'I only meant to advise you for your good,' he said awkwardly, and then he went over to the door and said good-night; but when he reached the door, and he had the handle in his hand, he paused irresolutely, and looked across the room at the man with the scar in his throat leaning back in the chair. The scar was dreadfully visible in that light. It seemed to have a charm for Gwatkin. He couldn't keep his eyes off it. 'What's up?' said Edgell, seeing that he paused by the door. Eric came back to the table where Edgell was seated, and laid his hand on his shoulder, a friendly, unmistakable grip. 'Dear old man,' he said in a broken voice, and the other could see that his foolish weak lips were quivering, 'you won't mind my speaking my mind to you; you will forgive what I say?' 'Fire away!' said Edgell; but he didn't look at Gwatkin, he looked at the opposite wall. 'Before you go any farther--before you ask Lucy Rae to marry you--pause and consider----' 'I've already considered,' Edgell interrupted impatiently, and with his face still averted. 'You have not considered everything. You have thought only of yourself. You have not thought of her.' 'I have thought of her!' 'No, no; you have not thought of her in the way I mean. Bear with me, dear fellow. God knows I am saying this for your sake and hers. You have not thought of her as orphaned and friendless, having no one but you in the world, being bound up in you, having all her happiness dependent upon you. A little, tender, delicate creature, with no spirit of her own, who would suffer, and break her heart, and never complain----' 'What would she have to complain of?' Edgell interrupted savagely. 'God only knows!' 'You--you think I shall go over the old thing again--that----' 'Hush! For heaven's sake don't let us even suppose it! You haven't got to consider yourself in this matter, you have to consider her. Do you think it fair to ask her--to--to--forgive me, dear fellow--to ask her to risk it?' Wyatt Edgell bowed his head. 'You have no faith in me,' he said moodily, with his head upon his breast and his brows knitted. 'I have every faith in you, dear fellow; but I want you to think of her. It is the chivalrous thing to do. Forgive me for saying it. Unless you felt that you could make her happier than any other man in the world--and--and ensure her happiness, you have no right to ask her to marry you!' Eric Gwatkin was quite astonished at his own temerity--astonished and frightened. He was a weak, nervous, emotional fellow; he couldn't trust himself to say another word. His voice broke, and his eyes were clouded, and he was afraid he had said too much, and with a grip of Edgell's great muscular shoulder he went away and left him sitting in his chair, with his head on his breast, and that ugly scar gleaming like the dark blade of a knife across his white throat. END OF VOL. I. BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. NEW LIBRARY NOVELS.