Bertha Cross's good sense would be the best possible
corrective of any shock her more sensitive companion might have
received. Bertha Cross's good sense--that was how he thought of her,
without touch of emotion; whilst on Rosamund his imagination dwelt with
exultant fervour. He saw himself as he would appear in her eyes when
she knew all--noble, heroic. What he had done was a fine thing, beyond
the reach of ordinary self-regarding mortals, and who more capable than
Rosamund of appreciating such courage? After all, fate was kind. In the
byways of London it had wrought for him a structure of romance, and
amid mean pursuits it exalted him to an ideal of love.

And as he thus dreamt, and smiled and gloried--very much like an
aproned Malvolio--the hours went quickly by. He found himself near
Albert Bridge, pacing this way and that, expecting at every moment the
appearance of the slim figure clad in grey. The sun set; the blind of
Rosamund's sitting-room showed that there was lamplight within; and at
ten o'clock Warburton still hung about the square, hoping--against his
reason--that she might come forth. He went home, and wrote to her.

In a score of ways he explained to himself her holding aloof. It was
vexation at his not having confided in her; it was a desire to reflect
before seeing him again; it was--and so on, all through the night,
which brought him never a wink of sleep. Next morning, he did not go to
the shop; it would have been impossible to stand at the counter for ten
minutes, he sent a note to Allchin, saying that he was detained by
private affairs, then set off for a day-long walk in the country, to
kill time until the coming of Rosamund's reply. On his return in the
afternoon, he found it awaiting him.

An hour later he was in Oakley Crescent. He stood looking at the house
for a moment, then approached, and knocked at the door. He asked if
Miss Elvan was at home.

"She's gone away," was the reply of the landlady, who spoke distantly,
her face a respectable blank.

"Left for good?"

"Yes, sir," answered the woman, her eyes falling.

"You don't know where she has gone to?"

"It's somewhere abroad, sir--in France, I think. She has a sister
there."

This was at five o'clock or so. Of what happened during the next four
hours, Will had never a very distinct recollection. Beyond doubt, he
called at the shop, and spoke with Allchin; beyond doubt, also, he went
to his lodgings and packed a travelling bag. Wh