'You have never wronged me, sir,' and with a low but distinct emphasis: 'G.o.d forbid that I should wrong either you or her.'

'No! My heart was always full of kindness to you. Young as you were--young in years and in work--you had won my entire respect and esteem. I thank you, Cyril--I thank you in my own and in my wife's name--that I can respect you as highly as ever.'

Dr. Ross's voice faltered with emotion, and the hand that still lay on Cyril's shoulder trembled visibly; but there was no answering gleam of emotion on the young man's face.

'You mean it kindly, Dr. Ross, but I have not deserved this praise.' He spoke coldly, proudly. 'Have I an unsullied name to offer any woman? And even if this difficulty could be got over, do I not know that my career is over? Would you--would any other man, do you think--employ me as a master? I have been facing this question all night, and I know that, as far as my worldly prospects are concerned, I am practically ruined.'

'No, no; you must not say that. There are plenty of openings for a clever man. You shall have my help. I will employ my influence; I have powerful friends. We might find you a secretaryship.'

'I think a clerkship will be more likely,' returned Cyril, in the same hard voice, though the pent-up pain threatened to suffocate him. 'I may have some difficulty even there; people like their clerks to be respectably connected, and when one's father has been in prison----'

But Dr. Ross would not let him proceed.

'My poor boy, your father's sin is not yours. No one can rob you of your self-respect and stainless honour. If it were not for Audrey, I might even venture to brave public opinion and keep you myself. It might bring me into trouble with Charrington, but, as you know, I am my own master.

I could have talked him over and got him to hush it up, and we could have moved your mother to a little distance. Yes, Cyril, I would have done it; you should have fought out your battle at my side, if it were not for my child.'

'I do not know how to thank you for saying this;' and Cyril's rigidity relaxed and he spoke more naturally. 'I shall never forget this, Dr.

Ross--never, never! But'--here his voice shook--'you will let me go--you will not make me stop when people begin to talk about it? I am no coward, but there are some things too hard to put on any man; and to do my work when I see on the boys' faces that they know everything--it would be the death of me. I could not stand it--no, by heavens! I could not.'

'You shall not be asked to bear it. My poor boy, have you no faith in me? Do you think I should ask you to perform so cruel, so impossible a duty? From this hour you are free, Cyril; do not trouble about your work. I can find a subst.i.tute, or, if that fails, I will do your work myself. You are ill--it will be no falsehood to say that--and in another fortnight the school will break up. Keep quiet--go away somewhere for a time, and take Burnett into your confidence; he will be a better friend for you just now than I.'

'I doubt it, sir.'

Then the Doctor's eyes glistened with tears.

'G.o.d help you, my dear fellow! You are doing the right, and He will.

This is not good-bye; I will see you again. Now go to her, and teach my child to do the right too.' And then Dr. Ross turned his back upon him rather abruptly, and walked to the window.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

'YOU WILL LIVE IT DOWN'

'Sweet the thought, our lives, my love.

Parted ne'er may be, Though between thy heart and mine Leagues of land and sea.

Of this twofold life and love, Twofold running fate, Sad and lone we may be oft, Never desolate.'

BRITTON.

Cyril knew where he should find Audrey; she was generally in her own little sitting-room until luncheon. Sometimes her mother or Mollie would be with her, but this morning he felt instinctively that she would be alone.

She was sitting by the window, and there was some work on her lap, but she did not seem to be employing herself. She had bidden Cyril enter, and directly she saw him she rose from her seat and crossed the room somewhat quickly to meet him; but he did not at once speak to her, neither did he offer his usual greeting.

She waited for a moment to see what he would do; then she put up her face to him.

'Why do you not kiss me, Cyril?' she said, a little reproachfully; and then he did take her in his arms.

'It is for the last time!' he murmured, as he pressed her almost convulsively to him.

But she made no answer to this; when he had set her free, she took his hand very quietly, and led him to a seat that stood beside her chair.

His hand was cold, and she kept it in both her own as though to warm it.

'I knew you would come to me,' she said very softly. 'How ill you look, my poor Cyril! You have not slept. Oh yes, I know all about it. And you have been to father, and you have both made yourselves very miserable.

Do you think I do not know that? Poor father! and he is so tender-hearted.'

'I tried to spare him,' he returned wearily. 'I did not wish to put him to any trouble. I must dree my own weird, Audrey.'

'But I shall have to dree it too. Cyril, my darling, you shall not bear your trouble alone; it is far too heavy for you. As far as we can--as far as our duty permits, we will bear it together.' And then, as though the haggardness of his young face was too much for her, she came closer to him, and laid her head on his shoulder. 'We will bear it together, Cyril.'

'But, Audrey, my one blessing, that cannot be. Do you know what I have come to say to you this morning? That our engagement must be at an end--that you are free, quite free.'

'But I do not wish for freedom.'

'My darling, you ought to wish for it. Under the circ.u.mstances, it is quite impossible that we should ever be married. I am a ruined man, Audrey; I have lost my good name, my work, my worldly credit; my connections are disreputable. By this time you must know that I have a father living, and that his name----'

But she gently checked him.

'Yes, dear, I know all.'

'And yet you can tell me that you do not desire freedom? But that is all your goodness, and because you do not wish to pain me. Audrey, when I tell you that I must give up the idea of ever calling you my wife, it seems to me as though the bitterness of death were on me.'

'My poor Cyril!'

'Yes, I am poor indeed; I never dreamt of such poverty. They might have taken from me everything, and I would not have murmured, if they had only left me my faith in my mother, and if they had not robbed me of my love!'

'She is yours still, Cyril. No, do not turn from me; I mean it--I mean it! If you give me up, if you say to yourself that our engagement is broken, it must be as you choose, and I must let you go. No woman can compel a man to remain bound to her. But the freedom is on your side alone; I neither ask nor desire to be free.'

'Darling, darling, what can you mean?'

'If you say that you will never marry me,' she continued, with an air of deep sadness, 'I suppose you will keep your word; perhaps you are right in saying so. I would not marry you without my father's consent, and he tells me he will never give it; but, Cyril, you may rest a.s.sured of this, that in your lifetime I will never marry another man.'

Then he threw himself at her feet, and, taking her hands in his, begged her for very pity's sake to stop.

'I love you, Audrey! I think I never loved you before as I do now! but do you think I would permit such a sacrifice?'

'How are you to help it?' she returned, with a faint smile that was very near tears; 'and it would be no sacrifice, as far as I know my own heart. I think my one wish is to comfort you, and to make your life a little less dreary, Cyril,' looking at him earnestly; and it seemed to him as though her face were like an angel's. 'You will be brave and bear this for my sake. When you are tempted to lose faith, and hope seems farthest from you, you must say to yourself: "Audrey has not deserted me; she is mine still--mine always and for ever!"'

Then he bowed his head on her hands and wept like a child. She pa.s.sed her hand over his hair caressingly, and her own tears flowed; but after a little while she spoke again:

'I have told father so, and I have told mother; I said to both of them that I would never give you up. We may live apart. Oh yes, I know that it is all very sad and miserable; but you will let me keep your ring, Cyril, because I still belong to you.'

He tried to steady his voice, and failed; all his manhood could not give him fort.i.tude at such a moment. He could only clasp her in his arms, and beg her for her own sweet sake to listen to him.