ely hard up as he is himself. He suggested it. At first, I
confess, I did not like it. I refused to listen to any more talk about
it. But, you see, when one meets destitution face to face, one will do
anything--everything. Besides, as I will show you, this is not really a
fraud. It is only an anticipation of a few years. However, there was
another reason."

"Was it to find the money to meet the promissory note?"

"My dear, you may forget--you may resolve never to throw the thing in
my teeth; but my love for you will never suffer me to forget that I
have lost your little fortune in a doubtful speculation. It is all gone,
never to be recovered again; and this after I had sworn never to touch
a farthing of it. Iris!"--he started to his feet and walked about the
room as one who is agitated by emotion--"Iris! I could face
imprisonment for debt, I could submit to pecuniary ruin, for that
matter; the loss of money would not cause me the least trouble, but I
cannot endure to have ruined you."

"Oh! Harry, as if I mind. Everything that I have is yours. When I gave
you myself I gave all. Take--use--lose it all. As you think, I should
never _feel_ reproach, far less utter a word of blame. Dearest Harry,
if that is all--"

"No; it is the knowledge that you will not even feel reproach that is
my constant accuser. At my death you will get all back again. But I am
not old; I may live for many, many years to come. How can I wait for my
own death when I can repair this wickedness by a single stroke?"

"But by another wickedness--and worse."

"No--not another crime. Remember that this money is mine. It will come
to my heirs some day, as surely as to-morrow's sun will rise. Sooner or
later it will be mine; I will make it sooner, that is all. The
Insurance Company will lose nothing but the paltry interest for the
remainder of my life. My dear, if it is disgraceful to do this I will
endure disgrace. It is easier to bear that than constant self-reproach
which I feel when I think of you and the losses I have inflicted upon
you."

Again he folded her in his arms; he knelt before her; he wept over her.
Carried out of herself by this passion, Iris made no more resistance.

"Is it--is it," she asked timidly, "too late to draw back?"

"It is too late," he replied, thinking of the dead man below. "It is
too late. All is completed."

"My poor Harry! What shall we do? How shall we live? How shall we
contrive never to be found out?"

She