“I want to say,” continued Hamilton, “that while Baron Ned spoke the truth, I have never been guilty of the crimes which it is said some of my friends have committed.  I am unworthy enough in every respect, but I am innocent of murder and robbery.  I shall mend my ways from now on.  I don’t ask you to believe in me, but when I am at all worthy of your kind regard, I shall tell you, and you may believe me, for from this day forth I shall try to be as truthful as Baron Ned.  No man can be more so.”

Frances sighed and answered, “I hope so.”

Hamilton again took her hand, which she now permitted him to retain, and continued:  “If I am ever so fortunate as to gain wealth and position worthy of you, I shall kneel at your feet, if you are free to hear me.  If the good fortune never comes, this will be our farewell.”

“I hope the good fortune will come soon, for your sake, and—­” But she did not finish.

“Yes, yes, and—­and—?” asked George, pleadingly.

“Yes, and for my own sake,” she answered, turning her face from him, probably to hide the tears that were in her eyes.

“I shall see that good fortune does come,” said he, “but I do not ask you to wait an hour for it.  If happiness comes to you in the right man—­I cannot finish.  Good-by!”

He rose, bent over her, kissed her hand, and was about to leave her hastily, evidently in fear of himself.  But she clung to his hand and, drawing him down to her, offered him her lips.  At first he seemed to draw away, but unable to resist, caught her in his arms, kissed her, and fled.

Frances thrust aside the bushes and watched him as he walked rapidly down the path.  When he turned, just before reaching the bend, she kissed her hand to him, murmuring as though speaking to herself, “Good-by, good-by!” Then she sat down and covered her face with her hands.

After a short time she rose, dried her eyes, and started home, and in a few minutes I climbed the hill and took a short cut to Sundridge.  I reached home before Frances, and, notwithstanding all I had seen, was fully convinced that she would be as safe in Whitehall Court as in her father’s house.

* * * * *

That evening Frances and I walked out together, and I, feeling stricken in conscience, confessed that I had witnessed the interview between her and Hamilton.  She was surprised, and at first was inclined to be angry, but she had so little vindictiveness in her nature and was so gentle of disposition that her ill-temper was but the shadow of anger, and soon passed away.  Then, too, her good common sense, of which she had an ample fund, came to her help and told her that whatever I had done was for her own good.  So the rare smile, which was one of her greatest charms, came to her face, like the diaphanous glow of a good spirit, rested for a moment on her lips, mounted to her eyes and faded slowly away, as though it would linger a moment to ask my forgiveness.