Lord Bearwarden, kindly, of his wife. "You
might take us in the barouche."

She seemed strangely agitated by so natural a proposal, and neither
gentleman failed to remark her disorder.

"I shall like it very much," she stammered. "At least I should. But I
can't this afternoon. I--I've got an engagement at the other end of
the town."

"Which _is_ the other end of the town?" said Lord Bearwarden,
laughing. "You've not told us _your_ end yet, Tom;" but seeing his
wife's colour fade more and more, he purposely filled Tom's glass to
distract his attention.

Her engagement was indeed of no pleasant nature. It was to hold
another interview with "Gentleman Jim," in which she hoped to prevail
on him to leave the country by offering the largest sum of money
she could raise from all her resources. Once released from his
persecutions, she thought she could breathe a little, and face Tom
Ryfe well enough single-handed, should he try to poison her husband's
mind against her--an attempt she thought him likely enough to make. It
was Jim she feared--Jim, whom drink and crime, and an infatuation of
which she was herself the cause, had driven almost mad--she could see
it in his eye--who was reckless of her character as of his own--who
insisted on her giving him these meetings two or three times a week,
and was capable of any folly, any outrage, if she disappointed
him. Well, to-day should end it! On that she was determined. If he
persisted in refusing her bribe, she would throw herself on Lord
Bearwarden's mercy and tell him the whole truth.

Maud had more self-command than most women, and could hold her own
even in so false a position as this.

"I must get another gown," she said, after a moment's pause, ignoring
Tom's presence altogether as she addressed her husband across the
table. "I've nothing to wear at the Den, if it's cold when we go down
next week, so I _must_ call at Stripe and Rainbow's to-day, and I
won't keep you waiting in the carriage all the time I'm shopping."

He seemed quite satisfied. "Then I'll take Ryfe to my sulking-room,"
said he, "and wish you good-bye till dinner-time. Tom, you shall have
the best cigar in England--I've kept them five years, and they're
strong enough to blow your head off now."

So Tom, with a formal bow to Lady Bearwarden, followed his host into a
snug but dark apartment at the back, devoted, as was at once detected
by its smell, to the consumption of tobacco.

While he lit a cigar