William. It is time for me to go to
dress for dinner."

"Don't go just yet. I'm leaving in a minute."

"Leaving? Where for?"

"London; I have to go up to-night about some business."

"Indeed; when are you coming back?"

"I don't quite know--to-morrow, perhaps. I wonder, Belle," he went on,
his voice shaking a little, "if you will always think as badly of me
as you do now."

"I?" she said, opening her eyes widely; "who am I that I should judge
you? However bad you may be, I am worse."

"Perhaps there are excuses to be made for both of us," he said;
"perhaps, after all, there is no such thing as free will, and we are
nothing but pawns moved by a higher power. Who knows? But I will not
keep you any longer. Good-bye--Belle!"

"Yes."

"May I kiss you before I go?"

She looked at him in astonishment. Her first impulse was to refuse. He
had not kissed her for years. But something in the man's face touched
her. It was always a refined and melancholy face, but to-night it wore
a look which to her seemed almost unearthly.

"Yes, William, if you wish," she said; "but I wonder that you care
to."

"Let the dead bury their dead," he answered, and stooping he put his
arm round her delicate waist and drawing her to him kissed her
tenderly but without passion on her forehead. "There, good-night," he
said; "I wish that I had been a better husband to you. Good-night,"
and he was gone.

When he reached his room he flung himself for a few moments face
downwards upon the bed, and from the convulsive motion of his back an
observer might almost have believed that he was sobbing. When he rose,
there was no trace of tears or tenderness upon his features. On the
contrary, they were stern and set, like the features of one bent upon
some terrible endeavour. Going to a drawer, he unlocked it and took
from it a Colt's revolver of the small pattern. It was loaded, but he
extracted the cartridges and replaced them with fresh ones from a tin
box. Then he went downstairs, put on a large ulster with a high
collar, and a soft felt hat, the brim of which he turned down over his
face, placed the pistol in the pocket of his ulster, and started.

It was a dreadful night, the wind was blowing a heavy gale, and
between the gusts the rain came down in sheets of driving spray.
Nobody was about the streets--the weather was far too bad; and Mr.
Quest reached the station without meeting a living soul. Outside the
circle of light from a lamp over t