y possible with
an encounter of so deadly a nature before him they might never meet
again, he knew too well by the heaviness at his heart how dear this
girl had become in so short a time--how completely she had filled up
that gaping wound in his affections from which he once thought he must
have bled hopelessly to death; how entirely he was bound up in her
happiness, and how, even in an hour of trouble, danger, and vexation
like this, his chief anxiety was lest it should bring sorrow and
suffering to _her_.

He drank but little wine at his solitary dinner, smoked one cigar
after it, and wrote a long letter to Nina before he went to bed--a
letter in which he told her all his love, all the comfort she had been
to him, all his past sorrows, all his future hopes, and then tore this
affectionate production into shreds and flung it in the fire-place. It
had only been meant to reach her hands if he should be killed. And
was it not calculated, then, to render her more unhappy, more
inconsolable? He asked himself the question several times before he
found resolution to answer it in the practical manner described. I
think he must have been very fond of Nina Algernon indeed, although he
did not the least know she was at that moment looking out of window,
with her hair down, listening to the night breeze in the poplars, the
lap and wash of the ebb-tide against the river-banks, thinking how
nice it was to have met him that morning, by the merest accident,
how nice it would be to see him in the painting-room, by the merest
accident again, of course, to-morrow afternoon.

The clock at St. George's, Hanover Square, struck nine as Mr. Ryfe
returned to his hotel. He found Lord Bearwarden waiting for him, and
dinner ready to be placed on the table.

"Have you settled it?" asked his lordship, in a fierce whisper that
betrayed no little eagerness for action--something very like a
thirst for blood. "When is it for, Tom? To-morrow morning? I've got
everything ready. I don't know that we need cross the water, after
all."

"Easy, my lord," answered Tom. "I can't get on quite so quick as you
wish. I've seen our man, and learned his friend's name and address.
That's pretty well, I think, for one day's work."

"You'll meet the friend to-night, Tom!" exclaimed the other. "Who is
he? Do we know him? He's a soldier, I hope?"

"He's a painter, and he lives out of town; so I _can't_ see him till
to-morrow. In the meantime, I would venture to su