e face flushed a
little.

"Oh yes," he said; "of course. I--I cannot precisely explain to you."

"I understand. But, if I did really join, I should at least have you for
a companion."

Lord Evelyn turned and regarded him.

"If you were to join, it might be that you and I should never see each
other again in this world. Have I not told you?--Your first pledge is
that of absolute obedience; you have no longer a right to your own life;
you become a slave, that others may be free."

"And you would have me place myself in the power of a man like Lind?"
Brand exclaimed.

"If it were necessary," said Lord Evelyn, "I should hold myself
absolutely at the bidding of Lind; for I am convinced he is an honest
man, as he is a man of great ability and unconquerable energy and will.
But you would no more put yourself in Lind's power than in mine. Lind is
a servant, like the rest of us. It is true he has in some ways a sort of
quasi-independent position, which I don't quite understand; but as
regards the Society that I have joined, and that you would join, he is a
servant, as you would be a servant. But what is the use of talking? Your
temperament isn't fitted for this kind of work."

"I want to see my way clear," Brand said, almost to himself.

"Ah, that is just it; whereas, you must go blindfold."

Thereafter again silence. The moon had risen higher now; and the paths
in the Embankment gardens just below them had grown gray in the clearer
light. Lord Evelyn lay and watched the light of a hansom that was
rattling along by the side of the river.

"Do you remember," said Brand, with a smile, "your repeating some verses
here one night; and my suspecting you had borrowed the inspiration
somewhere? My boy, I have found you out. What I guessed was true. I made
bold to ask Miss Lind to read, that evening I came up with them from
Dover."

"I know it," said Lord Evelyn, quietly.

"You have seen her, then?" was the quick question.

"No; she wrote to me."

"Oh, she writes to you?" the other said.

"Well, you see, I did not know her father had gone abroad, and I called.
As a rule, she sees no one while her father is away; on the other hand,
she will not say she is not at home if she is at home. So she wrote me a
note of apology for refusing to see me; and in it she told me you had
been very kind to them, and how she had tried to read, and had read very
badly, because she feared your criticism--"

"I never heard anything like i