t was then
engaged.

I stopped the man, for I did not wish to appear in the way that matters
seemed to promise. Meanwhile Simon had paid the cabby, and so the three
of us stood together in the hall.

"I am an old friend of Miss Forrest's," I said to the man; "I want to be
shown to the room where she is, without her being apprised of my
presence."

"I daren't," he replied; "it would be as much as my place is worth."

"No, it would not," I replied. "You would not suffer in the slightest
degree."

"But there are several people in the room," he said, eyeing a sovereign
I was turning over in my hand.

"How many?"

"There's Miss Forrest, her aunt, and Miss Staggles, besides a gentleman
that came early in the evening."

"That gentleman's name is Herod Voltaire," I said.

"Yes, sir, that's the name. Well, I'll do as you wish me."

I followed the servant, while Simon kept fast hold on Kaffar. The man
knocked at the door, while I stood close behind him, and the moment he
opened the door I entered the room.

Never shall I forget the sight. Evidently Voltaire had been claiming the
fulfilment of her promise, for he was earnestly speaking when I entered,
while Miss Forrest, pale as death, sat by an elderly lady, who I
concluded to be her aunt. Miss Staggles also sat near, as grim and
taciturn as ever.

"It is nearly twelve o'clock," I heard Voltaire say, "and he's not here.
He dare not come; how dare he? He has left the country, and will never
return again."

"But I am here," I said distinctly.

They all turned as I spoke, and Miss Forrest gave a scream. I had been
travelling incessantly for forty hours, so I am afraid I did not present
a very pleasant appearance. No doubt I was travel-stained and dusty
enough.

"Who are you?" demanded Voltaire.

"You know well enough who I am," I said.

"Begone!" he cried; "this is no place for murderers."

"No," I said, "it is not."

No sooner had Miss Forrest realized who I was, than she rushed to my
side.

"Oh, are you safe--are you safe?" she said huskily.

I looked at her face, and it was deathly pale, while her eyes told me
she had passed sleepless nights.

"No, he's not safe," said Voltaire, "and he shall pay for this with his
life."

"Is it manly," I said to him, "to persecute a lady thus? Can't you see
how she scorns you, hates you, loathes you? Will you insist on her
abiding by a promise which was made in excitement to save an innocent
man?"

"Innocent!"