"They are a sharp couple--father and daughter--they----" "Oh! don't speak ill of them, Maurice; you do not know them, and cannot estimate them at their just worth." "I might endure the daughter, for hers is a pleasant sharpness that one doesn't object to; but, oh! that dreadful vigorous little parson, or whatever he is." "Good night," said Sidney, meaningly. "One moment--I'm off in a minute now, Sid. There's one thing I did wish just to allude to--nothing about money, mind," he added hastily, noticing Sidney's heightened colour and proud face, and remembering Mattie's previous caution. "What is it?" asked Sidney. "I did wish to say how sorry I was to hear of the calamity, that had befallen you--that the bad news, which was told me to-day for the first time, has shocked me very much. But you'll not believe me--you still think I'm hard, cruel, and indifferent." "No, I don't think that. But I don't care to dwell upon a painful topic." "And about advice--what medical advice have you had, may I ask?" "Not any." "No advice!--why not?" "I was told long ago that when blindness seized me, it would be irretrievable. I was warned of its approach by an eminent man, who was not likely to make a mistake." "We are all liable to mistakes in life," said Maurice, "and it might happen----" "Pray dismiss the subject, Maurice." "I met with a foreign oculist in Paris--he was an Italian, I think--who----" "Good night--good night," said Sidney, hastily; "when a man has been trying hard to teach himself resignation, it is not fair to disturb him with ideas like these." "Your pardon, Sid--I am going at once. Good night." "Good night." Sidney did not extend his hand again, and Maurice made no attempt to part in a more friendly manner than they had met; profuse civilities could do no good, and though Maurice had gained his cousin's forgiveness, he had not roused his respect, or won upon his sympathy. He passed into the shop, and took up his hat that he had left there on the counter. Mr. Gray looked at him, as at a fine subject which adverse fate was to snatch away from his experiments. "You are going, young man?" "Yes, sir--I hope I have not put you or your daughter to any inconvenience." "No, sir," was his reply, beginning to turn up the collar of his coat above his ears, "no inconvenience. You are a stranger to this neighbourhood, and I'll just see you in the straight way, if you'll allow me." "Oh! dear no, thank you," said the alarmed Maurice; "I'm well up in the way now--I could not think of taking you away from home at this time of night--thank you, thank you!" He seized his hat, dashed at the lock, wrenched open the door, and flew for his life down the dark streets--no matter whither, or how far out of his route, so that he escaped Mr. Gray's companionship. Half an hour afterwards, he was at New Cross railway station--the scene of his old duplicity--arranging for a telegraphic message to a Dr. Bario, resident in Paris. CHAPTER III.