thout
aid from my friends,--aid, I mean, of that sort. In other ways you can
help me. Harden will, of course, see to the estate; but there are
other, more private matters, that I would intrust to you alone. Am I
asking too much?"

"Don't be unkind in your own turn," says Scrope, with tears in his
eyes.

"Thank you," says Dorian, simply. His heart seems quite broken.

"What of your wife?" asks Sir James, with some hesitation. "Does she
know?"

"I think not. Why should she be troubled before her time? It will come
fast enough. She made a bad match, after all, poor child! But there is
one thing I must tell you, and it is the small drop of comfort in my
cup. About a month ago, Lord Sartoris settled upon her twenty thousand
pounds, and that will keep her at least free from care. When I am
gone, I want you to see to her, and let me know, from time to time,
that she is happy and well cared for."

"But will she consent to this separation from you, that may last for
years?"

"Consent!" says Dorian, bitterly. "That is not the word. She will be
glad, at this chance that has arisen to put space between us. I
believe from my heart that----"

"What is it you believe?" says a plaintive voice, breaking in upon
Dorian's speech with curious energy. The door leading into the garden
is wide open: and now the curtain is thrust aside, and a fragile
figure, gowned in some black filmy stuff, stands before them. Both men
start as she advances in the uncertain light. Her face is deadly pale;
her eyes are large, and almost black, as she turns them questioningly
upon Sir James Scrope. It is impossible for either man to know what
she may, or may not, have heard.

"I was in the garden," she says, in an agitated tone, "and I heard
voices; and something about money; and Dorian's going away: and----"
(she puts her hand up to her throat) "and about ruin. I could not
understand: but you will tell me. You must."

"Tell her, Dorian," says Sir James. But Dorian looks doggedly away
from her, through the open window, into the darkening garden beyond.

"Tell me, Dorian," she says, nervously, going up to him, and laying a
small white trembling hand upon his arm.

"There is no reason why you should be distressed," says Branscombe,
very coldly, lifting her hand from his arm, as though her very touch
is displeasing to him. "You are quite safe. Sawyer's mismanagement of
the estate has brought me to the verge of ruin; but Lord Sartoris has
taken care