There was a faint sigh here, hardly audible to the young man, who went on:

"I come to you for help and advice."

"What can I do to help? As for advice," said the voice coldly, "I will do what I can. Is she worthy of your love?"

"Worthy?" cried Huish, flushing. "She is an angel."

"Yes," said the voice, with a sigh. "They all are. But, tell me, does she refuse you."

"No, sir."

"Then what more do you want? Who and what is she?"

These last words were said with more approach to interest, and the fingers began to tap the edge of the opening.

"It is presumption on my part," said Huish, growing excited, and rising to stride up and down the room, "for I am poor and unworthy of her."

"No true honourable man is unworthy of the woman he loves," said the voice calmly, "though he may, perhaps, be unsuited. Go on. Who is the lady?"

"Who is she, sir? I believed that you must know. It is your niece-- Gertrude."

"My G.o.d!"

It was almost a whisper, but John Huish heard it, and saw that the thin white hand seemed to be jerked upwards, falling slowly back, though, to remain upon the edge of the opening trembling.

"I shock you, sir, by my announcement," said Huish bitterly.

"No--yes--no; net shock--surprise me greatly." There was a pause, and the fingers trembled as they were now and again raised, then grew steady as they were laid down. "But tell me," it continued, trembling and becoming less cold, "does Gertrude return your love?"

"Oh yes, Heaven bless her, yes!" cried the young man fervently; and there was another silence, such as might have ensued had the owner of the voice been trying to master some emotion.

"What more, then, do you want?" said the voice, now greatly changed.

"You, an honourable young man, in love with a girl who is all sweetness and purity. It is strange; but it is the will of G.o.d. Marry her, and may He bless the union!"

"Captain Millet, you make me very, very happy," cried the young man; and before the hand could be removed it was seized and pressed in his strong grasp.

It was withdrawn directly, and a fresh silence ensued, when the voice said softly:

"And my brother, does he approve?"

"Oh yes; I think so," replied Huish; "but--"

"The mother objects--of course. She has made her choice. Who is it?"

"Lord Henry Moorpark."

"A man nearly three times her age. It would be a crime. You will not permit such an outrage against her youth. Moorpark must be mad."

"What can I do, sir?" cried Huish. "That is why I ask your help and counsel."

"Bah!" said the voice contemptuously. "You are young and strong; you have your wits; Gertrude loves you, and you ask me for help and counsel!

John Huish, at your age, under such circ.u.mstances, it would have been a bold man who would have robbed me of my prize. There, go--go, young man, and think and act. Poor Gertrude! she has a mother who makes Mammon her G.o.d--a woman who has broken one of her children's hearts; do not let her break that of the other. Go now, I am weary: this has been a tiring day. You can come to me again."

"Do not let her break that of the other," said John Huish to himself as the panel slowly closed; and from that moment the dim twilight of the shuttered house became to him glorious with light, and he went away feeling joyous and elastic as he had not felt for days. As he neared his chambers a thin, grey, hard-faced-looking woman, who had stood watching for quite an hour, stepped out of a doorway and touched him on the arm.

He turned sharply, and she said in a low voice:

"I must see you. Come to-morrow night at the old time."

Before he could speak she had hurried away, turned down the next street, and was gone.

"To-morrow night--the old time?" said Huish, gazing after her, and then raising his hat to place his hand upon his forehead. "Quite cool. Is it fancy? Why should that woman speak to me?"

Then, turning upon his heel, he entered the door of his chambers, and set himself to work to think over his interview, and to devise some plan for defeating Lady Millet in her projected enterprise.

"It would shock her," he said at last; "but when she knows of her uncle's views she might be influenced. She must, she shall be. The poor old man's words have given me strength, and I shall win, after all.

But what slaves we are to custom and prejudice! I ought not to be the man to study them in such a case as this."

Then the words just spoken to him at the door came back to puzzle and set him thinking of several other encounters--or fancied encounters with people whom he felt that he had never seen before.

"I don't know what to say to it," he thought; "Stonor ought to know; but somehow I feel as if he had not grasped my case. There, I will not trouble about that now."

He kept the thoughts which troubled him from his brain for a time, but they soon forced themselves back with others.

"I wonder," he mused, "what took place in the past? There must have been something. My father and mother must have known Captain Millet very intimately. He received his injury from some fall, and Dr Stonor saved his limb, I believe. But there's a reticence about all that time which is aggravating. I suppose I must wait, and when I learn everything which puzzles me now, it will be only shadowy and vague.

Only my mother always asks about the Captain with so tender a tone of respect. Ah, well! I must wait."

At about the same time that John Huish was pondering over his state in connection with his love affairs, Renee Morrison called in her carriage for her sister, bore her off to where she thought they could be alone, and sent the carriage back. The place chosen was the Park, which, though pretty well thronged with people, seemed to them solitary, as they strolled across toward the Row.

Gertrude was very silent, for she felt that Renee had something important to say; but the minutes sped on, and their scattered remarks had been of the most commonplace character, and at last, as she glanced sideways, Gertrude saw that if her sister were to confide her troubles and be the recipient of those effervescing in her own breast she herself must speak.

"You do not confide in me, Renee dear," she said tenderly, as they took a couple of chairs beneath one of the spreading trees. "Why do you not always make me more your confidant? One feels as if one could talk out here in the park, where there are no walls to listen. Come, dear, why do you not tell me all?"

"Because I feel that my husband's secrets are in my keeping, and that I should be doing wrong to speak of what he does."

"Not wrong in confiding in me, Renee. You are not happy. Oh, Ren, Ren, why did you consent? Trouble, and so soon!"

"Don't talk to me like that, now, Gerty," cried Renee in a low, pa.s.sionate voice, "because it was mamma's will that we should marry well and have establishments, and satisfy her pride. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had never been born."

"Oh, Ren, Ren," her sister whispered, pressing her hand. "But Frank--he is kind to you?"

"Yes," said Renee sadly; "he is never angry with me."

"But I mean kind and loving and attentive, as your husband should be?"

said Gertrude softly.

Renee looked at her with a sad, heavy look, and now that the first confidence had been made, her heart was open to her sister.