“Now, Mark,” said Talbot, when they had gained their room, “now let us set ourselves to think over what is to be done, and not waste a thought on what is bygone. At seven, to-morrow, I am to meet Travers; before nine I must be on the way to France, that is if he do not issue a leaden 'ne exeat' against me. I shall certainly fire at him--your pretty cousin will never forgive me for it, that I know well”--here he stole a side look at Mark, across whose features a flash of passion was thrown--“still, I am sorry this should have occurred, because I had many things to settle here; among others, some which more nearly concerned yourself.” “Me! concerned me,” said Mark, in surprise. “Yes; I am deeper in your secrets than you are aware of--deeper than you are yourself, perhaps. What would you say, Mark, if I could insure you the possession of your property and estate, as it was left to you by your grandfather, without debt or incumbrance of any kind, free from mortgage?” “Free from Hemsworth,” cried Mark, passionately. “Even so--I was just coming to that.”; “I know not what I should say, Talbot, but I know what I should do--throw every farthing of it into the scale where I have thrown life and hope--the cause of my country.” Talbot shook his head, doubtfully, for a second or two, then said: “It is not money is wanting to the enterprise, it is rather what no money can buy--the reckless courage of men willing to devote themselves to a cause which they must never hope to live to see successful, but whose graves must be the ramparts over which others will achieve liberty. No, my hopes for you point otherwise. I wish to see you as the head and representative of an ancient name and house, with the influence property and position would confer, taking your place in the movement, not as a soldier of fortune, but as a man of rank and weight.” Talbot paused for a moment to enjoy, as it were, the delight this brilliant picture of coming greatness produced upon the youth, and then went on, “such a place I can offer you, Mark.” “How, and on what terms?” cried Mark, bursting with impatience. “I make no conditions--I am your friend, and ask nothing but your friendship--a lucky chance has given me the opportunity to serve you--all I bargain for is, that you do not inquire further how that chance arose.” Mark stood in mute amazement, while Talbot, unlocking his writing desk, drew forth a dark leather pocket-book, tied with a string, and laid it leisurely on the table before him. “There is a condition I will bargain for, Mark,” said Talbot, after a pause--“although I'm sure it is a weakness, I scarcely ever thought to feel. We shall soon be separated, who knows when we shall meet again, if ever. Now, if men should speak of me in terms unworthy of one who has been your friend, laying to my charge acts of dishonour----” “Who will dare to do so before me?” said Mark, indignantly.