"It's a bargain," he whispered. "You won't disappoint me?" "Haven't I given you my word? What more do you want?" She held out her hand and he pressed it between both his, his eyes fixed earnestly on her face. "I don't like leaving you," he pleaded. "You're pale. Your hand's cold. You look as if you might faint again. Please ..." "No--no--no," exclaimed Lavinia vehemently. "We must part here. Good-night." Vane was loth to let her hand go but she snatched it away and ran off, turning her head and throwing him a smile over her shoulder--a picture of natural grace and charming womanly wile and tenderness which dwelt in his memory for many a long day. Vane stood watching the fleeting figure until it vanished in the obscurity of Ludgate Hill and then with a deep sigh turned towards Cheapside. "That settles it. I won't write a line for that rascal Curll. I've promised my divinity and by God, I'll keep my promise." But the next instant came the dismal reflection that apart from Curll he hadn't the slightest notion where his next shilling was to come from. "Tush! I won't think of the dolefuls," he muttered. "'Tis an insult to the loveliest--the kindest--the warmest hearted--the ..." He suddenly ceased his panegyric and wheeled round swiftly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Absorbed though he had been in his thoughts of Lavinia, in some sub-conscious way the sound of footsteps behind him keeping pace with his own reached his ear. It was no unusual thing for foot passengers to be set upon and Vane was on the alert. His suspicions were confirmed by the sight of a man cloaked and with his slouch hat pulled over his forehead gliding into a narrow passage leading into Paternoster Row. "Just as well, my friend, you've taken to your heels. I've nothing to lose and you'd have nothing to gain, save may be a sword thrust." Congratulating himself on his escape from what might have been an ugly encounter, Vane plodded back to Grub Street. He lingered in front of a Cripples' Gate tavern where he knew he should find some of his friends, but he thought of Lavinia's words and he resisted temptation. That night he did that which with him was a rarity--he went to bed sober. He had forgotten the cloaked man whom he had taken for an ordinary footpad. The fellow must have altered his mind if his intention was to follow Vane. No sooner was the latter past the passage than he darted back into St. Paul's Churchyard and hastened westward. He overtook Lavinia just as she was turning into the Old Bailey and cautiously followed her. CHAPTER XVI "THEY'RE TO MEET AT ROSAMOND'S POND"