shadow over a child's bright life, and the necessity annoyed
Caffyn to some extent, but his game was nearly won--there would not be
much more of it.

'I mustn't _do_ anything for you,' he said; 'if I did my duty, I
should have to give you up to---- No, it's all right, Dolly, I should
never dream of doing that. But I can do no more. Still, if you choose,
you can help _yourself_--and I promise to say nothing about it.'

'How do you mean?' said Dolly; 'if--if I stuck it together and left
it?'

'Do you think that wouldn't be seen? It would, though! No, Dolly, if
anyone but you and I catches sight of that letter, it will all be
found out--must be!'

'Do you mean?--oh, no, Harold, I couldn't _burn_ it!'

There was a fire in the grate, for the morning, in spite of the
season, had been chilly.

'Don't suppose _I_ advise you to burn it,' said Caffyn. 'It's a bad
business from beginning to end--it's wrong (at least it isn't right)
to burn the letter. Only--there's no other way, if you want to keep
out of prison. And if you make up your mind to burn it, Dolly, why you
can rely on me to keep the secret. _I_ don't want to see a poor
little girl shut up in prison if I can help it, _I_ can tell you. But
do as you like about it, Dolly; I mustn't interfere.'

Dolly could bear it no more; she snatched the flimsy foreign paper,
tore it across and flung it into the heart of the fire. Then, as the
flames began to play round the edges, she repented, and made a wild
dart forward to recover the letter. 'It's Mabel's,' she cried; 'I'm
afraid to burn it--I'm afraid!'

But Caffyn caught her, and held her little trembling hands fast in his
cool grasp, while the letter that Holroyd had written in Ceylon with
such wild secret hopes flared away to a speckled grey rag, and floated
lightly up the chimney. 'Too late now, Dolly!' he said, with a ring of
triumph in his voice. 'You would only have blistered those pretty
little fingers of yours, my child. And now,' he said, indicating the
scrap of paper which bore the stamp, 'if you'll take my advice, you'll
send that thing after the other.'

For the sake of this paltry bit of coloured paper Dolly had done it
all, and now that must go!--she had not even purchased Colin's
forgiveness by her wrong--and this last drop in her cup was perhaps
the bitterest. She dropped the stamp guiltily between two red-hot
coals, watched that too as it burnt, and then threw herself into an
arm-chair and sobbed in pa