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"If you knew there'd be a fuss, and people anxious about you? Would you?" He yawned. "No-I'll be my own master, but I like to do things quietly."

"I don't care so much about that," said Lydia, whose feelings were less delicate. To struggle openly for an avowed object seemed to her the most natural thing in the world, and she would have preferred her independence to be conspicuous. She did not understand that with men of Bertie's stamp it is not the latch-key itself, but the unsuspected latchkey, which confers the liberty they love.

"Well?" said he. "Am I to stay here all night?"

"That's just what you'd better do. You won't get any good out of that lot, and so I tell you. You'll lose your money, and get into nasty, drinking ways-don't you go there any more!"

"Upon my word, Lydia, you preach as well as old Clifton does." "And do you just as much good, I daresay."

"Just as much. You've hit it exactly."

You aren't the sort to take any heed. One may

"I thought so. preach and preach"

"How well you understand me! No, as you say, I'm not the sort to get any good from preaching. You are quite right, Lydia, my character requires kindness, sympathy, and a latch-key-especially requires a latch-key."

"Especially requires a fiddlestick," said Lydia, and, disregarding his smiling "Not at all," she went on in an injured tone, "There's Ma worrying over accounts, and likely to worry for the next hour. How am I to get a key from under her very nose?"

Lisle seemed to reflect. "Old Fordham doesn't have one, I suppose?" "Gracious, no-not he! If you gave him one, he'd drop it as if it was red-hot. He thinks they're wicked."

There was a pause, but, after a few moments, there stole through the silence a sweetly insinuating voice, "Then, Lydia—”

Lydia half turned away,

66

and put up her left shoulder.

'Then, Lydia, I suppose you wouldn't——"
"You'd better keep on supposing I wouldn't."

"Can't suppose such cruelty for more than a moment. Can't really. No, listen to me "—this with a change of voice-" I must go out this evening, upon my soul it's important. I'm in a fix, Lydia. I've not breathed a word to any one else, and wouldn't for worlds, but you'll not let it out, I know. If I'm lucky enough to get out of the scrape to-night, I'll never get into it again, I can tell you."

"You will," said Lydia.

"I swear I won't. And if not--"

"Well-if not?"

"Why I must try another plan to get free. I shan't like it, but I must. But there'll be a row, and I shall have to go away. I'd a good deal rather not."

"What sort of plan?" she asked curiously.

"Desperate!" he answered, and shook his head.

"What is it?" Her eyes were widely opened in excitement and alarm. "You ain't going to be driven to forge something, like people in novels? Or-or-it isn't a big robbery, is it? Oh you wouldn't!"

The face opposite looked so smiling, and candid, and innocent, that it made the words she had hazarded an obvious absurdity, even to herself, as soon as she had uttered them.

"Why not a murder?" said Lisle. "I think it shall be a murder. Upon my word, you're complimentary! No, no, I don't mean to try my hand at any of them." She smiled, relieved. "But I must go out tonight. Lydia, will you let me in once more?" You won't ask again?"

"Once more?
"Never again."

There was a pause.

"Didn't you say that last time?"

"Lydia, you are the unkindest girl!"

"Well then, I will."

"No, you are the kindest."

"Just this once more.

Mind you tap very gently, and I'll be awake.

But do be careful. It frightens me so."

When the house was full of lodgers the Bryants stowed themselves away in any odd corners. At this time Lydia occupied a large cupboard -by courtesy called a small room-close to their stuffy little back parlour. Lisle would go to the yard behind the house, which was common to two or three besides No. 13, and with one foot on a projecting bit of brickwork could get his hand on the sill, and make his signal.

"Some day the police 'll take you for a burglar," said Lydia, encouragingly. "Well, go and enjoy yourself."

"It is a shame to keep you up so long, isn't it? What do you do all the time, eh, Lydia?"

"Sit in the dark, mostly, and think what a fool I'm making of myself."

"Don't do that. Think how good you are to a poor fellow in trouble. That will be better-won't it? But I must be off-good-by, you kind Lydia."

