elming odds, when he sees the outline of a huge "liner," with
English colors at the main, looming dimly through the smoke, close on
the enemy's quarter; or those of the commander of an untenable post when
the first bayonets of the relieving force glitter over the crest of the
hill, and you will have a fair idea of Harry's relief as he looked back
and saw Keene rapidly gaining on them with his swift, slashing stride.
As he fell back and yielded his post to Royston, this was written so
plainly on his face that the latter could not repress a smile; but there
was little mirth in his voice when he addressed Fanny--she had never
heard him speak so gently and gravely: "I know that you are angry with
your husband, as well as with me, for keeping you in the dark so long. I
must make his peace with you, even if I fail in making my own. He could
not tell you one word without breaking a promise given years ago. If he
had done so, in spite of the excuse of the strong temptation, I would
never have trusted him again. Ah! I see you have done him justice
already: that is good of you. Now for my own part. Why I did not choose
to let you into the secret as soon as I began to know you well I can
hardly say. Hal will tell you all about it, and you will see that, for
once, I was more sinned against than sinning; so I was not afraid of
your thinking worse of me for it. Perhaps the last thing that a man
likes to confess is his one arch piece of folly, especially if he has
paid for it as heavy a price as attaches to most crimes. I think I am
not sorry that you were kept in the dark till now. The past has given me
some pleasant hours with you that might have been darkened if you had
known all. I wish you would forgive me. We have always been such good
friends, and, in your sex at least, I can reckon so few."

If he had spoken with his ordinary accent, Fanny would scarcely have
yielded so readily, but the strange sadness of his tone moved her
deeply. A mist gathered in her gentle eyes as she looked at him for some
moments in silence, and then held out a timid little tremulous hand.

"I should not have liked you worse for knowing that you had been unhappy
once," she whispered; "but I ought never to have been vexed at not being
taken into confidence. I don't think I am wise or steady enough to keep
secrets; only I wish--I do wish--that you had told Cecil Tresilyan."

He answered her in his old cool, provoking way, "I know what you mean to
imply,