"Then understand this, sir. I have had a hard fight, and I have come through the temptation, I hope, like a man. I now resign everything to Mr Humphrey Trevor here. I ask his pardon for usurping his rights, and I beg his forbearance towards my poor father and mother. I will not make this cruel injury to him worse by any opposition." Humphrey shuffled in his seat, and tried to speak, but he only wiped his damp face, and looked helplessly at the man he was bound to oust. "You see, Mr Mervyn," continued Richard, "Mr Trevor's will be a peculiar position." "Yes," said Mervyn; "but had you not better get some legal advice?" "What for?" said Richard. "Can anything be plainer? As I said, Mr Trevor's will be a peculiar position. He will be the mark of the designing, and he will need a staunch friend at his side. Will you be that friend?" "I will," said Mervyn, wringing his hand. "Yours too, my dear fellow, if you'll let me. But," he added, in a whisper, "Miss Rea?" A spasm of pain shot across Richard's face, and he was about to speak when Humphrey turned to him. "Master Richard," he said, in a husky voice, "we was boys together, and played together almost like brothers. This here comes to me stunning, like. You say it's mine. Well, it aint my fault. I don't want it. Keep it all, if you like; if not, let's share and share alike." The last words fell on empty air, for Richard had waved his hand to both, and hurried out of the room. That evening, with beating heart, he walked towards Tolcarne gates. He had been busy amongst his papers, tearing up and making ready for that which he had to do on the morrow; and now, more agitated than he would own, he sought the lane where so many happy hours had been spent to see if Tiny Rea would grant him the interview he had written to ask for, that he might say good-bye. It was a soft, balmy night, and the stars seemed to look sadly down through the trees as he leaned against a mass of lichen-covered granite, pink here and there with the pretty stonecrop of the place, waiting, for she was behind time. "Will she come," he said, "now that I am a beggar without a shilling, save that which I could earn? Oh, shame! shame! shame! How could I doubt her?" No, he would not doubt her; she could not have cared about his money. She was too sweet and loving and gentle. And what should he say--wait? No, he dared not. He could only--only--leave her free, that she might-- "Oh, my darling!" he groaned; and he laid his broad forehead upon the hard, rugged stone, weeping now like a child.