He stooped forward and kissed her, taking her hands in his. He found it convenient to pay his debt in this coin, his creditor being passably pretty. Not that Bertie had any taste for indiscriminate kissing. Had he had five thousand a year, and had Lydia rendered him a service, he would have recompensed her with some of his superfluous gold. But as he only had his salary as organist, and what he could make by giving music lessons, he paid her with kisses instead. He had no particular objection, and was it not his duty to be economical, for Judith's sake as well as his own?

"Go along with you!" said Lydia, and the young man, who had achieved his purpose, and had no reason for prolonging the interview,

stole laughingly downstairs, waving a farewell as he vanished round the corner. Lydia stood as if she were rooted to the ground, listening ir. tently. She heard the door opened, very gently, and closed with infinite precautions. She still stood till she had counted a hundred under her breath, and then, judging that Mrs. Bryant had not been disturbed by his stealthy exit, she went down to fasten it. She was prepared with an answer if she should be caught in the act, but she was glad to get away undetected, for an excuse, which is perfectly satisfactory at the time, may be very unsatisfactory indeed, when viewed by the light of later events. So Lydia rejoiced when she found herself safe in her own room, though she pursued her usual train of meditation in that refuge. She appraised Lisle's gratitude and kisses pretty accurately, and was angry with herself that she should care to have them, knowing that they were worthless. Yet, as she sat there, she said his name to herself, "Bertie," as she had heard his sister call him. And she knew well that it was pleasant to her to be thrilled by Bertie's eyes and lips, pleasant to feel Bertie's soft palms and slim strong fingers pressing those hands of hers, on which she had just been trying experiments with a new wash. Lydia looked thoughtfully into her looking-glass, and took her reflection into her confidence. "Ain't you a silly?" she said to the phantom which fingered its long curl and silently moved its lips. "Oh you are!" said the girl, "and there's no denying it." She shook her head, and her vis-à-vis shook its head in the dim dusk, as much as to say, "No more a fool than you are yourself, Lydia." "Nobody could be," said Lydia moodily.

She did not deem it prudent to keep her light burning very late, and she had a long vigil before the signal came, the three soft taps at her window. She was prepared for it. Every sound had grown painfully distinct to her anxious ears, and she had been almost certain that she knew Lisle's hurried yet stealthy step, as he turned into the yard. She crept to the door and opened it, her practised hand recognising the fastenings in the dark. The light from the street lamp just outside fell on Bertie's white face. "What luck?" she asked in a whisper. "Curse the luck!" he answered; "everything went against me from first to last."

"I told you so," she whispered, closing the door. that

"Didn't I say

"Don't-there's a good girl," said Bertie softly, somewhere in the

shadows.

Lydia was silent, and shot the bolts very skilfully. But the key made a little grating noise as she turned it, and the two stood for a moment holding their breath. "All right," said Lisle after a pause.

"It's late," said Lydia. He could not deny it. "You must take your boots off before you go up," she continued. "And do be careful." "You'll see that girl

He obeyed. "Good-night," he whispered.

calls me in good time to-morrow? I feel as if I should sleep for a century or so." He yawned wearily, "I wish I could!"

"I ain't to be sleepy I suppose-why should I be?" she answered, but added hurriedly, "No, no, you shall be called all right.”

"You good girl," whispered Lisle, and he went noiselessly away. A dim gaslight burned half-way up the stairs and guided him to his room. He had only to softly open and close his door and all was well. Judith had not been awakened by the cat-like steps of the man who was not old Fordham. She had fallen asleep very happily, with a vague sense of hopefulness and well-being. She had no idea that Bertie had just flung himself on his bed to snatch a little rest, with a trouble on his mind, which, had she known it, would have effectually banished sleep from her eyes; and a hope of escape, which would have nearly broken her heart. Her burden had been laid aside for a few hours, and through her dreams there ran a golden thread of melody, the unconscious remembrance of that evening's songs and music.

