"Poor lad!" sighed Mr. Cass, as he finished the letter. "It is bitter for him that he should have to suffer for the sins of his parents. But I wonder why he has stopped short in his endeavour to prove Mrs. Jenner's innocence? What can she have said to him? I have a good mind to see him--or her," he added as an after-thought; then changed his mind. "No, it would only revive sad memories. The matter is settled by this letter, and it is best to let sleeping dogs lie. I will think no more of it." So he said, but so he did not do. His conscience frequently took pleasure in reminding him of the whole story, and despite all his philosophical resolves to "let sleeping dogs lie," he knew very well that he ought to rouse them. But this he could not bring himself to do. Too much was at stake, and a bolder man than Mr. Cass would have shrank from the consequences. In this frame of mind he did his best to argue that he was right, and--he failed in the attempt. Meanwhile Geoffrey was in town. He had learnt from Ruth that Neil occupied rooms in the Waverley Hotel in Cherry-square, a quiet, unpretentious establishment. Three times Heron called at the hotel, only to be told that Mr. Webster was out of town. The fourth time he was more lucky and found the young man at home. Neil Webster looked extremely ill; dark circles under his eyes told of sleepless nights, and his restless movements hinted at a nervous system which had gone to pieces. Moreover, his lips were dry, his eyes feverishly bright. The room was luxuriously furnished. The prevailing colour was a dark red, and on the walls were hung portraits of his favourite composers. Curiously enough, the furniture was upholstered in a soft shade of grey, the effect of which in the warm-tinted room was, to say the least, of it, somewhat odd. A revolving bookcase, filled with books--mostly of poems--stood near a Louis Quinze escritoire; but the glory of the room was a magnificent grand piano standing alone at one end of the apartment. "I suppose you are surprised to see me, Webster?" said the young squire abruptly. "Well, I must admit that I am. We could hardly be called the best of friends at any time, I think." "Still, we have not been enemies, Webster. Because two men may happen to be rivals they need not have a bad opinion of each other." "You are very good," Neil said, faintly. "Don't be sarcastic; there is no need, I assure you." The remark made Webster laugh. "Why do you laugh?" asked the other, sharply. "I was wondering whether I could make a friend of you, and the thought of our relative positions with Miss Cass made me scout the possibility. We can never be friends." "Why not? I like you very well. I don't see why you should be so bitter to me." "I am not bitter. In fact, you would be my friend, I think, if it were not for Miss Cass." "I am ready to be your friend in any case," said Heron, quickly. "And don't think me a mean brute to hate a man because he is more lucky than I."