husband will bring you to-day from his bank a
skeleton that will haunt this house till your
dying day. Give your orders. Mrs. Tillotson.
I am a gentleman by birth and education, and
don't want to hector or terrify you, or make
terms like a vulgar ruffian. But as I live and
breathe, and on my solemn honour, what I
tell you is true, and that is true, it will be the
most miserable day in your new-married life if
I go to the bank now, and even let myself be
seen by Tillotson. There."

There was such earnestness in what he said,
that it brought conviction, but with a chill.

"But what is all this about?" she said, in a
mournful voice. "What is this secret?"

He shook his head. "Seriously," he said,
gravely and respectfully, "it would not do to
tell you. You would not wish it yourself.
You see, the whole is in a mess; but I cannot
help it. I have had a miserable time. I have
been ruined through the business and through
him. As I say, I was born and bred a gentleman,
and I don't want to have the looks of
extorting, and having 'silence purchased,' and
that sort of thing. But what can I do? As it
is, I am doing wonders—for me. I suppose, if
I walked to him straight, it would be the best
course for me. But I don't want to make or
bring confusion. I must live. If something
moderate is got for me, I shall be quite content,
which, recollect, all this time is a debt; for it
was he and his business that brought ruin on
me, and it is fair that he should make up for it.
In fact, I have behaved with the greatest
delicacy all through. I thought for years that
he had become only a poor clerk in a bank.
Judge of my astonishment when I heard that
he was a millionaire rolling in wealth. Well,
now, to business, Mrs. Tillotson. What can
you do for me?"

When he was gone, she thought of her unfailing
resource. She hurried to the dear captain.
The captain looked very grave. "Well," he
said, "of course, there could be no harm in
that, you know. Poor Tillotson has had so
much misery and worry in his short life, that,
egad, I'd give a few guineas myself to get him
peace. No, we mustn't let this fellow see him;
not that we mind his old woman's stories, you
know, but just for peace sake. I tell you
what," said the captain, as if a brilliant
discovery had come to him, "leave it to me; put
it into my hands altogether. If there's a man
in the world who can deal with fellows of that
sort, I can. Don't say a word more," said the
captain. "I'll make the rhino go twice as far
as you would, my dear. It doesn't do for you
to be mixed up in such a business; not that
there's anything in it. But, after all, peace
and quiet is better than gold. Now, what is
he to get? Leave it all to me. I'll go off
and see him at once."

Not without serious remonstrance and danger
of an entire rupture of the business did the
captain agree to any assistance; as to the pecuniary
part, she brought down her little store. With
a hundred or a hundred and fifty the captain
said he'd manage the whole thing "easy."
Grief and terror again came into her face.
But two or three days before her husband had
given her fifty pounds "to pay for pins and
ribbons."

"Leave it to me, my dear," said the captain.
"We can put fifty to the back of it easy.
It'll do splendid." But to this she would not
agree, and so it was at last agreed as she
insisted that on that night she would send the
captain more money.

CHAPTER XVII. MRS. TILLOTSON RAISES MONEY.

NEXT day their usual cold formal ride took
place. With some constraint and confusion, Mrs.
Tillotson said: "I know you are so good to
me always, and so indulgent, you never refuse
me. I have been very extravagant no, not
that but I am going to be very extravagant,
and I would have you to help me—will you?"

Some of the old pleasure came into his face.
"I am delighted," he said, "that you come to
me in this way. This is what I like. When
we get home, we shall settle how large it shall
be; and to-morrow we shall drive to the bank
together."

But as he rode, and before they got home, he
grew silent. He was always all but thrusting
money on her, and nothing so delighted him as
the rare occasions when she had come to him.
But it was only two days ago that she asked for
money, and now she asked again. And over
this he began to grow silent and to brood; and
by the end of the ride, when he was lifting her
off her horse, he had built on it a mountain of
suspicion, and sadly converted what he had
hailed with delight into a fresh source of disquiet .

Just before dinner she came in to him. "If
you could spare it to me now," she said, with a
smile. "I have heard you quote some Latin
about bis dat."

"To be sure," he said, fetching out his
cheque-book. "How much?"

"A great deal," she said, "a very great deal.
I am ashamed to name it."

"Nonsense," he said, writing. "This," he
added, looking at her, "is some pressing fellow,
or Madame Adelaide. Why do you let them
press you?"

"No," she said, hastily; "this is a private
little extravagance—a secret, a very great secret.
We all have our little debts, or, I mean,
expenses."

He then said, abruptly, "How much?"

"Well then," she said, "a very great deal, I
fear. Would a hundred——"

He filled it in. "There," he said. "Surely
you know," he added, gravely, "there is no
complaint in these matters, or should not be.
With an income like ours, you are entitled by
right to your share, without coming to me in
this way. And observe, don't suppose, for a
moment, that I wish to know how you spend it.
I have no right or title in the world. There, so
recollect that. The bank is your bank as well
as mine."