life, had felt physically unable to endure
suspense, to keep up appearances. He had to
remember how he had shrunk from the coarse
insolence with which he knew Deane would
sport with his fears and his suspense in the
presence of George Dallas, unconscious of
their mutual position ; how all-important it
was that, until he had wrung from Deane
the promised money, he should keep his
temper. He had to remember how the idea
that the man who had so far broken faith with
him already, and might break faith with him
altogether, and so ruin him utterly (for if he
had failed then, and been detected, hope
would have been at an end for him), was within
a few yards of him, perhaps with the promised
money in his pocket at that moment, had
occurred to him with a strange fascination. How
it had intensified his hatred of Deane ; how it
had deepened his sense of his own degradation;
how it had made him rebel against and
curse his own poverty, and filled his heart with
malediction on the rich man who owned that
money which meant safety and success to him.
He had to remember how Deane had given no
answer to his note, temperately worded and
reasonable (Harriet had kept to the letter of
the truth in what she had said of it to George
Dallas), but had left him to all the tortures of
suspense. He had to remember how the desire
to know whether Deane really had had all day
in his possession the money he had promised
him, and had kept him expecting, grew imperative,
implacable, irresistible ; how he had hung
about the tavern, had discovered by Deane's
boasting words to his companion that he had
guessed aright, had followed them, determined
to have an answer from Deane. He had to
remember how he strove with anger, with some
remnants of his former pride, which tortured
him with savage longings for revenge, while he
waited about in the purlieus of the billiard-
rooms whither Deane and Dallas had gone.
He remembered how lonely and blank, how
quiet and dreary, the street had become by the
time the two came out of the house together and
parted, in his hearing, with some careless words.
He had to remember how he confronted Deane,
and was greeted with a taunt; how he had
borne it ; how the man had played with his
suspense, and ostentatiously displayed the money
which the other had vainly watched and waited
for all day ; and then, suddenly assuming an air of
friendliness and confidence, had led him away
Citywards, without betraying his place of
residence, questioning him about George Dallas.
He had to remember how this had embittered
and intensified his anger, and how a sudden fear
had sprung up in his mind that Deane had
confided to Dallas the promises he had made to
him, and the extent to which their " business"
relations had gone. A dexterous question or
two had relieved this apprehension, and then he
had once more turned the conversation on the
subject in which he was so vitally interested.
He had to remember — and how vividly he did
remember, with what an awakening of the
savage fury it had called into life, how Deane
had met this fresh attempt — with what a cool
and tranquil assertion that he had changed his
mind, had no further intention of doing any
business in Routh's line— was going out of
town, indeed, on the morrow, to visit some
relations in the country, too long neglected,
and had no notion when they should meet
again.

And then — then Stewart Routh had to
remember how he had killed the man who had
taunted, deceived, treated him cruelly; how he
had killed him, and robbed him, and gone home
and told his wife — his comrade, his colleague,
his dauntless, unscrupulous Harriet. He had
to remember more than all this, and he hated
to remember it. But the obligation was upon
him; he could not forget how she had acted,
after the first agony had passed over, the first
penalty inflicted by her physical weakness, which
she had spurned and striven against. So surely
as his memory was forced to reproduce all that
had gone before, it was condemned to revive
all that had come after. But he did not soften
towards her that day, no, not in the least, though
never had his recollection been so detailed, so
minute, so calm. No, he hated her. She
wearied him; she had ceased to be of any
service to him; she was a constant torment to
him. So he came back to the idea with which
his reflections had commenced, and, as he entered
on the perusal of the mass of papers which
awaited his attention in his "chambers" in
Tokenhouse-square — for he shared the business-
abode of the invisible Flinders now — he
repeated:

"What a relief it would be to get away from
her for ever!"

Only a few days now, and the end must
come. He was a brave man in his evil way,
and he made his calculations coolly, and scanned
his criminal combinations without any foolish
excess of confidence, but with well-grounded
expectation. For a little longer it would not
be difficult to keep on fair terms with Harriet,
especially as she had renewed her solitary mode
of life, and he had taken the precaution of
pretending to a revived devotion to play, since the
auspicious occasion on which he had won so
largely at Homburg. Thus his absence from
home was accounted for, and as she had not the
slightest suspicion that Mrs. P. Ireton
Bembridge was in London, had never displayed the
least jealousy, except on the one occasion when
he had shown her the locket, and had unhesitatingly
accepted his explanation of their sudden
return to England; he had no reason to trouble
himself about her. To sedulously avoid
exciting her suspicion and jealousy now, and, when
the proper time should arrive, to confirm the
one and arouse the other so effectually by
desertion, infidelity, and insult, as to drive her at
once to free herself from him by the aid of the
law — this was his scheme. It looked well;
he knew Harriet, he thought, thoroughly, and
he might safely calculate upon the course she
would adopt. It was strange, if human