This was Apollyon's hour of triumph. Robert went out and paid Helen's bills on that very night. But the burden that he had taken up was far heavier than that which he had thrown off. It was on a Monday morning that he had received Ridley's money; and the succeeding days dragged on as if each day were weighted with iron fetters, till Saturday came. Robert wrote to his master daily, entering into all the details of business as minutely as usual. Then on the Sunday morning--that last Sunday that he ever spent with Helen--he went upstairs after breakfast, and laid down upon his bed. The sense of sin and shame was upon him; he would not mock God by going to church and looking like a respectable man. His wife did not know what ailed him. He had told her that the debts were paid--that was all. Monday came again, the anniversary of his sin. And there, on the office-desk, lay a letter addressed to himself in his master's handwriting. It had been written on Saturday, and was dated from Dublin. "I find I am at liberty to come home at once," Mr. Elton wrote. "I have found a friend here who will look after the property for me. Strangely enough, I ran against Frank Ridley yesterday, and could scarcely believe my own eyes. He had come to Dublin in quest of an old sweetheart. He told me that he had called at the office, and had paid his old debt. He showed me your receipt when I looked incredulous. I am rather surprised that you did not mention this in your letters." Robert Clarris put on his hat and coat and went quietly into the outer office. "Blake," he said, calling the eldest of the under clerks, "I am not well, and must go home at once. I leave the keys in your charge, for I know you may be trusted." Blake--an honest fellow--looked into Clarris's face, and saw that he spoke the truth. Then followed the last miserable interview with Helen, and the hurried preparations for flight. His wife entreated that she might go away to her old home, under her uncle's roof. She had brought him nothing but trouble, she owned piteously; and he would get on better without her. Alas, poor Helen! a sorry helpmeet she had been to the man who had loved her! These two had not asked the Lord to their marriage-feast, and had never drunk of the wine of His love. And so they parted, never to meet again till they should meet at the marriage supper of the Lamb. In Melbourne there was one Ralph Channell, who had been the friend of Robert's father, and the miserable man found him out. He told Mr. Channell his whole story. Nothing was concealed. The sin, in all its hideousness, was exposed to Ralph Channell's sight. And yet he took the sinner to his heart.