When he found that the roll of manuscript which he had thrust between the bars of the grate remained as he had left it, only slightly charred at the end which had been the nearer to the hot, though not burning, coals, all thoughts of guile--all his prospects of shrewdness were cast aside. He unfolded the pages and read the verses once more. After all, he had no right to burn them. He felt that they were no longer his property. They either belonged to the world of literature or to Mary Horneck, as--as what? As a token of affection which he bore her? But he had promised Johnson to root out of his heart whatever might remain of that which he had admitted to be foolishness. Alas! alas! He sat up for hours in his cold rooms thinking, hoping, dreaming his old dream that a day was coming when he might without reproach put those verses into the girl's hand--when, learning the truth, she would understand. And that time did come. In the morning he found himself ready to face the question of how to get possession of the letters. No man of his imagination could give his attention to such a matter without having suggested to him many schemes for the attainment of his object. But in the end he was painfully aware that he had contrived nothing that did not involve the risk of a criminal prosecution against himself, and, as a consequence, the discovery of all that Mary Horneck was anxious to hide. It was not until the afternoon that he came to the conclusion that it would be unwise for him to trust to his own resources in this particular affair. After all, he was but a man; it required the craft of a woman to defeat the wiles of such a demon as he had to deal with. That he knew to be a wise conclusion to come to. But where was the woman to whom he could go for help? He wanted to find a woman who was accustomed to the wiles of the devil, and he believed that he should have considerable difficulty in finding her. He was, of course, wrong. He had not been considering this aspect of the question for long before he thought of Mrs. Abington, and in a moment he knew that he had found a woman who could help him if she had a mind to do so. Her acquaintance with wiles he knew to be large and varied, and he liked her. He liked her so well that he felt sure she would help him--if he made it worth her while; and he thought he saw his way to make it worth her while. He was so convinced he was on the way to success that he became impatient at the reflection that he could not possibly see Mrs. Abington until the evening. But while he was in this state his servant announced a visitor--one with whom he was not familiar, but who gave his name as Colonel Gwyn.