shed to see her so little disconcerted. But now
the gradual fall of Mr. Marter's voice gave them warning.

"My lover?" breathed Emilia, hurriedly and eagerly; questioning with eye
and tone.

"My darling!" returned Wilfrid.

She sat down to the organ with a smile. He was careful to retreat before
the conclusion of the service; somewhat chagrined by his success. That
smile of hers was inexplicable to him.

CHAPTER XXIV

Mr. Pole was closeted in his City counting-house with Mr. Pericles,
before a heap of papers and newly-opened foreign letters; to one of
which, bearing a Russian stamp, he referred fretfully at times, as if to
verify a monstrous fact. Any one could have seen that he was not in a
condition to transact business. His face was unnaturally patched with
colour, and his grey-tinged hair hung tumbled over his forehead like
waves blown by a changeing wind. Still, he maintained his habitual effort
to look collected, and defeat the scrutiny of the sallow-eyed fellow
opposite; who quietly glanced, now and then, from the nervous feet to the
nervous fingers, and nodded to himself a sardonic outlandish nod.

"Now, listen to me," said Mr. Pericles. "We shall not burst out about zis
Riga man. He is a villain,--very well. Say it. He is a villain,--say so.
And stop. Because" (and up went the Greek's forefinger), "we must not
have a scandal, in ze fairst place. We do not want pity, in ze second.
Saird, we must seem to trust him, in spite. I say, yeas! What is pity to
us of commerce? It is contempt. We trust him on, and we lose what he
pocket--a sossand. We burst on him, and we lose twenty, serty, forty; and
we lose reputation."

"I'd have every villain hanged," cried Mr. Pole. "The scoundrel! I'd hang
him with his own hemp. He talks of a factory burnt, and dares to joke
about tallow! and in a business letter! and when he is telling one of a
loss of money to that amount!"

"Not bad, ze joke," grinned Mr. Pericles. "It is a lesson of coolness. We
learn it. But mind! he say, 'possible loss.' It is not positif. Hein! ze
man is trying us. So! shall we burst out and make him desperate? We are
in his hand at Riga, you see?"

"I see this," said Mr. Pole, "that he's a confounded rascal, and I'll
know whether the law can't reach him."

"Ha! ze law!" Mr. Pericles sneered. "So you are, you. English. Always, ze
law! But, we are men--we are not machine. Law for a machine, not a man!
We punish him, perhaps. Well; he is puni