“She asked me to come in,” said Paul, still pacing the room. “We talked again of anything and everything but the business upon which I was supposed to have called. I could see that she was troubled about something--how I had courage enough to press her upon the subject I don’t know, but I did, and she began to cry.” “Curse their tears!” said the barrister, between his teeth, as he removed his legs from the vacant chair, and, planting them firmly on the floor, gazed steadfastly at Paul. “I took her hand; I don’t know what I said, but I think it was that I loved her, and begged to know how I could be of service to her. She looked up at me--with such despair that I could almost have cried myself--and begged me not to talk of love; she was married!” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Williamson. The remark was wrung from him, not so much by Paul’s story as by a touch of memory. “I knew she was--I felt almost from the first that she was married; it seemed as if some devil whispered it in my ear to mock me; but it only made me love her ten times more.” “Unhappy boy!” said the barrister, quite sadly--“unhappy boy!” “Her husband treated her cruelly, she said; he was a swindler, a thief, everything that was bad, and he had married her merely that she might assist him in his conspiracies. She would rather die than continue such a life, and I could not help but feel that the love she had inspired in me was returned; she seemed almost delirious for a time, asked me not to leave her, and clasped her hand to her head. At this the office-boy came in, and taking some water from a jug, said, ‘Put that on the top of her head,’ I obeyed him mechanically, and then the girl was herself again. ‘Peter,’ she said to the boy, ‘you will not mention what has occurred to Mr. Crawley.’ ‘Of course I shan’t,’ said the boy, and then she begged me to go. I made her promise to let me help her in some way, and she cautioned me not to have anything to do with her husband. She said I might call the next night at six. I kissed her and left the house, not knowing where I was or what I was doing.” “By Jove,” said Mr. Williamson, “it is an exciting story, and you tell it well, Paul; but I fear it is a sad affair: you are getting into troubled waters. Rest awhile, light another cigar, let us have some more sherry, and then you can go on; I think I know the end of it--poor fellow!” The barrister put his hand quite affectionately on the Lieutenant’s shoulder, and then rang the bell, saying all the time, “Poor fellow!--poor fellow!” CHAPTER XVII. CONTINUES THE LIEUTENANT’S ADVENTURE. They lighted fresh cigars as the sun went down in the West, and Arundel Williamson felt the spirit of old days come over him. A sad train of thoughts and memories had been awakened in the barrister’s mind; and he placed his chair near his young friend, and bade him continue his story.