"Do I ever tell Mr. Laurence? It is late in the day to ask such a question as that.

"So it is. You're not half a bad fellow, old boy, and have got me out of no end of scrapes. Get me out of this and I'll never forget it--that I swear. One of these days you shall have your reward in hard cash--that I promise you."

"When you marry Miss Holmes? It's a bargain, Mr. Laurence--I'll try and earn my reward. What is it you want me to do?"

"I'm going to New York to-morrow," Thorndyke says, hurriedly. "I must invent some excuse for the governor, and what I say you are to swear to.

And when peace is proclaimed you must come back and tell _her_. I can't do it myself--by George, I can't."

"Is that all?" asked Mr. Liston.

"You'll look after her--poor little soul! and, if she wishes it, take her to her friends. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry--for her sake and for my own. But it's rather late for all that. Liston, is Richard Gilbert in town?"

"He is in town. He has been to see your uncle. He has been speaking of this girl. My word Mr. Laurence, you'll have to do some hard swearing to prove an _alibi_ this time."

"Curse the luck! Tell me what Darcy said to you Liston, word for word."

"Mr. Darcy, said this: 'Liston, go and find young Thorndyke (he never calls you young Thorndyke except when he's very far gone in anger, indeed), and fetch him to me. And hark'ee, fellow! no lying from you or him. If what I hear of him be true, I'll never look upon his false, cowardly face again, living or dead.' He was in one of his white rages, when the less said the better. That was a week ago, I had known all about you for two weeks before. I bowed, kept my own counsel, and--here I am."

"You're a trump, Liston! And he gave you this letter?"

"He gave me that letter. You'll find it considerably shorter than sweet.

The other came from Miss Holmes, a few days ago--he sent that too."

"She doesn't know--"

"Not likely. She will though, if the old man finds out, and then you're cake's dough with a vengeance. How do you suppose the little one (she's very pretty, Mr. Laurence--you always had good taste), how do you suppose she will take it?"

Mr. Thorndyke's reply was a groan.

"For Heaven's sake don't ask me, Liston! It's a horrible business. I must have been mad."

"Of course--madly in love."

"Nothing of the sort--not in love at all. It was pure spite--I give you my word--not a spark of real love in the matter, except what was on her side. Gilbert was going to marry her, you know."

"I know."

"And I hate him as I hate the----"

"Prince of evil! I know _that_, too."

"You know everything that's my opinion. What a detective was lost in you, old boy. Perhaps you know why I hate him?"

"He has blocked one or two little games of yours. And he 'peached' in that affair of Lucy West."

"Liston! what an infernal scoundrel you must think me! When you recall Lucy West, I wonder you don't hate me tenfold more than I hate Gilbert."

"I do think you an infernal scoundrel," replies Mr. Liston, coolly. "As for hating--well I'm one of the forgiving sort, you know. Besides, there's nothing made by turning informer, and there is something to be made, you say, by keeping mum. Now suppose you go back to the house, and her, she's pining for you, no doubt, and tell her you're off to-morrow.

I'll call for you with a light wagon about noon. Until then good-day to you."

Thorndyke seized his hand and shook it.

"I don't know how to thank you, Liston! You're the prince of good fellows. And I haven't deserved it--I know that."

He strode away. If he could only have seen the look "the prince of good fellows" cast after him!

"'You don't know how to thank me,'" he thought, with sneering scorn.

"You fool! You blind, conceited, besotted fool! 'When I recall Lucy West you wonder I don't hate you!' Was there ever a time, my perfumed coxcomb, when I did not hate you? And you'll reward me, will you? Yes, I swear you shall, but not in that way. Poor little girl! how young she is, how pretty, and how innocent. She has had her fool's paradise for three weeks--it ends to-day."

CHAPTER XI.

GONE.

Laurence Thorndyke strode rapidly back over the sands to where Norine stood. She had not gone into the house, she was leaning against a green mound, her hands hanging listlessly before her, the white, startled change on her face still. Laurence was going away--in an aimless sort of manner she kept repeating these words over and over, Laurence was going away!

"I've made a devil of a mess of it," thought Mr. Thorndyke, gnawing his mustache with gloomy ferocity. "What an unmitigated ass I have been in this business! Liston's right--a mock marriage is no joke. I can make my escape from her now, but the truth's got to be told, and that soon. And what is to hinder her taking her revenge and blowing me sky-high, as I deserve? One whisper of this affair, and Darcy disinherits me, Helen jilts me, and then--good Heaven above! what a fool I have been."

Yes, Mr. Thorndyke had been a fool, and was repenting in sackcloth and ashes. To gratify a passing fancy for a pretty face may be a very pleasing thing--to take revenge upon a man who has interfered with one's little plans, may also be a pleasing thing, but to cut off one's own nose to spite one's own face, is something one is apt to regret afterwards. It was Mr. Thorndyke's case. He had taken Richard Gilbert's bride from him at the very altar, as one may say, and he had gloated over his vengeance, but what was to hinder Norine Bourdon from rising, strong in her wrongs and betrayal, and ruining him for life? She was the gentlest, the most yielding of human beings now, and she loved him; but is it not those whom we have once loved best, we learn afterwards to hate most bitterly? He had cruelly, shamefully wronged and deceived her--what right had he to look for mercy in return? As he had sown, so must he reap.

She scarcely turned at his approach. How pale she was, and the large dark eyes she lifted were full of a child's startled terror.

"Norine," he abruptly began, "there is no help for it--I must go to New York to-morrow."

Her lips trembled a little.

"To-morrow," she repeated, under her breath---"so soon!"

"Rather short notice, I admit, but then you see it--it isn't for a lifetime. All husbands and wives part once in a while and survive it.

Come, Norine," with irritated impatience, "don't wear that woe-begone face! I'm not to blame, I can't help it. You don't suppose I want to leave you. But here's Liston--my uncle's man. You heard him yourself.

You saw the letter commanding my return."

"The letter," she repeated, looking at him; "there were two!"

"Ah--yes--two, so there were. But the other was merely a note from a friend. I leave at noon to-morrow, so see that my valise is packed, and everything all right, that's a good child. And do try to get rid of that white, reproachful face, unless you want it to haunt me like the face of a ghost."

He spoke with irritated petulance--at war with her, with himself, and his smouldering ill-temper breaking forth. It was the first time he had ever spoken sharply to her. A faint flush rose to her cheeks. She clasped both hands around his arm and looked up in his moody, discontented face with piteous imploring eyes.

"Don't be vexed, Laurence; I don't mean to reproach you, indeed, and I know you cannot help it. Only, dear, I love you so much, and--and it is our first parting, and I have been so happy here--so happy here--"

For a minute her voice broke, and she laid her face against his shoulder.

Mr. Thorndyke smothered a suppressed groan.

"O Jupiter! here it is! Tears, and scenes and hysterics. I knew how it would be, they all will do it, every chance. Norine!"--aloud and still impatient--"for pity's sake, don't cry--it's something I can't stand.