a gentleman that it pains
me even to think of the jail-bird aspect which came upon him at times.
His walk up and down my room became something very like a prowl, and
he fell to casting furtive glances at me, biting his finger ends, and
murmuring inarticulately below his breath.

"You have some reason for this," he said, suddenly. "You do not refuse
to help me in such a matter for nothing."

"I have the best of all reasons," I answered. "I cannot advise, because
I have no right to advise."

"I give you the right by asking for advice," he said, turning round upon
me. "Is it kind to refuse me in this? I am a stranger to the world--a
child, and less than a child. I owe to this man and to you everything I
am and all I have. But--may I tell you?--I mistrust him. I do not care
to leave my daughter's happiness in his charge."

I made a successful struggle to control myself, and I answered him
quietly:

"You must know, sir, that in England young people arrange these matters
very much for themselves. I have no doubt that Miss Rossano will attach
full weight to your judgment and counsel. I am very sorry, but I have no
right to advise you even at your own request."

"I had hoped for another answer," he responded. "I had even ventured to
think--Ah, well, my dear Fyffe, I cannot help myself, and if you will
not help me--"

"I would, sir, if I could," I answered.

And at this he sat down, gnawing at his finger-nails, and more broken
and furtive in manner than I had seen him since the first week of his
escape from prison.

"I owe Brunow a great deal," he said at length, as if he addressed
himself rather than me; "but what I owe to one I owe to the other, and I
had hoped things would have gone differently. It was natural, perhaps--I
suppose it was natural--that she should think of one of you."

It was impossible to escape his meaning, and I saw clearly that if I had
spoken first I should have found an ally in him. I do not remember ever
to have felt so miserable and so hopeless; but I sat down and filled my
pipe and smoked in silence, thinking that perhaps I had thrown a chance
away, and that perhaps I had never had one.

While I sat thus, looking out of the window and watching with a
curiously awakened interest the traffic in the street below, I felt the
count's hand on my shoulder.

"Tell me, my dear Fyffe," he said, shaking me gently, "am I utterly
mistaken? I had thought--I had hoped--"

"What had you thought, sir?