“Bah!—a mere girlish whim—a boy-and-girl affair, that should have been forgotten and done with in the days of pinafores. Besides, Dandy Chater is”—he hesitated, and seemed for a moment uncertain what to say; turned the sentence swiftly, and asked instead, with his keen eyes raised to her face—“By the way—where is this wonderful lover of yours?” There was a pause for a moment, while the listener almost held his breath, and while Ogledon never took his eyes from her face. Then she went a little nearer to him, and held her head more proudly still. “In a prison—there to await his trial on a fearful charge—of which I believe him innocent. But, though he appeared twice as black as men paint him, and as you, his evil spirit, have tried to make him, I would hold to him to the last; would cry, before you and all others—‘I love him—I love him—I love him!’ Now, what think you your pleading will do for you?” The man had turned, and walked a step or two away; his hand had gone up nervously to his lips. “What does it mean?” Philip heard him mutter. “They all say it—even she says it. Go where I will, this Thing follows me—this name is dinned into my ears.” He turned swiftly towards her. “Why do you lie to me?” he cried harshly; “why do you repeat what every one else repeats? Do you think to frighten me away by such——” He stopped confusedly, and laughed. “There—I don’t know what I am saying; I—I lose myself sometimes. I—I’m not well; I’ll come—some other time—to see you.” Without another word he turned quickly and hurried out of the garden leaving the girl standing alone in the moonlight. Philip waited until he heard the gate click, and the footsteps of the man dying away in the distance; then he came out of his hiding-place, and spoke her name in a whisper. She turned about swiftly, and would have cried out, but that he caught her in his arms, and laid a hand lightly on her lips. “Hush, dearest,” he whispered—“I have escaped from prison, to come to you; just to look into your dear eyes—to touch your lips—to know that all is well with you, and that you are not changed towards me. Don’t speak for a moment; there is much that I must say to you. There is small chance of my final escape; I must I fear inevitably be caught, and taken back again to stand my trial.” “But you are innocent, Dandy dear,” she whispered, hurriedly; “and you can prove your innocence.” “As God above is my witness, I am absolutely innocent,” he replied. “But I cannot—I dare not prove it; some day you will understand the reason. If I was never firm upon this matter before, I am firm from to-night. But, if it should go hard with me, and there should be no way of escape, I want you to promise one thing.” “Anything—everything,” she whispered, earnestly.