"As you will. And now stay, Lumley Ferrers, and hear me. I neither
accuse nor suspect you, I desire not to pierce your heart, and in this
case I cannot fathom your motives; but if it should so have happened
that you have, in any way, ministered to Lady Florence Lascelles'
injurious opinions of my faith and honour, you will have much to answer
for, and sooner or later there will come a day of reckoning between you
and me."

"Mr. Maltravers, there can be no quarrel between us, with my cousin's
fair name at stake, or else we should not now part without preparations
for a more hostile meeting. I can bear your language. /I/, too, though
no philosopher, can forgive. Come, man, you are heated--it is very
natural;--let us part friends--your hand."

"If you can take my hand, Lumley, you are innocent, and I have wronged
you."

Lumley smiled, and cordially pressed the hand of his old friend.

As he descended the stairs, Maltravers followed, and just as Lumley
turned into Curzon Street, the carriage whirled rapidly past him, and by
the lamps he saw the pale and stern face of Maltravers.

It was a slow, drizzling rain,--one of those unwholesome nights frequent
in London towards the end of autumn. Ferrers, however, insensible to
the weather, walked slowly and thoughtfully towards his cousin's house.
He was playing for a mighty stake, and hitherto the cast was in his
favour, yet he was uneasy and perturbed. His conscience was tolerably
proof to all compunction, as much from the levity as from the strength
of his nature; and (Maltravers removed) he trusted in his knowledge of