CHAPTER VI.

When Harley was gone, Egerton sunk back on his chair, as if in extreme
physical or mental exhaustion, all the lines of his countenance relaxed
and jaded.

"To go back to that place--there--there--where--Courage, courage! what is
another pang?"

He rose with an effort, and folding his arms tightly across his breast,
paced slowly to and fro the large, mournful, solitary room. Gradually
his countenance assumed its usual cold and austere composure,--the secret
eye, the guarded lip, the haughty, collected front. The man of the world
was himself once more.

"Now to gain time, and to baffle the usurer," murmured Egerton, with that
low tone of easy scorn, which bespoke consciousness of superior power and
the familiar mastery over hostile natures. He rang the bell: the servant
entered.

"Is Baron Levy still waiting?"

"Yes, sir."

"Admit him." Levy entered.

"I beg your pardon, Levy," said the ex-minister, "for having so long