It was easier said than done. When every farthing had been scraped together, we were thirteen pounds short on the three bills. We held a long council of war, discussing the possibilities of surreptitious pledging--the unspeakable Jones, playing his blindfold game, had reduced us to pawn--but even these were impracticable. "Confound you!" cried Merton Towers. "Why didn't you think of the bill before?" As if I had not better things to think of! The horror of facing Jones in the morning drove us to the most desperate devices; but none seemed workable. "There's only one way left of getting the coin, Teddy," said the Infant at last. "What's that?" I cried eagerly. "Ask the heiress." It was an ambiguous phrase, but in whatever sense he meant it, it was a cruel and unmanly thrust; in my indignation I saw light. "What fools we have been!" I shouted. "It's as easy as A B C. I'm not in an office like you, bound to be back to the day--I stay on over to-morrow, and you send me on the money from town." "Where are we to get it from?" growled Towers. "Anywhere! anybody!" I cried excitedly; "I'll write to Robins at once for it." "Why not wire?" said the Infant. "I don't see the necessity for wasting sixpence," I said; "we must be economical. Besides, Jones would read the wire." CHAPTER IV. THE WINNING MOVE. Time slipped on; but I could not tear myself away from this enchanted hotel. The departure of my friends allowed me to be nearly all day with Ethelberta. I had drowned reason and conscience: day followed day in a golden languor and the longer I stopped, the harder it was to go. At last Robins's telegrams became too imperative to be disregarded, and even my second supply of money would not suffice for another day. The bitter experience of parting had to be faced again; the miserable evening, when I had first called her Ethelberta, had to be repeated. We spoke little at dinner; afterwards, as I had not my friends to go to this time, we left Mrs. Windpeg sitting over her dessert, and paced up and down in the little cultivated enclosure which separated the hotel from the parade. It was a balmy evening; the moon was up, silvering the greenery, stretching a rippling band across the sea, and touching Ethelberta's face to a more marvellous fairness. The air was heavy with perfume; everything combined to soften my mood. Tears came into my eyes as I thought that this was the very last respite. Those tears seemed to purge my vision: I saw the beauty of truth and sincerity, and felt that I could not go away without telling her who I really was; then, in future years, whatever she thought of me, I, at least, could think of her sacredly, with no cloud of falseness between me and her. "Ethelberta!" I said, in low trembling tones. "Lord Everett!" she murmured responsively. "I have a confession to make." She flushed and lowered her eyes.