all, if I stop in England,” said he, “I can’t afford to lose my position in society; anything’s better than that an unmitigated low scoundrel like Sedgett should bag the game.”  Besides, is it not somewhat sceptical to suppose that when Fate decides, she has not weighed the scales, and decided for the best?  Meantime, the whole energy of his intellect was set reflecting on the sort of lie which Edward would, by nature and the occasion, be disposed to swallow.  He quitted the cab, and walked in the Park, and au diable to him there! the fool has done his work.

It was now half-past ten.  Robert, with a most heavy heart, had accomplished Rhoda’s commands upon him.  He had taken Dahlia to his lodgings, whither, when free from Edward, Rhoda proceeded in a mood of extreme sternness.  She neither thanked Robert, nor smiled upon her sister.  Dahlia sent one quivering look up at her, and cowered lower in her chair near the window.

“Father comes at twelve?” Rhoda said.

Robert replied:  “He does.”

After which a silence too irritating for masculine nerves filled the room.

“You will find, I hope, everything here that you may want,” said Robert.  “My landlady will attend to the bell.  She is very civil.”

“Thank you; we shall not want anything,” said Rhoda.  “There is my sister’s Bible at her lodgings.”

Robert gladly offered to fetch it, and left them with a sense of relief that was almost joy.  He waited a minute in the doorway, to hear whether Dahlia addressed him.  He waited on the threshold of the house, that he might be sure Dahlia did not call for his assistance.  Her cry of appeal would have fortified him to stand against Rhoda; but no cry was heard.  He kept expecting it, pausing for it, hoping it would come to solve his intense perplexity.  The prolonged stillness terrified him; for, away from the sisters, he had power to read the anguish of Dahlia’s heart, her frozen incapacity, and the great and remorseless mastery which lay in Rhoda’s inexorable will.

A few doors down the street he met Major blaring, on his way to him.  “Here’s five minutes’ work going to be done, which we may all of us regret till the day of our deaths,” Robert said, and related what had passed during the morning hours.

Percy approved Rhoda, saying, “She must rescue her sister at all hazards.  The case is too serious for her to listen to feelings, and regrets, and objections.  The world against one poor woman is unfair odds, Robert.  I come to tell you I leave England in a day or two.  Will you join me?”

“How do I know what I shall or can do?” said Robert, mournfully:  and they parted.