“I hope so; but he is a very suspicious man.” “I will post it when I go out.” Then after a long silence: “Do you know what time it is? It must be getting late.” “It must be getting on for nine.” “Then I must say good-bye; but I forgot, I want to ask you--you must be hard up, and want some money--do you? If you do, I assure you I shall be only too glad.” “Well, I am rather hard up, for you know that this illness has prevented my doing anything; and I am afraid I have lost my place at the 'Tivoli.'” “What do you intend to do?” “I should like to go back to London. I shall see him there, and if the letter makes it right we may be married. I will write to you.” “You will?--Do. Here is five pounds. I have no more about me, but if anything should occur, you know where to write to.” “You are very good; I don't deserve it. I don't know why you take so much trouble about me. If he doesn't marry me I'll try to get another place; I shall go back to the firm.” “When do you intend to leave?” “As soon as I am well enough, in a day or two; but you will not come here again.” “I had thought that I might.” “I know; but if he were to hear that you had been here, it would be worse than ever. You don't mind, do you? You aren't angry, are you?” “No; good-bye, Lizzie. Write to me when you are married.” Frank walked into the street. There was neither rage nor will in him. He was a sorrowing creature in a bitter world. The sea was cruelly blue in the coming night; the sky was also blue, only deeper, a red streak like a red bar of iron stretched across the embaying land, relieving into picturesque detail the outlines of coast-towns and villages. His eyes rested on and drew grief from this dim distance so illusive; and for jarring contrast, the pier hung with gaudy and gross decoration in the blue night, and a brass band replied to the waves.