He who does another person an injury never forgives him for what he has endured. He alike hates and fears him; and in this spirit did Berkeley fear and hate the poor girl whom he had wronged. Such was the plain, unvarnished story of Agnes Auriol, which she related in the intervals that were unbroken by a hard, consumptive, and undoubtedly, "churchyard cough." "I have but one wish now," she added, as she lay back exhausted; "and that I cannot gratify." "Is it so difficult to achieve?" I asked, in a low voice. "There are insuperable difficulties." "And this desire?" "Is to leave this place for ever," she said, almost in a whisper, while the hot tears ran unheeded down her pale cheeks; "and—and——" "Go where?" "To look on poor papa’s grave, and on dear mamma’s, and then die." "No, no, do not speak in this hopeless manner," I urged, feeling that I, a young officer of cavalry, was a very unfitting comforter or adviser at such a time; and I rose to retire, for the evening was now far advanced. "This craving is so strong in the poor lamb’s heart, sir, that she will be a dyin’ as sure as we look on her, unless it be gratified, and athout a angel comes from heaven; I don’t know how it is to be done," said Mrs. Goldsworthy, weeping noisily, like all people of her class, as she ushered me to the door, and to my horse, which was pawing the ground impatiently, with the dew on his coat and saddle. "Take her there without loss of time, my good friend," said I. "She divided her last crown with a poor fisherman yesterday, to get some comforts for his sick wife." "Good heavens! Is she then without means?" "Quite, sir; and if Mr. Berkeley——" I struck my spurred heels into the gravel at the sound of his name, and exclaimed—— "Poor girl, I shall give her the means." "You, sir?" "Yes." "Oh, sir—sir—but she’ll never take it from you," said Mrs. Goldsworthy, sobbing into her apron with great vociferation. "She must; and let her remember me in her prayers when I am far away. At eight to-morrow evening I shall be here again for the last time, my worthy friend, and will supply her with what she requires." Before the nurse could reply I was in my saddle, and had closed the iron gate; but just as I rode off, I nearly trod down a man who was muffled in a poncho cloak, and who leant against the gate pillar—whether listening or asleep, I knew not; yet, had I looked more closely, I might have detected the moustached face of my quondam friend, Mr. De Warr Berkeley. For this loiterer, or eavesdropper, proved in the sequel to be no other than he. To outflank me, and to place himself, his fortune (and his debts), at the complete disposal of Lady Louisa Loftus, was now the plan—the game—of my friendly brother officer; and with what success we shall see ere long.