He sunk his face lower and lower in her bosom, and kissed her arm and her shoulder and any part of her that came within his reach. ‘Don’t leave me, don’t leave me,’ he murmured, ‘my only hope is in you.’ ‘But, Henry,’ said Hannah, thinking this a favourable opportunity for remonstrance, ‘are you not taking too much morphia, or brandy, or something, for your health? You must be careful, or you will circumvent the object you have in view.’ ‘I must take it, Hannah! _I must!_ I have such dreadful dreams without it. I cannot sleep, or think, or act. It is my salvation. You mustn’t take it from me.’ ‘No! no! I had no thought of that, and if you suffer from neuralgia, I do not see how you could go through your daily work without some sort of remedy. Only morphia is dangerous if taken in too large quantities, and you mustn’t cloud your active brain, or where will the business be?’ ‘How I _hate_ the business,’ he said. ‘Hannah, we have more than enough for our need. Couldn’t we go away together somewhere; all together, and let me begin a new life? Out in Australia, or New Zealand, in a purer air, you would trust me with the children, wouldn’t you? I will be so good, darling, if you would. I will try so hard not to bring any further disgrace upon their name, or yours. But _here_ life is killing me. It is so full of bitter memories--bitter associations. Sometimes I feel as if I could cry on these stones of Hampstead to cover me; I feel so desperate. But in a newer air and amidst new scenes, perhaps--if you will let me have the children--I may--forget.’ The tears were running fast down Hannah’s cheeks by this time. The man she held in her arms was no longer the one she had feared and shrunk from, and almost loathed in her contempt, for months past, but the lover of her girlhood--the husband of her youth--the father of her children--and her heart went out with a mighty compassion towards him, notwithstanding his weakness and his sin. ‘Would you come with me?’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Would you try to forget everything, but that once we loved each other very dearly?’ ‘Yes! yes! I would,’ she answered, as she kissed his forehead. ‘You are right, Harry. We ought to have thought of it before. We will leave this country together; it is too full of hateful memories for both of us, and see if it will please God to prosper us in another land. How soon can we start, dear? How soon can we be ready? The sooner the better.’ ‘It cannot be done in a moment,’ replied Hindes. ‘A business like mine requires time to wind up. But I will put it in hand as soon as possible. Yet on what plea?’ ‘Your health, Henry. I am sure it is bad enough for anything. Mr Moreton said yesterday that you looked as if you were in a decline. Heaps of people have commented on your looks before me. I am sure they would accept your state of health as a plea for anything.’ ‘But Arthur--Arthur is coming home,’ said Hindes, with the old look of fear.