And I think--your wrong to her--was not so blameworthy as her wrong to you! But I have something to tell you of one whose wrong is greater than hers or yours--one who is Innocent!" He emphasised the name, and Armitage started as though struck with a whip. "Innocent!" he muttered--"The child--yes!--but I couldn't make enough to send money for it after a while--I paid as long as I could--" He trembled,--his fine eyes had a strained look of anguish in them. "Not dead too?" he said--"Surely not--the people at the farm had a good name--they would not be cruel to a child--" Blythe gripped him by the arm. "Come," he said--"We cannot talk here--there are too many people about--I must have you to myself. Never mind your appearance--many an R. A. cuts a worse figure than you do for the sake of 'pose'! You are entirely picturesque"--and he relieved his pent-up feelings by a laugh--"And there's nothing strange in your coming to my room to see the particular view I want from my windows." Thus persuaded, Armitage gathered his drawings and painting materials together, and followed his friend, who quickly led the way into the Hotel. The gorgeously liveried hall-porter nodded familiarly to the artist, whom he had seen for several seasons selling his work on the landing, and made a good-natured comment on his "luck" in having secured the patronage of a rich English "Milor," but otherwise little notice was taken of the incongruous couple as they passed up the stairs to "Milor's" private rooms on the first floor, where, as soon as they entered, Blythe shut and locked the door. "Now, Pierce, I have you!" he said, affectionately taking him by the shoulders and pushing him towards a chair. "Why, in heaven's name, did you never let me know you were alive? Everyone thought you were dead years and years ago!"