"but remember, too, that when I ask a favour
I can just as little brook refusal."

"We'll talk of that another time. Give me
your arm now, and help me back to the house,
tor I feel very weak and faint. Is Milly angry
with you?" she asked, as they walked along,
side by side.

"I don't know; perhaps so," said he, carelessly,

"You used to be such good friends. I hope
you have not fallen out?"

"I hope not," said he, in his former easy
tone; "or that if we have, we may make it up
again. Bear in mind, Florence," added he, with
more gravity of manner, "that l am a good deal
changed from what you knew me. I have less
pride, cherish fewer resentments, scarcely any
hopes, and no affections—I mean, strong affections.
The heart you refused is now cold; the
only sentiment left me, is a sense of gratitude.
I can be very grateful; I am already so." She
made no answer to this speech, and they
re-entered the house in silence.

CHAPTER XXII. A. LETTER OF CONFESSIONS.

THE following letter from Calvert to Drayton
was written about three weeks after the events
of our last chapter:

"The Villa.

"My dear Algernon,—I knew my black fellow
would run you to earth, though he had not a
word of English in his vocabulary, nor any clue
to you, except your name and a map of England.
It must have, however, been his near kinsman
—the other 'black gentleman'—suggested
Scarborough to him; and, to this hour, I cannot
conceive how he found you. I am overjoyed to
hear that you could muster enough Hindostance
to talk with him, and hear some of those adventures
which my natural modesty might have
scrupled to tell you. It would seem, from your
note, that he has been candour itself, and
confessed much that a man of a paler and thinner
skin might prefer to have shrouded or evaded.
All true, D.; we have done our brigandage on
a grand scale, and divided our prize-money without
the aid of a prize-court. Keep those trinkets
with an easy conscience, and, if they leave your
own hands for any less worthy still, remember
the adage, 'Ill got, ill gone,' and be comforted.
I suppose you are right—you are generally
right on a question of worldly craft and
prudence—it is better not to attempt the sale of
the larger gems in England. St. Petersburg
and Vienna are as good markets, and safer.

"El. J. has already told you of our escape
into Cashmere; make him narrate the capture
of .Mansergh, and how we found the Keyserbagh
necklace under his saddle. A Queen's officer
looting! Only think of the enormity! Did it
not justify those proceedings in which Instinct
anticipated the finding of a court-martial? The
East and its adventures—a very bulky roll, I
assure you—must wait till we meet; and in my
next I shall say where, and how, and when; for
there is much that I shall tell that I could not
write even to you, Algernon. Respect my
delicacy, and be patient.

"I know you are impatient to hear why I am
not nearer England—even at Paris—and I am
just as impatient to tell you. The address of
this will show you where I am. All the writing
in the world could not tell you why. No,
Draylon; I lie awake at night, questioning,
questioning, and in vain. I have gone to the
nicest anatomy of my motives, dissecting fibre
by fibre, and may I be—a Queen's officer—if I
can hit upon an explanation of the mystery.
The nearest I can come is, that I feel the place
dangerous to me, and, therefore, I cling to it.
I know well the feeling that would draw a man
back to the spot where he had committed a
great crime. Blood is a very glutinous fluid,
and has most cohesive properties; but here, in
this place, I have done no enormities, and why
I hug this coast, except that it be a lee-shore,
where shipwreck is very possible, I really cannot
make out. Not a bit in love? No, Algy.
It is not easy for a man like me to fall in love.
Love demands a variety of qualities, which have
long left me, if I ever had them. I have little
trustfulness, no credulity; I very seldom look
back, never look forward; I neither believe in
another, nor ask belief in myself. I have seen
too much of life to be a dreamer—reality with
me denies all place to mere romance. Last of
all, I cannot argue from the existence of certain
qualities in a woman to the certainty of her
possessing fifty others that I wish her to have. I
only believe what I see, and my moral eyes are
affected with cataract; and yet, with all this,
there's a girl here—the same, ay, the same, I
told you of long ago—that I'd rather marry than
I'd be King of Agra, with a British governor-
general for my water-carrier! The most
maddening of all jealousy is for a woman that one
is not in love with! I am not mad, most noble
Drayton, though I am occasionally as near it as
is safe for the surrounders. With the same
determination that this girl says she'll not have
me, have I sworn to myself she shall be mine.
It is a fair open game, and I leave you, who
love a wager, to name the winner. I have seen
many prettier women—scores of cleverer ones.
I am not quite sure that in the matter of those
social captivations into which manner enters, she
has any especial gifts. She is not a horsewoman,
in the real sense of the word, which, once on a
time, was a sine quâ non of mine; nor, in fact,
has she a peculiar excellence in anything, and
yet she gives you the impression of being able
to be anything she likes. She has great quickness
and great adaptiveness, but she possesses
one trait of attraction above all: she utterly
rejects me, and sets all my arts at defiance. I
saw, very soon after I came back here, that she
was prepared for a regular siege, and expected
a fierce love-suit on my part. I accordingly
spiked my heavy artillery, and assumed an
attitude of peace-like indolence. I lounged about,
chiefly alone; neither avoided nor sought her,
and, if I did nothing more, I sorely puzzled her
as to what I could mean by my conduct. This
was so far a success that it excited her interest,
and I saw that she watched and was studying