ubled her.

"We must hope so. Nay, it will come right, dear. Wish me good-by now, or
rather, _au revoir_. My guardians will be getting impatient."

They were virtually alone, and he drew from her lips one long,
passionate kiss. Then, with a few cheerful words, he turned resolutely
away. Mr. Thurwell, who had been waiting outside, came to him at once.

"The brougham is at the door," he said, with an anxious glance at Helen,
who was leaning back against a chair, her hands locked in one another,
ghastly pale, and evidently on the point of fainting. "These men have
only an open trap, and it is a cold drive across the moor. To-morrow you
go to York to be brought before the magistrates. I shall be there."

"You are very good," Bernard Maddison said earnestly; "but, so far as
defence is concerned, I will have no lawyer's aid. What little there is
to be said, I will say myself."

Mr. Thurwell shook his head.

"It does not do," he said. "But there will be time to consider that. The
magistrates will be sure to commit you for trial. They must have
evidence enough for that, or Mr. Malcolm would never have signed the
warrant against anyone in your position."

"I am quite prepared for that," he answered. "Let us go."

They left the room at once. Helen had fainted in her chair. Sir Allan
Beaumerville had apparently disappeared.

They stood on the doorstep for a moment while the carriage, which had
been driven a little way down the avenue to quiet the mettlesome horses,
returned, and Mr. Thurwell spoke a few more encouraging words.

"Jenkins has packed some things of mine, which may be useful to you, in
a portmanteau," he said. "You will find it in the carriage, and also an
ulster. Keep up your spirits, Maddison. All will be well."

"At any rate, I shall never forget your kindness," Bernard Maddison
answered, grasping his hand. "Good-by, Mr. Thurwell!"

"Good night, Maddison, good night! I shall see you to-morrow."

The impatient horses leaped forward, and Mr. Thurwell turned back into
the hall, and made his way back into the dining room. Helen had
recovered sufficiently to be able to go to her room, he was told. Sir
Allan was still sitting at the table, quietly sipping a cup of coffee.
His legs were crossed, and he was smoking one of his favorite Egyptian
cigarettes.

"Has he gone?" he said, looking round languidly.

Mr. Thurwell frowned. He was a man of somewhat imperturbable manners
himself, but he was far from bein