ter?"

"Leave go of me and I will tell you," she answered.

He obeyed, though with some unwillingness.

She hunted for her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, and then at last
she spoke:

"I am engaged to be married," she said in a low voice, "I am engaged
to Mr. Cossey."

Then, for about the first time in his life, Harold Quaritch swore
violently in the presence of a lady.

"Oh, damn it all!" he said.

She took no notice of the strength of the language, perhaps indeed she
re-echoed it in some feminine equivalent.

"It is true," she said with a sigh. "I knew that it would come, those
dreadful things always do--and it was not my fault--I am sure you will
always remember that. I had to do it--he advanced the money on the
express condition, and even if I could pay back the money, I suppose
that I should be bound to carry out the bargain. It is not the money
which he wants but his bond."

"Curse him for a Shylock," said Harold again, and groaned in his
bitterness and jealousy.

"Is there nothing to be done?" he asked presently in a harsh voice,
for he was very hard hit.

"Nothing," she answered sadly. "I do not see what can help us, unless
the man died," she said; "and that is not likely. Harold," she went
on, addressing him for the first time in her life by his Christian
name, for she felt that after crying upon a man's shoulder it is
ridiculous to scruple about calling him by his name; "Harold, there is
no help for it. I did it myself, remember, because, as I told you, I
do not think that any one woman has a right to place her individual
happiness before the welfare of her family. And I am only sorry," she
added, her voice breaking a little, "that what I have done should
bring suffering upon you."

He groaned again, but said nothing.

"We must try to forget," she went on wildly. "Oh no! no! I feel it is
not possible that we should forget. You won't forget me, Harold, will
you? And though it must be all over between us, and we must never
speak like this again--never--you will always know I have not
forgotten you, will you not, but that I think of you always?"

"There is no fear of my forgetting," he said, "and I am selfish enough
to hope that you will think of me at times, Ida."

"Yes, indeed I will. We all have our burdens to bear. It is a hard
world, and we must bear them. And it will all be the same in the end,
in just a few years. I daresay these dead people here have felt as we
feel, and how quiet th