"Enough. What prompts me to this midnight deed, 'twere bootless now to ask, and idle to reveal. Therefore to my tale. You are in love with Aurora--with Miss Tinsel?" "By what right----" "Spare your reproaches. I am in love with her too!" "You?" "Is that so strange? Long ere you crossed our path I knew and loved her. But this is neither here nor there." "I should think not." "Professionally," continued the "Demon," with great dignity, "she is, of course, my inferior. Socially--well, you know, I think the damning family secret----" "Whatever that may be, it is no sin of hers. I think you may wisely leave it a secret--so far, that is, as to omit crying it on the housetops." "Save to yourself and Miss De Montague, no hint of the tragedy has passed my lips. But to the business between us----" "My good sir," said Harding, with irritation, "I know of none, so far. If you have anything to say to me, I'll listen. If not, I'll pass on." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the "Demon" with bitter mockery. "I come to serve ye, and ye would spurn me from yer path! Poor, poor humanity! Why, why should I laugh when I should rather weep?" "I don't know, I'm sure," answered Harding simply, "and I don't want to be uncivil. But it certainly isn't asking too much to want to know what you mean." "No," responded the "Demon," with melodious sadness--"not too much. Though every word be torture, yet I will e'en go through the ordeal. Sir, what I have to say--and it cuts me to the heart to say it--is that this lady--this young girl--this Aurora Tinsel--is worthy of neither of us." "What!" "She is unworthy--lost--and capable of the worst deception!" "That's false!" "How, sir?" "That's false. And you or any one else who says it is a liar!" The "Demon" drew suddenly back, clapped his hand to an imaginary sword hung at his left side--and then thought better of it. "Pshaw!" he exclaimed lightly, but keeping at a wary distance from Harding's reach. "Why should I yield to rage? My prowess is well known--and, after all, this worthy gentleman speaks in ignorance. Sir," he added, changing his tone with elaborate and chivalrous grace, "I speak of what I know, and speak only with the best of motives. But it is due to you that I offer to make good my words. I can absolutely prove that what I have said is true." "Prove it, how?" "By enabling you to witness for yourself that which justifies what I say." "And you can do this?" "Almost to a certainty, and probably this very night." Harding hesitated. To take the course proposed seemed like doubt, and doubt was unworthy. To refuse to take that course might subject Jane to calumny, which he might on the other hand nip in the bud. Presently he spoke: "What do you propose?" "That you go with me at once, and judge for yourself. We may fail tonight, but if so, our success to-morrow will be all but certainty."