night rather than allow Clara Saville's name to
be uttered by their profane lips; or, which is nearer the truth," he
continued with a kind smile, "your affection for me blinds you."

"Not so, Harry," replied I; "but it is the recollection of my own
feelings, when, while waiting for Lawless's report last night, I
believed I should be forced to meet this Wilford--it is the misery, the
self-reproach, the bitter penitence of that moment, when, for the first
time, I was able to reflect on the fearful situation in which by my own
rashness I had placed myself, a situation in which crime seemed
forced upon me, and it appeared impossible to act rightly--it is the
remembrance of all these things which causes me to lament that you,
my more than brother, should have involved yourself in similar
difficulties."

"But, Frank," he began--then, interrupting himself, he seized my hand,
and pressing it warmly between his own, exclaimed, "My dear old fellow,
forgive me if I have spoken unkindly to you; but this man has maddened
me, I believe". He paused, and then continued in a calmer voice, "Let me
tell you how it occurred, and you will see I could scarcely have acted
otherwise than I have done. You know I went into the public-house to
brush off the mud after my tumble. The instant my step sounded in the
passage, a girl tripped lightly down the stairs and ran towards me,
exclaiming joyfully, 'You have come at last, then!' On finding that it
was not the person she expected she stopped in alarm, and I perceived
to my astonishment that it was Lizzie Maurice. She recognised me at
the same moment, and apparently a new idea struck her, for she again
approached me, saying, 'Mr. Oaklands, tell me, sir, for heaven's sake,
has anything happened to Wilford?' Then, with woman's tact, perceiving
her mistake, she blushed deeply, adding in a timid voice, 'I fancied you
might have been riding with that gentleman; and seeing you alone, I was
afraid some accident might ~194~~have befallen your companion'. All this
convinced me that my suspicions had not been misplaced; and the thought
occurred to me that possibly it might not yet be too late to endeavour
to restore her to her father, while the recollection of Archer's account
of the old man's distress determined me to make the attempt.

"Taking her, therefore, by the hand, I led her into the parlour, and,
begging her to listen to me for five minutes, told her I was aware of
her elopement, and entreated