“I cannot even conjecture the business upon which I am wanted,” he said, “but I hope that it may give me an opportunity to be of service to the writer.”

Thus I was relieved of the disagreeable task of trying to induce George to leave England, and was very thankful to escape it.

After a long silence, during which he read the one-line letter many times, he asked:—­

“Are you willing to bring Frances to me early to-morrow morning, if she will come?”

“Doubtless I can,” I answered.  “Her willingness to come has been shown all too plainly of late; but ought I bring her?”

“Yes.  It will be the last time I shall ever see her unless good fortune lies in this letter, and for that I hardly dare hope.  You know that when a man’s luck has been against him for a long time, it kills the very roots of hope and brings him almost to doubt certainty.  Soon after I have seen my friend, Le Grand, I shall write to you in cipher, of which I shall leave you the key.  If I see a prospect of fortune worthy of Frances, I shall ask her to wait a time for me, but if my ill fortune pursues me, I shall never again be heard from by any one in England.  Are you satisfied with the conditions?”

I gave him my hand for answer, and told him I would bring Frances to him early the following morning.

I hastened back to Whitehall, and coming upon Frances unengaged, asked her to go to her parlor with me.  When she had closed the door, she turned to me, asking:—­

“What is it, Baron Ned?  Tell me quickly.  I know there is something wrong with George.”

“Will you go with me early to-morrow morning to see Betty—­very early?” I asked.

Her eyes opened in wonder, and she answered, somewhat amused:  “You have been acting as my guardian for a long time, cousin Ned, and now I think I owe it to you to return the favor.  You should not see so much of Betty.  I know you mean no wrong to her, but you will cause her great suffering if you continue to see her, for you must know that already the girl is almost mad with love of you.  Yet you cannot marry her.”

“Nor can you marry some one else,” I retorted, almost angrily, for a man dislikes to be prodded by a painful truth.

“Ah, well, I suppose we are a pair of fools,” she said.

“You’re right, Frances,” I answered philosophically, “and the only consolation we can find lies in the fact that we know it.”

“Most fools lack that flattering unction,” returned Frances, musingly.

“Perhaps you will take more interest in this matter when I tell you that it is not Betty I propose to see,” I answered.  “I am deliberately offering to take you to see some one else who is about to leave England.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed my lips for answer, then sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands to hide the sudden tears.

I went to the window and waited till she was calm.  I longed to comfort her by telling of the faint prospect of good fortune that lay in Le Grand’s letter, but I hesitated raising a hope which might never be realized.