CHAPTER XL.

BERTIE AT THE ORGAN.

BERTIE was duly called, and came down the next morning, punctually enough, but somewhat weary and pale. A slight headache was supposed to account for his looks. Lydia complained of the same thing over her breakfast of bacon downstairs. But Fate was partial, for Bertie's marble pallor and the faint shadow beneath his eyes were utterly unlike poor Lydia's dull complexion, and heavy, red-rimmed eyelids. She was conscious of this injustice, and felt in a dim way that she had proved herself capable of one of those acts of self-devotion, which are the more admirable that they are sure not to be admired. But the longer she thought of it, the more she felt that this noble deed was not one to be repeated. One must set bounds to one's heroism. "I can't go on losing my beauty sleep in this fashion," said Lydia to herself. "I do look such a horrid fright the next day."

When Judith had gone to Standon Square Bertie yawned, stretched himself, got out his little writing-case, and sat down to write a letter. He spent some time over it, erasing and interlining, balancing himself on two legs of his chair, while he looked for stray words on the ceiling, or murmured occasional sentences to judge of the effect. At last it was finished, and, being copied in a dashing hand, looked very spontaneous indeed. "I think that ought to do it," he said to himself, as he smoked his pipe, glancing over the pages. "I think it will do it." He smiled in the pride of triumphant authorship, but presently there came a line between his brows, and a puzzled expression to his face. "I'll be shot if I know how it is to be managed afterwards. People do it but how? I wonder if Thorne knows. If law is at all catching, a year of that musty office must have given him a touch of it." Lisle considered the matter

for a few minutes, and then shrugged his shoulders. "It won't do, I'm afraid. I daren't try him. I'm never quite clear how much he sees and understands, nor what he would do. And Gordon ?-no." There was another reverie. Finally he arose, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and stretched himself once more. "I've got to depend on myself, it seems to me. I must set my wits to work and astonish them all. But oh, if yawning were but a lucrative employment, how easily I could make money, and be quit of the whole affair!"

Bertie took a great interest in his personal appearance, and was frank and unaffected in his consciousness of his good looks. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bottle-green mirror, and stopped short in considerable anxiety. "Brain-work and these late hours don't suit me," he said. "Good heavens! I look quite careworn! Well, it may pass for the effect of a gradually breaking heart-why not?"

A glance at his watch roused him to sudden activity. He carefully burnt every scrap of his original manuscript, feeling sure that Lydia would read his letter if she had the chance. He looked leniently on this little weakness of hers. "Very happy to afford you what little amusement I can in the general way," he soliloquised, as he directed an envelope; "but I really can't allow you to read this letter, Lydia, my dear." Apparently he was in a distrustful mood, for after hesitating a moment he got some wax, and sealed it with a ring he wore. Then, putting it carefully in his pocket, he tossed a few sheets of blotted music paper on the table, left his writing-case wide open, took his hat and a roll of music, and went out in the direction of St. Sylvester's, trying to work out his problem as he walked. He was not, however, so deep in thought that he had no eyes for the passers-by, and his attention was suddenly attracted by a servant-girl dawdling along the opposite pavement. He watched her keenly, but furtively, as if to make quite sure, and when she turned down a side street, he followed, and speedily overtook her.

"This is lucky!" he ejaculated. "I didn't expect to see you, Susan. What are you doing here?"

She was a slight, plain girl, with a fairly intelligent face, whose expression was doubtful. Sometimes it showed a willingness to please, oftener it was sullen, now and then merely thoughtful. Just at this moment, as she looked up at the young organist, it was crafty and greedy. "I'm taking a note," she said. "Miss Crawford's always a sending me with notes or something."

"You don't mind being sent with notes, do you?" said Bertie, blandly.

"That's as may be," the girl answered.

"I should have thought it was pleasant work. At any rate, it's as easy to take two as one, isn't it?"

"I have to take 'em 'cause I'm paid to, you see-easy or not."
"Oh, of course, you ought to be paid." His fingers were in his

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