us manner, and Sir Edward felt inclined to
question him sharply, and, if need be, have him turned out neck and
crop.

But instead of taking up the intended _role_ of inquisitor, he found
himself reduced ignominiously to the _role_ of the questioned one.

"Where were you thinking of going to-night?" asked the Visitor. "To the
theatre, or the opera, or to that 'private club' we know of?" And the
Visitor looked at him with a glance of quiet intelligence which Sir
Edward somehow felt powerless to resent.

"I was thinking. . . ."

"Of going with me? Quite right!" replied the Visitor. "With me you
shall go: unless we can come to terms together. In which case,
possibly, I may leave you behind _for a time_."

Sir Edward ceased to smoke: and his hands trembled on his knees.

But he made no movement, and uttered no protest. Before the glance of
his visitor he quailed and was dumb.

"Ruth Medwin, I presume, must bear her disgrace as best she can? You
will neither recognize her, nor make her an allowance, I understand."

"I think I have changed my mind. . . ."

"Too late," said the Visitor. "After having seen _me_ you can change
your mind no more."

Sir Edward lay motionless among the cushions of his chair.

"I should like . . . if you will allow me . . ." he began feebly.

"I can allow you only one choice: and that a peremptory one. Will you go
with me instantly--I think you know me--or shall I call for you again
_on any terms I care to fix_?"

"Will your terms be as pitiless. . . ."

"You shall hear them, if you please."

Sir Edward sank deeper among the soft cushions: his whole life
concentrated in the watchful stare with which he fixed his eyes on his
visitor's face.

"Shall I take you with me now to undergo your punishment--and, I need
scarcely tell you, it will not be a light one--or would you prefer a
delay before you accompany me: a period of expiation, in some form I may
decide on, with a hope of a reduction in your punishment at the end?"

"A delay--a period of expiation, for God's sake!"

"You are certain you prefer it?"

"I implore it! I entreat it! For God's sake, grant me a respite!"

"Be it so."

II.

The soul that had been Sir Edward's sickened with disgust.

It was located in the body of a miserable cab-horse; one of the sorriest
hacks in the East End of London, and practically fit only for the
knacker, one would have said.

It was a life the human soul found inexpressibly hateful.