"Sir," Everope answered, while his fingers twitched convulsively, "I do not take such accommodation from strangers." "We need not be strangers," said Sinson. "And if you are so delicate, you can give me your note of hand. I assure you I do not want the trifle." Everope looked about the room. "By the way," continued the tempter, "there's a fellow in the Temple called Morton. Pupil of a Mr. Travers. Know him?" "I may have seen him at Travers's," the spendthrift answered, sullenly. "I wish you could find out who he is," Sinson said, "and what he's doing. I have a sort of interest in him." Everope only continued searching about the apartment. "Was it paper you were looking for?" Sinson asked, and tore a leaf from his pocket-book. I O U wrote Everope. It requires no parchment and blood now-a-days to sign a compact with the fiend. "Good-night, Everope," said Michael, folding the note in his book. "Recollect what I said about Morton." The spendthrift closed his door, and returned to the table, and sat down and played mechanically with the golden counters. Embarrassed as he had often been, he had not yet learnt the ways and means of raising money, and this was his initiation. Miserable man! Better for him had it been to submit to any usury than, with his weak temper, to become the debtor of Michael Sinson. His vacillation was remarkably shown the following day. He rose at a late hour, nervous and feverish, strangely troubled with an idea that he had sold himself to be the instrument of some villany. He knew nothing of the man who had furnished him with money. He could not even tell where to find him. What were his designs with regard to Morton? The little Everope had seen of the young student had won his respect. Ought he not to tell him what had occurred? If he knew where to find this Sinson, he would return the money. It was dusk of the evening. He remembered that Morton would be keeping Hilary Term. He did not belong to the Temple, but he lived there. He went down into the cloisters and paced to and fro, waiting till hall should be over. At length Randolph came out alone, and Everope joined him abruptly. "Morton," the spendthrift asked, in a low, husky voice, "were you ever in want?" The owner of Trevethlan Castle was amazed and affronted, but he said nothing. Since the visit to the opera, every hour made him more impatient of his disguise.