Beaufort, whom the latter part of the conversation had comforted far less than the former, hesitated, and turned the door-handle three or four times; but, glancing towards his brother-in-law, he saw in that cold face so little sympathy in the struggle between interest and conscience, that he judged it best to withdraw at once. As soon as he was gone, Lilburne summoned his valet, who had lived with him many years, and who was his confidant in all the adventurous gallantries with which he still enlivened the autumn of his life. “Dykeman,” said he, “you have let out that lady?” “Yes, my lord.” “I am not at home if she calls again. She is stupid; she cannot get the girl to come to her again. I shall trust you with an adventure, Dykeman--an adventure that will remind you of our young days, man. This charming creature--I tell you she is irresistible--her very oddities bewitch me. You must--well, you look uneasy. What would you say?” “My lord, I have found out more about her--and--and----” “Well, well.” The valet drew near and whispered something in his master’s ear. “They are idiots who say it, then,” answered Lilburne. “And,” faltered the man, with the shame of humanity on his face, “she is not worthy your lordship’s notice--a poor--” “Yes, I know she is poor; and, for that reason, there can be no difficulty, if the thing is properly managed. You never, perhaps, heard of a certain Philip, king of Macedon; but I will tell you what he once said, as well as I can remember it: ‘Lead an ass with a pannier of gold; send the ass through the gates of a city, and all the sentinels will run away.’ Poor!--where there is love, there is charity also, Dykeman. Besides--” Here Lilburne’s countenance assumed a sudden aspect of dark and angry passion,--he broke off abruptly, rose, and paced the room, muttering to himself. Suddenly he stopped, and put his hand to his hip, as an expression of pain again altered the character of his face. “The limb pains me still! Dykeman--I was scarce twenty-one--when I became a cripple for life.” He paused, drew a long breath, smiled, rubbed his hands gently, and added: “Never fear--you shall be the ass; and thus Philip of Macedon begins to fill the pannier.” And he tossed his purse into the hands of the valet, whose face seemed to lose its anxious embarrassment at the touch of the gold. Lilburne glanced at him with a quiet sneer: “Go!--I will give you my orders when I undress.” “Yes!” he repeated to himself, “the limb pains me still. But he died!--shot as a man would shoot a jay or a polecat! “I have the newspaper still in that drawer. He died an outcast--a felon--a murderer! And I blasted his name--and I seduced his mistress--and I--am John Lord Lilburne!”