on, listen to me," she cried. "For your own purpose you
cruelly and deliberately set out to wreck the happiness of several lives.
For mere money you did this; for sheer love of dissipation you committed
this crime. You nearly deprived me of my reason. I say nothing about the
money, because that is nothing by comparison. But the years that are lost
can never come back to me again. When I think of the past and the past of
my poor, unhappy boy I feel that I have no forgiveness for you. If
you--Oh, go away; don't stay here--go. If I had known you were coming I
should have forbidden you the house. Your mere presence unnerves me.
Littimer, send him away."

Littimer rose to his feet and rang the bell.

"You will be good enough to rid me of your hateful presence," he said,
"at once; now go."

But Henson still stood irresolute. He fidgeted from one foot to the
other. He seemed to have some trouble that he could find no
expression for.

"I want to go away," he murmured. "I want to leave the country. But at
the present moment I am practically penniless. If you would advance me--"

Littimer laughed aloud.

"Upon my word," he said, "your coolness is colossal. I am going to
prosecute you, I am doing my best to bring you into the dock. And you ask
me--_me_, of all men--to find you money so that you can evade justice!
Have you not had enough--are you never satisfied? Williams, will you see
Mr. Henson off the premises?"

The smiling Williams bowed low.

"With the greatest possible pleasure, my lord," he said. "Any further
orders, my lord?"

"And he is not to come here again, you understand." Williams seemed to
understand perfectly. With one backward sullen glance Henson quitted the
room and passed into the night with his companion. Williams was whistling
cheerfully, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

"Is that how you treat a gentleman?" Henson demanded.

"I ain't a gentleman," Williams said. "Never set up to be. And I ain't a
dirty rascal who has just been kicked out of a nobleman's house. Here,
stop that. Try that game on again and I'll call the dogs. And don't show
me any of your airs, please. I'm only a servant, but I am an honest man."

Henson stifled his anger as best he could. He was too miserable and
downcast to think of much besides himself at present. Once the
lodge-gates were open, Williams stood aside for him to pass. The
temptation was irresistible. And Henson's back was turned. With a kick of
conce