She hung her head. "O, if you knew, dear
husband," she said, then stopped irresolutely.

His face lit up. "Ah," he said, "this is for
some of your good noble charities. That secret
angelic work of yours, which I know of old.
To be sure; forgive me. But——"

She shook her head. "No, I cannot let you
think that," she said; and she went away. She
heard his deep sigh.

Presently she came back. "I had forgot; it
is too late now. The banks are all closed, and
this cheque can be of no use to-night."

"What," he said, a little bitterly, "is it
so pressing as that?"

"I want it to-night," she said, desperately,
"I do indeed. Forgive me for this, but——"

"Forgive you," he said—"forgive you, my
dear! How strangely you talk, for wishing to
have gold instead of a cheque. Nonsense; we
can send out and have it cashed somewhere,"
and he rang the bell. But all the shops were
closed.

Sitting below in his study, he did very little
business that night. Towards nine he found his
lamp growing dim, and rang the bell for his
servant. The study door was opened by Martha.
"Take this lamp away," he said, a little
pettishly. "None of you mind your work. Look
at the way it is burning. Stay, why didn't he
come up?"

"The mistress," she answered, solemnly,
"had sent him out of a message, and with a
letter. She was most particular about it, as
there was money——"

"I see," said he; then paused. Then very
irresolutely, and with an affectation of
displeasure, "And where has he gone at this time
of night?"

He waited anxiously for the answer.

"To the captain's. The captain sent here
twice this evening."

"Ah! I see," he said—not to Martha, but
in reference to something that he said himself.
"I see; perfectly."

What he saw was, that the captain never
wanted money for himself, and would have died
rather than have asked it, except from a man
like General Cameron. Therefore the captain
was useful as an agent.

Martha went on: "Indeed, we had company
enough here to-day. A strange gentleman that
sat near an hour."

"Mr. Grainger?" he said, eagerly.

"No, no," she said, "but a friend of his, and
the captain was here with him. Very pretty
goings on, while the master's at the bank."

"Martha!"

"Ah! she, the poor little soul that they put
to rest in the heathen country, there was no
trouble of that sort with her. Ah! if she'd
been understood properly; but she wasn't, and
it's too late now. There's Watson back. He's
been away an hour."

"Send him to me."

Watson came, and took the lamp with all
respect and many excuses. He'd have sent the
groom, but the mistress was so particular.
And the captain had to write a letter, which he
asked him to leave, and be very careful of,
which he had done; "as I knew, sir, you
wished the captain to be obliged in everything.
Then the captain had written another letter for
the mistress."

"You did quite right, Watson," said Mr.
Tillotson. "Leave it here. She will be down
herself."

It was not a letter, only a scrap of paper half
twisted up. It was in his hand; and, indeed,
it all but unfolded of itself. There was, besides,
the legal fiction of husband and wife "being
one," and the moral rule of their "having no
secrets" from each other. There was no
question of "breaking the seal" or "opening a
letter."

It was a very short struggle. He rang the
bell, and sent it up to her.

The note which the captain had written was
to the following effect:

                "My dear. It's all right. I told you I
was the boy for the business. He has taken
the hundred and fifty, and is off to the country.
Yours,                                                     "T.D."

But the good captain had not mentioned that
his own fifty "had gone to the back of that."
"Ah, the creature, when I come to want it one
of these days, I shall tell Tillotson; and it'll be
time enough then."

Thus some two or three weeks more went
by, and the cloud deepened all the while over
that house. Mr. Tillotson's face began to draw
back every day nearer and nearer to the old
dreamy gloomy pattern, to the infinite concern
of his friends. Meantime they went their usual
round of life. A wistful look had come into her
face, but they went out together to the festivities
given in honour of so important a being as the
head of the great bank. And in due course
arrived a sort of Lord Mayor's card from Mrs.
Bunnett, announcing that that City lady would
be "At Home," with "Dancing," in a few days.

Mr. Tillotson said to his wife in his gentle
voice, "We must go, of course. It will amuse
you, and I hope you will make a fine show
there, and that you have a splendid dress."

"You are too kind," she said, softly. "But
I am well provided, too well." She stopped
irresolutely, and came up to him. "I have
done something wrong," she said, "and you
are angry with me. But I did not mean it;
indeed, no. We were so happy, but now——"

"You?" he said, sadly. "No. I have not
complained, have I? No; you are everything
that a good wife could be. I have no right to
say a word."

"Ah! but you are changed. I see you are;
and you have some reason which you will not
tell; and yet I declare solemnly, as I stand
here, that I know of nothing, unless, indeed,
that unfortunate Ross——But if you only
knew——"

The hard look came to his face again. "Have
I made any complaint?" he said. "I repeat, you