The thought came upon him when he was half-way down the street on his way to his love. Who in all the world could have sent him ten thousand pounds? Few people are able to bestow such a present, still fewer have the least inclination to do so. The wonder in Gervase’s mind was but momentary. It was answered as by a flash of lightning, by an instinctive unquestioning certainty of reply. And suddenly, instead of walking on as he had been doing, his rapid steps grew slow, his countenance flushed with sudden enlightenment, and then grew pale. “My father!”--he almost stopped short altogether, almost turned back. Who but his father could send him such a present? Who but he had interest enough in Gervase to come to his aid anonymously, silently? “My father:” he repeated it to himself. The first time it had been the cry of a sudden discovery, full of pleasure, an impulse too quick for thought. But the second had a tone in it of despair. A discovery of another kind came with the second thought. Nothing kept back! that had been his father’s glory and distinction. Was it thus for ever proved to be untrue? He went into Madeline’s presence with almost reluctant steps, his joy over. He did not perceive what eyes less preoccupied must have done, that she was full of expectation, waiting for him with a visible anxiety and suspense, eager to hear something. He never even remarked this curious expectation in her, he was altogether absorbed in his own sensations. “What is it, Gervase?” she said, her breath coming quick, two spots of red upon her cheeks; but why she should show any excitement he did not even ask himself. “The most extraordinary thing has happened,” he said. “What has happened? I saw at once in your face there was something. What is it? your father----” “I suppose it must be my father,” he said, with a heavy long breath. “Madeline, ten thousand pounds--the very sum your father said--has been paid into the bank for me. I was wild with delight for a moment.” “Ten thousand pounds, Gervase! Then you are freed!--it is not a question any longer between me and the life you hate. Thank heaven, you are free!” “Yes,” he said, “I am free. I am no longer called upon to make any sacrifice--if I can make up my mind to accept.” “To accept--Gervase!” “Madeline,” said the young man, “nothing is so simple as it appears. There’s complications in everything. At first, I confess, I was overjoyed. It is miserable of me to grudge any sacrifice for you. You are worth far more than the giving up of my wretched instincts. Still, dear, I was glad, I must say. But then comes the thought--So far as I can see, this could come only from my father.” “Well, Gervase?”