Stafford stopped and looked at him with a dull, vacant gaze.

"A pauper!" repeated Falconer, huskily.

"I daresay," said Stafford, wearily.

"And you an earl!" said Falconer, his face a brick-dust red. "Do you think they will have any pity? Not they. They'll take you at your word.

They'll have every penny! How do you mean to live? You, the Earl of Highcliffe!"

Stafford pa.s.sed his hand across his brow; and a smile, a grim smile, curved his lips.

"I don't know," he said. "The money was theirs, not mine."

"Stuff and rubbish!" said Falconer. "You thought only of yourself, of your father's good name. I need scarcely tell you that Maude..."

Stafford waited, his pale face set like a statue's.

--"That Maude--well, you don't expect her to consider the engagement binding after--after this?" The blood rushed to Stafford's face.

"I understand," he said. "Miss Falconer is free. I resign all claim to her."

At this moment Howard came out. He had almost fought his way from the crowded room.

"Stafford!" he cried. "It is not too late! You can take it back! They are friendly!"

Stafford smiled.

"I've nothing to take back!" he said.

Howard linked his arm in his friend's.

"Good Lord! But it was splendid! But all the same--Stafford, have you considered? It will leave you practically penniless!"

"I know," said Stafford. "I have considered. Let us go home."

They went home to Stafford's room. Howard was hot with the enthusiasm of admiration, and with the effort to suppress it; for nowadays men do not tolerate praise even from their dearest friend. It seemed to Howard as if Stafford's act of renunciation had brought him a certain sense of relief, as if some portion of the heavy weight had been lifted from his heart.

"Of course now we have to go into a committee of ways and means, my dear Staff; you won't mind my asking you what you're going to do? I need not say that there is no need for any precipitate action.

I--er--the fact is, Staff, I have a sum of money lying at the bank which absolutely annoys me by its uselessness. The bank manager has been bothering me about it for some time past, and it was such a nuisance that I thought of tossing him whether he should take or I. It isn't much--a man doesn't ama.s.s a large fortune by writing leaders for the newspapers and articles for reviews--but of course you wouldn't be so mean as to refuse to borrow what there is. I'm very much afraid that you'll suffer by this absurdly quixotic action of yours, which, mind you! though I admire it, as I admire the siege of Troy, or the battle of Waterloo, is a piece of darned foolishness. However, let that go!

What do you mean to do?"

"I don't know yet," said Stafford. He didn't thank Howard for the offer; no thanks were necessary. "The thing is so sudden that I have not made any plans. I suppose there's something I can do to earn my living. I've no brains, but I'm pretty strong. I might drive a hansom cab or an omnibus, better men than I have done worse. Leave me alone, old man, to have a pipe and think of it." Howard lingered for an hour or two, for he felt that though Stafford had dismissed him, he had need of him; and when he had gone Stafford took his hat and went out. He did not call a hansom, but walked on regardless of his route, and lost in thought. Something of the weight that had crushed him had been lifted from his heart: he was penniless, the future stretched darkly before him with a darkness through which there appeared no road or sign of light; but he was free. He would not be compelled to go to the altar, there to perjure himself with an oath to love and cherish one woman while he loved another. I am afraid he did not feel much pity for Maude, simply because he did not realise how much she cared for him.

He walked on for some time and at last found himself somewhere down by the Minories, in that mysterious East End, of which we hear so much and of which we know so little. A little farther on he came upon the river and he stood for a moment or two watching some sheep and cattle being driven on board an ocean tramp. The sight of them recalled Herondale and Ida; and he was turning away, with a sigh, when a burly man with a large slouch hat stuck on the back of his head came lurching out of one of the little wooden offices on the quay. He was apparently the owner of the sheep, or in some way concerned with them, for he harangued the drovers in a flow of language which though rich in profanity, was poured forth in a pleasant and jovial voice. He had been drinking unwisely and too well, and as he wobbled richly about the small quay he happened to lurch against Stafford, who was attempting to avoid him. He begged Stafford's pardon profusely and with such good-natured penitence that Stafford in addition to granting him the forgiveness he requested, asked him where the sheep and cattle were going.

"To my little place, Salisbury Plain." Seeing the astonishment which Stafford could not keep out of his face, the man laughed and explained.

"Not your Salisbury Plain, not the place here in England, but in the Burra-Burra country, Australia," he pointed with his fat hand downwards. "Right underneath. They're prize rams and bulls. I like to have the best, and I paid a devil of a long price for them; but I've got enough left for a drink if you'll come and have one."

