“In plain English,” he said, “my house is to be turned into a trap to catch Rachel; with a bait to tempt her, in the shape of an invitation from my wife and daughters.  If you were anybody else but Franklin Blake, and if this matter was one atom less serious than it really is, I should refuse point-blank.  As things are, I firmly believe Rachel will live to thank me for turning traitor to her in my old age.  Consider me your accomplice.  Rachel shall be asked to spend the day here; and you shall receive due notice of it.”

“When?  To-morrow?”

“To-morrow won’t give us time enough to get her answer.  Say the day after.”

“How shall I hear from you?”

“Stay at home all the morning and expect me to call on you.”

I thanked him for the inestimable assistance which he was rendering to me, with the gratitude that I really felt; and, declining a hospitable invitation to sleep that night at Hampstead, returned to my lodgings in London.

Of the day that followed, I have only to say that it was the longest day of my life.  Innocent as I knew myself to be, certain as I was that the abominable imputation which rested on me must sooner or later be cleared off, there was nevertheless a sense of self-abasement in my mind which instinctively disinclined me to see any of my friends.  We often hear (almost invariably, however, from superficial observers) that guilt can look like innocence.  I believe it to be infinitely the truer axiom of the two that innocence can look like guilt.  I caused myself to be denied all day, to every visitor who called; and I only ventured out under cover of the night.

The next morning, Mr. Bruff surprised me at the breakfast-table.  He handed me a large key, and announced that he felt ashamed of himself for the first time in his life.

“Is she coming?”

“She is coming to-day, to lunch and spend the afternoon with my wife and my girls.”

“Are Mrs. Bruff, and your daughters, in the secret?”

“Inevitably.  But women, as you may have observed, have no principles.  My family don’t feel my pangs of conscience.  The end being to bring you and Rachel together again, my wife and daughters pass over the means employed to gain it, as composedly as if they were Jesuits.”

“I am infinitely obliged to them.  What is this key?”

“The key of the gate in my back-garden wall.  Be there at three this afternoon.  Let yourself into the garden, and make your way in by the conservatory door.  Cross the small drawing-room, and open the door in front of you which leads into the music-room.  There, you will find Rachel—­and find her, alone.”

“How can I thank you!”

“I will tell you how.  Don’t blame me for what happens afterwards.”

With those words, he went out.

I had many weary hours still to wait through.  To while away the time, I looked at my letters.  Among them was a letter from Betteredge.