“Did I? Well, it's too late to talk any more. Goodnight. I suppose you're not coming in?” She left him in a cruel dispersal of hope. He avoided, and then he tenderly solicited a regret that he had not thrown her into the lock. To end on that hour by the sea would have been better than the trivial and wretched conclusion of a broken promise, and everything, even murder, were better than that a brute should have her woman's innocence to sully and destroy. His love of the woman disappeared in his desire to save, the idea which she represented at that moment; and lost in sentiment he stood watching the white sickle of the moon over against the dim village. The leaves of some pollarded willows whitened when the breeze shot them up to the light, and a moment after became quite distinct in the glare and the steam of an approaching engine. He might go and tell Willy all about it; he would ask him to interfere-could he catch that train? If he ran for it, yes. He ran full tilt across the green under the archway up the high stone steps. He just did it. It was the last train; he would sleep in Brighton. His plan, so far as he had a definite plan, was to ask Willy to come with him and tell “that brute” that his visits to the Manor House must end, and request him to pay his sister no further attentions. His other plans were--Willy must speak to Maggie and tell her all he knew of the man; Willy must speak to his father; Mr. Brookes must not be kept in ignorance. But of course the right thing to do would be for Willy and him to call at the brute's hotel, tell him what they thought, and give him a licking. The train jogged on, and Frank made plan after plan. It was now past eleven, and he would not be at East Street before twelve o'clock. As he hurried along the streets he doubted more than ever how Willy would receive him. He might just as well have waited till morning. However, it was too late now to think of going back, there was no train, and he rapped at first timidly and then noisily at the shop door. He had to wait some time, and then he heard a voice asking from the top windows who was there. “'Tis I, Frank; awfully sorry, but must see you--particular business.” There was no answer; he heard the voice grumbling, and more than ever doubtful of the cordiality of his reception, he listened. The door opened. “Who is it?” he said. “'Tis I, Cissy; but I'm in my nightdress.” “I won't look at you, Cissy, if that's what you mean. But won't yougive me a kiss?” “Stoop down, then.” “I am sorry for waking you up, Cissy.” “Never mind, I'd get up at any hour to see you.” “There, run upstairs, and take care you don't catch cold, or I shall never hear the end of it.” “Father is in bed with mother. He says you are to go up, for if he were to get out of bed it might give him cold. You know his room?” “Yes, here it is, now run along.” “Come in.”