nd the best, who was walking beside her a guilty man, fleeing
through the night from all he himself cared for, to seek a refuge from
the consequences of his crime in an uncertain exile. In years afterward
it seemed to her as if that night had been rather a terrible dream than
a reality.

At length the pale dawn broke, and the utter separation caused by the
darkness between them and old Marlowe passed away with it. He stopped
his horse and came to them, turning a gray, despairing face upon Roland
Sefton.

"It is time to leave you," he said; "over these fields lies the nearest
station, where you can escape from a just punishment. You have made us
beggars to keep up your own grandeur. God will see that you do not go
unpunished."

"Hush, hush!" cried Phebe aloud, stretching out her hand to Roland
Sefton; "he will forgive you by and by. Tell me: have you no message to
send by me, sir? When shall we hear from you?"

"If I get away safe," he answered, in a broken voice, "and if nothing is
heard of me before, tell Felicita I will be in the place where I saw her
first, this day six months. Do not tell her till the time is near. It
will be best for her to know nothing of me at present."

They were standing at the stile over which his road lay. The sun was not
yet risen, but the gray clouds overhead were taking rosy and golden
tints. Here and there in the quiet farmsteads around them the cocks
were beginning to crow lazily; and there were low, drowsy twitterings in
the hedges, where the nests were still new little homes. It was a more
peaceful hour than sunset can ever be with its memories of the day's
toils and troubles. All the world seemed bathed in rest and quietness
except themselves. Their dark journey through the silent night had been
almost a crime.

"Your father turns his back upon me, as all honest men will do," said
Roland Sefton.

Old Marlowe had gone back to his horse, and stood there without looking
round. The tears ran down Phebe's face; but she did not touch her
father, and ask him to bid his old friend's son good-by.

"Some day no man will turn his back upon you, sir," she answered; "I
would die now rather than do it. You will regain your good name some
day."

"Never!" he exclaimed; "it is past recall. There is no place of
repentance for me, Phebe. I have staked all, and lost all."

CHAPTER VI.

THE OLD BANK.

About the same hour that Roland Sefton set off under shelter of old
Marlowe's wa