“I dare not; I seemed to be impelled by an infatuation that overcame me completely. I went and hired a modest lodging for her out at Pimlico, not far from where the Dibbles lived; and that evening at six I went again, told her what I had done, and implored her to come with me. She was paler and weaker than when I saw her the evening previously, and wandered a little in her talk. I told her she should not want--she should be kindly treated--and talked of happiness in a distant land. I hardly know what I said. She came with me, and she has never rallied since; she is very ill, and somehow I do not think she will live, and I love her so much, that if she should die, I think it would drive me mad.” And then the young fellow threw his arms upon the table, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed like a child. “Poor fellow!” said the barrister, “poor fellow!” “Now, call me a fool, or what you like,” said Paul, in broken accents. “This is my trouble, and this my reason for going to town by the next train. I came with you to tell you my story; it has been breaking my heart, and I know you are my best friend.” “Yes, yes,” said the barrister, taking Paul’s hand; “we are nearer and dearer friends than ever now, heaven help us! I will tell you of _my_ trouble some day, Paul. But about this poor woman: has she had medical advice?” “She has,” said Paul, “and every attention.” “Ha! that’s well. I think it is time we returned to town, then,” said the barrister. “Come, cheer up, Lieutenant; cheer up, man!” “I feel better now,” said Paul, taking up his sash, and slinging his sword round his waist. “A nice fellow to be a soldier, I am!” he went on, as he wiped his face with his handkerchief. “You are a good fellow,” said the barrister; “unfortunate, but a good fellow. What a blessing it is we know each other! I thank that rascal Gibbs that he put a certain young fellow to much trouble years ago. I might never have known you but for that. It was necessary we should know each other: the hand of Fate is in this business.” It was late when the two friends reached London. They drove from the station to Pimlico, and halted at a house in a quiet bye-street. They both entered, and dismissed the cab. Mrs. Dibble let them in, and Mr. Williamson recognised her with pleasure. “You did not tell me she was with Mrs. Dibble,” said the barrister. “Did I not?” said Paul, hardly heeding the question. “How is she to-night?” said Paul. “Better--a little better,” said Mrs. Dibble. “She hath athked for you twenty timeth.” “I will not keep you five minutes,” said Paul, as he ascended the stairs on tip-toe.