Clem's words, "As honorable men no other course is open to us," rang in Edward's ears long after he was left alone. Had he not always prided himself on being an honorable man, one whose simple word had been as binding on him as if it had been safe-guarded by all sorts of legal pains and penalties, till the terrible complication which originated with his father's death had first planted his feet on that slippery path which tends downward, ever downward, by such fatally easy gradations, from which it is nigh impossible to retrace one's steps? Was it too late for him to retrace his steps? He decided that it was not. A helping hand--nay, two helping hands, those of John Brancker and his brother--had been stretched out to him in a way the least expected, and he had but to grasp them to be dragged back out of the quicksands in which he had been floundering of late, and set again on the firm ground where that fatal October night had found him. How deeply thankful he should be to find himself there again, no one but himself could more than faintly imagine. In the course of next day he wrote and dispatched the following brief note to his brother: "Dear Clem, "It shall be as you wish. "Yours, "E. H." CHAPTER XXIX. MIXED THREADS. Although Edward Hazeldine had made up his mind to refund the twelve thousand pounds, it was impossible for him to do so at once. The amount had been invested by him in his mother's name in a certain undertaking of which Lord Elstree was one of the managing directors, subject, however, to six months' notice of withdrawal. Consequently, even if he were to give notice immediately, half a year must elapse before he should be in a position to carry out the plan as agreed upon with his brother. One specially awkward feature of the affair was that he was utterly at a loss what excuse to allege to Lord Elstree for the withdrawal of the money, which his Lordship would doubtless look upon as a somewhat extraordinary proceeding. It seemed to him that, in any case, he would be under the necessity of telling a lie in the matter, which was a thing he hated doing; but, even so, the lie must be a feasible one, and, for the life of him, he could not think of one that would "hold water." He smiled bitterly to himself to think that matters had come to such a pass with him that he should have to keep on puzzling his brain for hours over the invention of a plausible falsehood. Had anyone told him six months before that such would be the case, he would unhesitatingly have denounced the assertion in much stronger language than he ordinarily made use of. As it fell out, however, he was saved from a hateful necessity by no less a person than Lord Elstree himself. At their next interview, which befell a few days later, his Lordship said: