His voice trembled as he spoke.  He had no right to be silent any longer, and as he finished Mrs. Simcoe took his hand.

“Forgive me!  I love her so dearly—­and I too am a woman.”

She sank upon the sofa as she spoke, and covered her face for a little while.  The tears stole quietly down her cheeks.  Lawrence Newt stood by her sadly, for his mind was deeply perplexed.  They both remained for some time without speaking, until Mrs. Simcoe asked,

“What can we do?”

Lawrence Newt shook his head doubtfully.

They were silent again.  At length Mrs. Simcoe said: 

“I will do it.”

“What?” asked Lawrence.

“What I have been meaning to do for a long, long time,” replied the other.  “I will tell her the story.”

An indefinable expression settled upon Lawrence Newt’s face as she spoke.

“Has she never asked?” he inquired.

“Often; but I have always avoided telling.”

“It had better be done.  It is the only way.  But I hoped it would never be necessary.  God bless us all!”

He moved toward the door when he had finished, but not until he had shaken her warmly by the hand.

“You will come as before?” she said.

“Of course, there will not be the slightest change on my part.  And, Mrs. Simcoe, remember that next week, certainly, I shall meet Miss Hope at Miss Amy Waring’s.  Our first meeting had better be there, so before then please—­”

He bowed and went out.  As he passed the library door he involuntarily looked in.  There sat Hope Wayne, reading; but as she heard him she raised the head of golden hair, the dewy cheeks, the thoughtful brow, and as she bowed to him the clear blue eyes smiled the words her tongue uttered—­

“Good-by, Mr. Newt, good-by!”

The words followed him out of the door and down the street.  The air rang with them every where.  The people he passed seemed to look at him as if they were repeating them.  Distant echoes caught them up and whispered them.  He heard no noise of carriages, no loud city hum; he only heard, fainter and fainter, softer and softer, sadder and sadder, and ever following on, “Good-by, Mr. Newt, good-by!”

CHAPTER LXXIII.

THE BELCH PLATFORM.

“My dear Newt, as a friend who has the highest respect for you, and the firmest faith in your future, I am sure you will allow me to say one thing.”

“Oh! certainly, my dear Belch; say two,” replied Abel, with the utmost suavity, as he sat at table with General Belch.

“I have no peculiar ability, I know,” continued the other, “but I have, perhaps, a little more experience than you.  We old men, you know, always plume ourselves upon experience, which we make do duty for all the virtues and talents.”

“And it is trained for that service by being merely a synonym for a knowledge of all the sins and rascalities,” said Abel, smiling, as he blew rings of smoke and passed the decanter to General Belch.