"A friend," he answered, "someone who may be inclined to do something for me,--not for myself," he added hastily,--"that, of course, is ridiculous--but it is of you I am thinking, of you after I am gone." "I shall be all right, Basil," she said. "We have several hundred pounds left, you know." "It is not enough," he answered firmly. "Winifred, will you go on an errand for me?" "Where to?" she asked, with a sudden sinking of her heart. "To a man whose address I will give you,--a rich man, a great man. I think that he will be willing to do something for us. His name is Stirling Deane. I will write his address down for you." "Mr. Deane!" she repeated. "I have been before to see him, Basil. I went before your reprieve came." "Of course," he said. "I had forgotten. Well, I want you to go up to him now. I want to see him, but I do not want to go to his offices. Where do you live, Winifred?" "It is an apartment house for women only," she answered. "I cannot take you there." "Then we must go to a hotel," he said. "It seems a mockery to buy clothes, but there are one or two things I must have. To-morrow we will go somewhere south." She glanced at the clock. "I will see whether I can get away now," she said. She disappeared, and came out again in a few minutes with her hat on. "Come," she said. He led her to the cab outside. "We will drive to a hotel," he said. "When we have taken some rooms, you shall go and see Mr. Deane. I think that he will come to me if you will tell him that I am free, that I have only three weeks to live, and that I should like to see him." "Very well," she answered. They stepped into the cab. "Tell him to drive to one of the large hotels," Rowan said,--"any except the Universal." She shuddered as she gave the order. She, too, had her memories of the Universal, of which he knew nothing. Slowly they made their way westwards. The girl held his hand in hers. "It is good to see you again, Basil," she said. "It is good to be here again," he answered, "to be out in the world, even though it be to die. I suppose the authorities have really been kind to me. It is as much as anyone could expect. And yet, Winifred, I should like you to remember this always. The quarrel between Sinclair and myself was of his seeking--not mine. The blow of which he died was struck purely in self-defence. I could box and he couldn't, or he would have half killed me that night." "I know," she answered breathlessly. "Don't talk of it." He went on, as though not hearing her. "He came at me with both hands clenched, and I hit him under the chin. I had to, or he would have killed me if he could. He was a strong man, and he had been drinking until he was half mad. It was not my fault, Winifred." "Oh, I know that!" she said. "Try and forget it now. It was a wicked, wicked accident."