other side."

Mr Armstrong during this short colloquy experienced a curious
depression of spirits. He was thinking, not of the bank-notes, or the
American mayor, or even of Captain Oliphant, but of Rosalind and Jill
and Tom; and the thought of them just at this moment made him feel very
melancholy.

As for the captain, if his thoughts for a moment turned in the same
direction, they came back instantly, with a strong revulsion of hate
against the man who stood in his way at every turn; who seemed to read
him through, to unmask him silently whenever he sought to take refuge in
a lie, to pin him ruthlessly down to the consequences of his own
delinquencies. But for Armstrong he might have been a free man--free of
his debts, free of his frauds, clear in his children's eyes, able to
hold up his head to all the world. As it was, everything seemed to
conspire with his enemy to pinion him and hold him fast, a prey to the
Nemesis that was on its way! What would he not give to have this
stumbling-block out of the path, and feel himself free to breathe and
hope once more?

In such a mood he spent the morning; and about midday, shaking off his
visitor, wandered out into the park for fresh air and space to think.
As he paced, there returned to him memories of old half-forgotten days,
of faces that once looked into his trustfully, voices that once made his
heart glad, children that once ran to welcome him; visions of vanished
hopes, ambitions, ideals. Where were they all now? Who believed in him
to-day? Who would believe in him a week hence? What voices rejoiced
him now? Into whose life did he carry strength and cheer? The park
stretched bleak and desolate before him; the earth lay sullen under his
feet, the very trees drooped around him, and the great restless ocean
beyond moaned at his coming. It was nothing to him that the smell of
spring was in the air; that the lark was carolling high overhead; that
the declining sun was darting his rays through the trees.

Near at hand rose a sound of laughter. He durst not turn that way, lest
he should meet his own children.

Far away, through a break in the trees, he could catch a glimpse of the
old church at Yeld with the Vicarage beside it, where dwelt the one
being he dreaded most--his own daughter. From behind wafted a sound of
music through an open window, where sat the man who had found him out
and could ruin him by a word.

Which way was he to turn? Which way shal