e sight of you. It would be eternal torment. When and where
shall we meet?"

"I don't know. Perhaps not at all," said Lavinia slowly and lowering her
eyes.

"Don't say that. I've told you why. Not at my miserable lodgings, I
grant you, but at some other place. What say you to Rosamond's Pond?"

Lavinia darted him a swift glance. The ghost of a smile played about her
lips.

"The Lovers' Walk of London! Oh, no."

"But indeed yes. What have you to say against Rosamond's Pond? Its
reputation justifies its romance."

"Neither its reputation nor its romance has anything to do with us."

"That is as it may be," he rejoined with an ardent glance. "But you
haven't said no. Rosamond's Pond then to-morrow at sunset--seven
o'clock?"

Lavinia was too exhausted in mind and body either to refuse or even to
argue. She felt as she had felt many a time in her childhood that she
was simply a waif and stray. Nothing mattered very much. It was easier
to consent than to object.

"To-morrow at sunset," she faltered.

"It's a bargain," he whispered. "You won't disappoint me?"

"Haven't I given you my word? What more do you want?"

She held out her hand and he pressed it between both his, his eyes fixed
earnestly on her face.

"I don't like leaving you," he pleaded. "You're pale. Your hand's cold.
You look as if you might faint again. Please ..."

"No--no--no," exclaimed Lavinia vehemently. "We must part here.
Good-night."

Vane was loth to let her hand go but she snatched it away and ran off,
turning her head and throwing him a smile over her shoulder--a picture
of natural grace and charming womanly wile and tenderness which dwelt in
his memory for many a long day.

Vane stood watching the fleeting figure until it vanished in the
obscurity of Ludgate Hill and then with a deep sigh turned towards
Cheapside.

"That settles it. I won't write a line for that rascal Curll. I've
promised my divinity and by God, I'll keep my promise."

But the next instant came the dismal reflection that apart from Curll he
hadn't the slightest notion where his next shilling was to come from.

"Tush! I won't think of the dolefuls," he muttered. "'Tis an insult to
the loveliest--the kindest--the warmest hearted--the ..."

He suddenly ceased his panegyric and wheeled round swiftly, his hand on
the hilt of his sword.

Absorbed though he had been in his thoughts of Lavinia, in some
sub-conscious way the sound of footsteps behind him keeping pa