etable commodity, then, Mr. Parmalee.
It would have paid you better not to have shared your secret with
Sybilla Silver."

"She's told you, has she?" said the artist, rather surprised. "Now
that's what I call mean. You don't think she'll peach to Sir Everard,
do you?"

"I think it extremely likely that she will. She hates me, Mr.
Parmalee, and Miss Silver would do a good deal for a person she hates.
You should have waited until she became Mrs. Parmalee before making her
the repository of your valuable secrets."

"It's no good talking about it now, however," said Mr. Parmalee, rather
doggedly. "I've told her, and it can't be helped. And now, my lady, I
don't want to be caught here, and it's getting late, and what are you
going to give a fellow for all his trouble?"

"What will hardly repay you," said my lady, "for I have very little of
my own, as you doubtless have informed yourself ere this. What I have
you have earned and shall receive. At the most it will not exceed
three hundred pounds. Of my husband's money not one farthing shall any
one ever receive from me for keeping a secret of mine."

"I must have more than that," he said, resolutely. "Three hundred
pounds is nothing to a lady like you."

"It is all I have--all I can give you, and to give you that I must sell
the trinkets my dear dead father gave me. But it is for his sake I do
it--to preserve his secret. My jewels, my diamonds, my husband's gifts
I will not touch, nor one farthing of his money will you ever receive.
You entirely mistake me, Mr. Parmalee. My secret I will keep from him
while I can; I swore a solemn oath by my father's death-bed to do so.
But to pay you with his money--to bribe you to deceive him with his
gold--I never will. I would die first."

She stood before him erect, defiant, queenly.

Mr. Parmalee frowned darkly.

"Suppose I go to him then, my lady--suppose I pour this nice little
story into his ear--what then?"

"Then," she exclaimed, in tones of ringing scorn, "you will receive
nothing. His servants will thrust you from his gates. No, Mr.
Parmalee, if money be your object you will make a better bargain with
me than with him. What is mine you shall have--every farthing I own,
every trinket I possess--on condition that you depart and never trouble
me more. That is all I can do--all I will do. Decide which you
prefer."

"There is no choice," replied the American, sullenly; "half a loaf is
better than nothing