much of the result of his nearly acquired riches remained to him,
that on the strength of them he might probably find his way into
Parliament. He had paid the cost of the last attempt, and might,
in a great degree, carry on this present attempt on credit. If he
succeeded there would be open to him a mode of life, agreeable in
itself, and honourable among men. But how was he to bear the cost
of this for the next year, or the next two years? His grandfather
was still alive, and would probably live over that period. If he
married Alice he would do so with no idea of cheating her out of her
money. She should learn,--nay, she had already learned from his own
lips,--how perilous was his enterprise. But he knew her to be a woman
who would boldly risk all in money, though no consideration would
induce her to stir a hair's breadth towards danger in reputation.
Towards teaching her that doctrine at which I have hinted, he would
not have dared to make an attempt; but he felt that he should have no
repugnance to telling her that he wanted to spend all her money in
the first year or two of their married life!

He was still in his arm-chair, thinking of all this, with that small
untasted modicum of brandy and water beside him, when he heard some
distant Lambeth clock strike three from over the river. Then he rose
from his seat, and taking the candles in his hand, sat himself down
at a writing-desk on the other side of the room. "I needn't send it
when it's written," he said to himself, "and the chances are that I
won't." Then he took his paper, and wrote as follows:--

DEAR ALICE,

The time was when the privilege was mine of beginning my
letters to you with a warmer show of love than the above
word contains,--when I might and did call you dearest; but
I lost that privilege through my own folly, and since that
it has been accorded to another. But you have found,--with
a thorough honesty of purpose than which I know nothing
greater,--that it has behoved you to withdraw that
privilege also. I need hardly say that I should not have
written as I now write, had you not found it expedient to
do as you have done. I now once again ask you to be my
wife. In spite of all that passed in those old days,--of
all the selfish folly of which I was then guilty, I think
you know, and at the time knew, that I ever loved you. I
claim to say for myself that my love to you was true
from first to last,