"Kitty, you see, don't you?" says he again. "I've nobody to go to except you. It's just a few pounds I want, just to tide me over this pinch. Only a loan, not a gift. I'll repay it faithfully. I declare I will." "But—" I said. "No, you haven't the money, of course," said he. "But I've been thinking, there's something else you have, which wouldn't be missed for a few days—something one might raise a few pounds on, only for the moment, you know. It seems such a shame to think of such a thing, and if I wasn't in desperation what to do I would not! Still, if you didn't mind—if it were possible, just to save me from ruin and disgrace, and poor Mary from a broken heart, not to say another illness—yet I'm sure I don't know how to ask it of you. I really don't." I was so bewildered, I stood and looked, wondering whatever he could mean. "Don't you understand yet?" said he, his face falling. "No," I said. "Something that I have!" "Your watch!" says he, half in a whisper. "My watch!" I said; and what he meant began to dawn on me. It made me feel queer, I can tall you. "If you could, just for a few days or so," said he, and he spoke pleading-like. "Is that so very much to do for a friend, Kitty? It's only the loan I ask. You see, I could raise a few pounds on that watch, for the moment, just to tide me through; and then in a few days or so I would buy it back all right from the—the jeweller—and get it back to you. There'll be money coming in soon, one way and another, only I can't wait for that. If I haven't a few pounds now, either to-night or to-morrow morning, I don't know whatever I'm to do. I can't stand telling Mary, and that's flat. If I can't get the money, I can't go home, and then you'll never see nor hear of me again, Kitty!" I felt a cold chill all through me at the thought. "Oh, don't say that, please don't!" I begged. "It sounds too dreadful. I do wish you hadn't used up the money." "Why, Kitty, as if I hadn't the right!" says he, quite short. But had he the right? For strictly the money was not his. If he knew himself to have the right, and to be doing right, why should he mind speaking out to Mary? I tried not to see this, for I didn't want to blame him. "I would lend you the watch for a few days," I said; "only I don't know what father and mother would say." "They mustn't know, of course," said he. "You've promised not to tell, not to let slip a word." "Yes," I said. That promise was lying heavy on my conscience. "But if they asked me to fetch the watch and to show it to anybody?" "Oh, they won't. I dare say it doesn't happen once in six weeks." "I don't think it's so seldom as once in six weeks, and it might be any day," I said. "But you don't wear it commonly?" "No," I said. "Oh, well, it'll all come right," says he. "They won't speak of it, or if they do, you must just put them off somehow. You can say you can't find it, and that'll be true enough. Only mind you don't let out where it is."