lled up to the mantelpiece to light a cigarette, for which
purpose he removed the shade from one of the candles, throwing a
stronger light on his friend's face, and then, pausing with the
cigarette still unlighted between his fingers, he asked suddenly: 'By
the way, Fladgate said some other fellow wrote the book for you the
other day!' That shot at least told; every vestige of colour left
Mark's face, he half rose from his chair, and then sat down again as
he retorted sharply: 'Fladgate said that! What the devil are you
talking about...? What fellow?'

'Why, you were there when he said it. Some amanuensis you gave the
manuscript to.'

The colour came back in rather an increased quantity to Mark's cheeks.
What a nervous fool he was! 'Oh, ah--_that_ fellow!' he said; 'I
remember now. Yes, I was absurdly anxious to remain unknown, you see,
in those days, and--and I rather wanted to put something in the way of
a poor fellow who got his living by copying manuscripts; and so, you
see----'

'I see,' said Caffyn. 'What was his name?'

'His name?' repeated Mark, who had not expected this and had no name
ready for such immediate use. 'Let me see; I almost forget. It began
with a B I know; Brown--Brune--something like that--I really don't
recollect just now. But the fact is,' he added with a desperate
recourse to detail, 'the first time I saw the beggar he looked so hard
up, dressed in----' ('Buckram!' thought Caffyn, but he said
nothing)--'in rags, you know, that I felt it would be quite a charity
to employ him.'

'So it is,' agreed Caffyn. 'Did he write a good hand? I might be able
to give him some work myself in copying out parts.'

'Oh, he'd be useless for that!' put in Mark with some alarm; 'he wrote
a wretched hand.'

'Well, but in the cause of charity, you know,' rejoined Caffyn, with
inward delight. 'Hang it, Ashburn, why shouldn't _I_ do an unselfish
thing as well as you? What's the fellow's address?'

'He--he's emigrated,' said Mark; 'you'd find it rather difficult to
come across him now.'

'Should I?' Caffyn returned; 'well, I daresay I should.'

And Mark rose and went to one of the windows for some air. He remained
there for a short time looking idly down the darkening street. A
chapel opposite was just discharging its congregation, and he found
entertainment in watching the long lighted ground-glass windows, as a
string of grotesque silhouettes filed slowly across them, like a
shadow pantomime turned ser