nd he gave his
attention to his papers.

Frankness, honesty and light-heartedness rang so clear in the words that
they sowed in Sir Terence's mind fresh doubts of the galling suspicion
he had been harbouring.

"Do you boast a clean conscience, eh, Ned?" he asked, not without a
lurking shame at this deliberate sly searching of the other's mind. Yet
he strained his ears for the answer.

"Almost clean," said Tremayne. "Temptation doesn't stain when it's
resisted, does it?"

Sir Terence trembled. But he controlled himself.

"Nay, now, that's a question for the casuists. They right answer you
that it depends upon the temptation." And he asked point-blank: "What's
tempting you?"

Tremayne was in a mood for confidences, and Sir Terence was his friend.
But he hesitated. His answer to the question was an irrelevance.

"It's just hell to be poor, O'Moy," he said.

The adjutant turned to stare at him. Tremayne was sitting with his head
resting on one hand, the fingers thrusting through the crisp fair hair,
and there was gloom in his clear-cut face, a dullness in the usually
keen grey eyes.

"Is there anything on your mind?" quoth Sir Terence.

"Temptation," was the answer. "It's an unpleasant thing to struggle
against."

"But you spoke of poverty?"

"To be sure. If I weren't poor I could put my fortunes to the test, and
make an end of the matter one way or the other."

There was a pause. "Sure I hope I am the last man to force a confidence,
Ned," said O'Moy. "But you certainly seem as if it would do you good to
confide."

Tremayne shook himself mentally. "I think we had better deal with the
matter of this dispatch that was tampered with at Penalva."

"So we will, to be sure. But it can wait a minute." Sir Terence pushed
back his chair, and rose. He crossed slowly to his secretary's side.
"What's on your mind, Ned?" he asked with abrupt solicitude, and Ned
could not suspect that it was the matter on Sir Terence's own mind that
was urging him--but urging him hopefully.

Captain Tremayne looked up with a rueful smile. "I thought you boasted
that you never forced a confidence." And then he looked away. "Sylvia
Armytage tells me that she is thinking of returning to England."

For a moment the words seemed to Sir Terence a fresh irrelevance;
another attempt to change the subject. Then quite suddenly a light broke
upon his mind, shedding a relief so great and joyous that he sought to
check it almost in fear.

"It