ep up with you.--You know that he
hadn't everything--most fortunately not everything--"

With an exclamation of wrathful contempt, the man pursued his way. Iris
fell back; she tottered; she sank to her knee upon the grass, moaning,
sobbing. Only when he was fifty yards ahead did Dyce pause and look
back. Already she was running after him again. He turned, and walked
less quickly. At length there was a touch upon his arm.

"Dear--dear--don't you love me?" panted a scarce audible voice.

"Don't be a greater idiot than you have been already," was his fierce
reply. "I have to get to London, and look after your business; that's
enough to think about just now."

In less than an hour they had taken train. By early evening they
reached Paddington Station, whence they set forth to call upon the
person whom Iris mentioned as most likely to be able to inform them
concerning Wrybolt. It was the athletic Mr. Barker, who dwelt with his
parents at Highgate. An interview with this gentleman, who was caught
at dinner, put an end to the faint hopes Lashmar had tried to
entertain. Wrybolt, said Barker, was not a very interesting criminal;
the frauds he had perpetrated were not great enough to make his case
sensational; but there could be no shadow of doubt that he had turned
his trusteeship to the best account.

"He has nothing but his skin to pay with," added the young City man,
"and I wouldn't give much for that. Don't distress yourself, Mrs.
Lashmar; I know a lady who is let in worse than you--considerably
worse."

The newly-married couple made their way to West Hampstead. The servant
who had been left in charge of the house did not conceal her surprise
as she admitted them. It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening.

"I suppose we must have something to eat," said Dyce, sullenly.

"You must be very hungry," Iris answered, regarding him like a
frightened but affectionate dog that eyes its master. "Jane shall get
something at once."

They sat down to such a supper as could be prepared at a moment's
notice. By good fortune, a bottle of claret had been found, and,
excepting one glass, which his wife thankfully swallowed, Lashmar drank
it all. At an ordinary time, this excess would have laid him prostrate;
in the present state of his nerves, it did him nothing but good; a
healthier hue mantled on his cheeks, and he began to look furtively at
Iris with eyes which had lost their evil expression. She, so exhausted
that she could sca