had gone to see her and sat with her, and never lost sight of her until the poor woman died. What changes since then! Bee had gone, and his mother was a pauper fugitive. His stately keen-minded mother a penniless fugitive! Intolerable! There must be some mistake. Fancy for a moment his proud high-spirited mother being obliged to stoop and accept help! Fancy such a thing, she who had always had a full larder and purse at the service of royal generosity! The mere idea was preposterous on the face of it. And yet there were the figures of Evans. His mother prostrate at the feet of a stranger, thanking him for food! "Oh, God, who is our master, and who is the master of our joys and our woes, afflict me with what Thou wilt, but take away that vision! Take away that vision from before my eyes! Give me all other pains but that sight, the result of my misdoings." He had risen, and was praying with all the might of his soul, his face and hands thrown up, and the tones of terrible beseeching in his voice. Suddenly he sank to his knees and drew his arms swiftly and strongly across his eyes; swaying his body to and fro, he moaned out in piteous entreaty: "Oh, God of mercy, show mercy to me, and turn away from me my mother's eyes!" There was a knock at the door. He staggered feebly to his feet, and took a few hasty inspirations before asking: "Who's there?" "I, sir." "What do you want?" "The mail is going out, sir." "Well?" "Have you any letters to go?" "No, Doughty." "But there's the Castle bag, sir. I want the letters out of that." "True; thank you for reminding me of them." He opened the door. "Here is the key." He handed it through the door, adding: "I am most particularly engaged. Let no one come to me." He retired from the door feebly. He went back to the fire and sat down. In half an hour he rang his bell. The porter entered. "Are the letters posted?" "Yes, sir." "All gone?" "Yes, sir." "That will do." To himself he thought with his hand on his brow: "I forgot something about the Castle letters. I forget still what it was. I should have--I remember now. Well, it does not make much difference." CHAPTER VII. LOSING. For a few days after the meeting between Grey and his mother at the Castle he did not go to the Island. Something repelled him. The thought of the Castle made him chill and uncomfortable now. He had never gone so far as to try and persuade himself he was in love with Maud. He never pretended to himself he felt more than a mild interest in her. The nature of the circumstances surrounding him and impelling him towards Maud had almost wholly obliterated the personality of the girl. She was a minus quantity in the equation of his life. Could he bring her over to the other side, the minus would become a plus, and he should be saved. He was too much impressed with the necessity of winning her to regard her personality with much interest.