on my honour I would do almost anything
rather than that you should be. You
remember that we talked of my prospects, last
year. And I told you then, that I was
resolved to endeavour to make a little career
and home for myself. I am still in the
same mind. I believe I am rather a
constant fellow by nature—well, obstinate, if
you like! I see the word in your face. If
I am to be in any one's employ, I will
remain with Digby and West. They have
treated me well. And they are safe as
the Bank. This Parthenope Company
offers very magnificently, but it may be all
a flash in the pan, you know. These
companies sometimes collapse unexpectedly.
These are reasons that I can explain, you
see. There are others that I am not at
liberty to speak of, and that I must ask you
to take my word for."

"Hugh, if I guess one of these reasons
aright, will you tell me?"

"Why, I don't know what to say about
that!"

"That means that you won't! But I
can tell you that, last year before I left
England, I had a conversation with your
mother: who foresaw even then, that you
were very likely to lose your heart to a fair
young lady."

"Did she, sir?" said Hugh. He was
inwardly a good deal surprised that his
mother should have spoken confidentially
to Mr. Frost on a subject which she had
never broached to himself at that time.

"Yes: and I will say candidly that I
then thought that prospect a bad one."

"That I should lose my heart to a fair
young lady? After all, it was rather
natural!"

"I thought at the time that the loss of
your heart to the special young lady I had
in view, would lead to trouble. But it may
be that I was wrong. To go back for a
moment to the business I sent for you upon:
am I to understand that your definite
answer to the proposition is ' no'?"

"'No, thank you!' at the very least,"
said Hugh, smiling. Then he added
seriously: " If you would prefer that I
should take a day or two to consider of the
matter——"

"I should certainly think it advisable."

"Then I will do it. I don't wish to seem
pig-headed. I will talk over the matter at
home, and let you know my final decision in
two days. But I must add that you must
not expect me to give a different answer
from the one I have given already."

"In two days? Good. The Parthenope
Embellishment can wait that time. Now
tell me how is all at home—your mother?"

"My mother is not very well, I fear.
She does not complain, but I believe she has
been harassed and tried too much. She
frets more than she ought to fret, about
troubles. But yet she is wonderfully placid
in her manner at most times. Last night,
however, she was ruffled and unlike herself."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. You know we have had trouble
in the house, in the death of poor Lady
Tallis?"

"I heard of her death. It was on the
fourth of March, was it not?"

"Let me see. I think so. Yes."

"Had she been ill long?"

"Ill, yes: but not long in apparent
danger."

"And she died on the evening of the
fourth of March."

"Morning! On the morning of the
fourth."

"Oh, morning was it? Aye, aye. I
suppose her niece was with her to the last?"

"By an odd chance, I believe I was the
last person who saw Lady Tallis alive."

"Really! Then I suppose her death
took place very early—before you went to
Westminster?"

"I did not go to Westminster to my
office that day. I could not leave my
mother and Maud—Miss Desmond—alone.
I had no very special work on hand, and
had taken a few days' leave of absence."

"I see, I see. Poor Lady Tallis! On
Tuesday morning the fourth of March. At
about ten or eleven o'clock, I suppose. You
said it was in the forenoon, I think?"

Hugh could not but be struck by the
coincidence of Mr. Frost's harping on the
particulars of Lady Tallis's death, in the
same way in which his mother had harped
on them last night.

"Why, Mr. Frost," he said, abruptly, " is
it a matter of any importance at what hour
Lady Tallis died?"

Mr. Frost was in nowise disconcerted by
the question, but answered with a complex
frown on his knotted forehead, and a shrewd
smile on his closed lips. " It may prove to
be so, indeed, Hugh. It is astonishing on
what small hinges an important matter may
sometimes turn."

Hugh could not resist an uneasy feeling,
like the first cold touch of suspicion, as he
recalled his mother's manner of the previous
evening. What was there—what could
there be—to suspect? He did not know.
But the cold touch was there, at his heart.