Without it he would still have been an adventurer—he dared not have offered Ruth his hand. It was this vilely won wealth which he believed would give him all the happiness he was ever to know in the future; it was this which was to enable him to break with all his old associates and live cleanly; it was this which was to be the foundation of a genuine business career in which he might win wealth and honour legitimately; and yet he never parted with Ruth after one of those frequent interviews without wishing he had gone penniless to the grave rather than have launched out into such a crime with her image in his heart, and her sweet self the beacon that shone at the end of the long dark path and lured him on. It seemed a treachery to her now to have linked her with such villany. The transition state of Mr. Edward Marston’s conscience was a condition of things which would form a splendid study for the moralist and the philosopher. The novelist must not pause by the way to dilate upon it, tempting though the opportunity may be. He has already left the Adrians and their visitors much longer than courtesy and the rules of fiction allow. Marston and Egerton left together. The conversation had been confined to platitudes. Mr. Adrian was ill at ease, for he feared danger from the Marston quarter now more than ever. When he did bring his eyes from Patagonia to things nearer home, they generally saw pretty clearly. Mrs. Adrian was so rude to Marston that Ruth was really distressed. The good lady begged that he would not kick the chair legs, as they had just been repolished; she requested him kindly to move his chair a little way from the wall, as it was nibbing the paper; and when he drew up to the table at last, in a tone of icy politeness she called his attention to the fact that he was drumming with his fingers on the said piece of furniture, a practice which, in her delicate state of health, always gave her the headache. Marston laughed good-humouredly, but the laugh was forced. Gurth was ill at ease, for he saw that a storm was brewing, and when Marston rose to leave he went with him. He knew that, sooner or later, he and Marston would have to have a few words, and he felt that it might as well be now. He was hardly prepared, however, for the coolness which his rival displayed. ‘Which way are you going, Gurth?’ said Marston, as they closed the Adrians’ gate. ‘Home,’ answered Gurth. ‘Come with me and have a cigar.’ ‘That’s just what will suit me best. I want to talk with you about one or two things.’ The two men exchanged very few words on their way to Gurth’s house. Both were busy with their thoughts. Both were bracing themselves up for the conflict to come. As they passed through one of the main thoroughfares the afternoon papers were being sold, and there was a crowd round the placards. Gurth went up and peered over to read the contents bill that was exciting so much attention. ‘What is it?’ asked Marston. ‘A murder or a robbery?’