Stafford declined, but the man clung on to his arm, and thinking it the easiest way of getting rid of him, and to avoid a scene, Stafford accompanied him to the clean and inviting little public at the corner of the quay, and permitted the man to order a gla.s.s of ale for him; the bar-maid, without receiving any intimation, placed a large joram of rum before the man, who remarked, after raising his gla.s.s to Stafford's health:

"Yes, sir, and I'm going with those beasts. I've nothing to say against Old England so long as you don't ask me to live here. I've been here six weeks, and there's only one thing that I feel I want and can't get--no, miss, it ain't rum, there's plenty of that, thank G.o.d!--it's air, air. I suppose the city gents are used to living without it, though some of you look pale enough. _You_ don't look quite the thing yourself, sir; rather white about the gills, and not enough meat on you. Ah! I'd soon alter that if I had you at Salisbury Plain. Lord! I should like to take out a whole shipload of you; and mind, I could do with a few, and pay you better wages than you get in the City of London. And the life! Why, you'd think yourselves kings, with a horse to ride and plenty to eat, and plenty of fun. But there! you can't tell what it's like unless you've seen it, and if ever you should have a fancy to see it, you come out to Salisbury Plain, to my little place on the Burra-Burra; for I like the look of you, young man; you're a gentleman, though I've an idea you're down on your luck--I ain't so drunk that I can't see through a man's eyes, and there's trouble in yours; been outrunning the constable, eh? And you're not too proud to take a drink with an honest man--honest, though rough, maybe."

"Not at all," said Stafford, "and now you will take a drink with me, or shall we make it a cigar?" for he did not want to lead the man any further on the road of inebriety.

"A cigar? Right you are," the settler replied, promptly. He took out an envelope, intending to screw it up for a light, but suddenly caught sight of the address, and with genial gravity handed the envelope to Stafford. "There's my name--Henery Joffler, and there's my address, and anybody at Melbourne will tell you the best way of getting there. Come when you like, winter or summer, and you'll find Henery Joffler ready to receive you with a welcome. _Now_ I will have a drink," he remarked, as if he had not partaken of one for a calendar month.

When Stafford left the little public house, he held the envelope in his hand and was about to tear it up, when he checked himself and mechanically put it into his pocket. The incident, if it had not actually amused him, had diverted his mind in a wholesome manner for a short s.p.a.ce; but he had almost forgotten it when has reached his rooms.

The time had slipped by him and it was now twilight and as he was crossing the room in the dusk to ring the bell for a light, a woman rose from his chair and came towards him with out-stretched hands and his name on her lips.

"Maude!" he exclaimed, startled out of his self-possession. Then it flashed upon him that she should not be there, in his rooms, alone; and he looked at her gravely.

"Why have you come, Maude?" he said. "Wait but one moment and I will call a cab--go home with you."

"No," she said, presently. "Did you think I should not come, Stafford?

I have been here for hours." She drew nearer to him, her eyes, so cold to others, burning like sapphires as they were raised to his. "Did you think when I had heard what you had done that I should keep away? No!

I--I am proud of you--can you not guess how proud?--my heart is aching with it. Ah, but it was like you, Stafford!"

As she put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him with a smile of pride, and of adoration, Stafford's eyes fell before hers.

"I could do nothing else," he said. "But I am sorry you came, Maude.

Didn't Mr. Falconer tell you?"

She laughed and threw back her head with a defiant gesture.

"Yes--as if it mattered! As if anyone--even he--could separate us!

Besides, what he said was in a fit of temper, he was annoyed by your surrendering the money. And he could not speak for me--could not control me."

"Let me get a light," said Stafford.

"No matter," she said, as if she could not bear him to leave her side, even for a moment. "Stafford, dearest, you will not think of, you will forget, what he said? It was spoken in a moment of irritation. Oh, my dearest, let me look at you--it is so long since I saw you, so long, so long! How pale you are, and how weary looking!"

Her other arm went round his neck, and she would have drawn his face down to her lips, but Stafford checked her.

"You should not be here," he stammered.

She laughed.

"How proud you are! Yes, and I love you for it! You think that I should desert you, as most women would do!" She laughed again. "If you were a pauper--"

"It is what your father called me," he said, gravely

She smiled up into his gloomy eyes defiantly, temptingly.

"What does it matter? I am rich--my father is rich--"

Stafford winced and his face flamed, but she had turned aside for a moment and did not see the effect of her words.

--"And you have more than wealth," she laughed. "I reminded him of that, and it sobered him. Oh, believe me! for all his pretended stoicism, my father values a t.i.tle as keenly as most men, and at heart is anxious to see his daughter a countess."