“Lily, I will.”

“Some day I will explain everything.”

“When do you want the money?”

“To-morrow morning, if you please.”

“At breakfast you will find it in an envelope under your plate.”

“Thank you, sir.  It is for——­”

“Hush!  Tell me nothing till you tell me all.  I prefer to trust you entirely, and I shall wait for the hour when no concealment exists between us; when your secret thoughts are as much my property as my own.  Less than that will never content your exacting guardian, but that hour is very distant.”

She took his hand and pressed her soft lips upon it, ere he could snatch it away.

“God grant that hour may come speedily.”

“Amen, Lily.  You look strangely worn and ill; and your eyes are distressingly elfish and shadowy.  Go to sleep, little girl, and forget that you forced me to be stem and harsh.  Remember that your guardian, in defiance of his judgment, trusts you fully—­entirely.”

He turned quickly and quitted the library before she could reply, and soon after, hearing the street door close, she knew he had gone to Mrs. Tarrant’s.

CHAPTER XXII.

The letter which Regina wrote that night was earnest, almost passionate, in its appeal that she might be permitted to join her mother; yet no hint of the bete noire of the square darkened its contents, for the writer felt that only face to face, eye to eye, could she ask her mother that fearful question, upon which all her future peace depended.

Having sealed and addressed the envelope, she extinguished the light, and tried to find in sleep that blessed oblivion which nature mercifully provides for aching hearts and heavily laden brains; but about three o’clock she heard the carriage at the front door, the voices of the trio ascending the stairs, and once a ringing triumphant laugh which was peculiarly Olga’s, then all grew still in the house, and quiet in the street.

Unable to compose herself, tossing restlessly on her bed, with hot throbbing temples and a sore heart Regina wearily listened for the low silvery strokes of the clock, and when it announced half-past three she began to long for daylight.

Suddenly, although warned by not even the faintest sound, she became aware that she was not alone; that a human being was breathing the same atmosphere.  Starting into a sitting posture she exclaimed: 

“Who is there?”

“Hush!  I am no burglar.  Don’t make a noise.”

Simultaneously she heard the stroke of a match, and a small wax taper was lighted and held high over Olga’s head, showing her tall form enveloped in a cherry-coloured dressing-gown and shawl.  Stepping cautiously across the floor, she lighted one of the gas burners, placed the taper on the bureau, and came to the bedside.

“Make room for me.  I am cold, my feet are like ice.”