"Oh, yes, my dear Talbot," responded Mr. Clendon, with grim irony.

"There are more persons die of starvation in London every day than the Boards of Guardians wot of. The doctor calls them 'heart-failure' in his certificate; and he is quite accurate. But let me tell you what I want you to do. This girl has been a secretary; she has been advertising for some similar post; any post, indeed."

He took out the paper and pointed to the advertis.e.m.e.nt. The Marquess took the paper, pa.s.sing his hand over his eyes, as if he were dazed, and read the few lines which had cost Celia her last penny.

"Got it?" asked Mr. Clendon. "Well, now, I want you to write an answer to it, Talbot, and offer her a situation."

Lord Sutcombe dropped into his chair, his head sunk in his hands.

"What kind of situation?" he asked, looking up. "Of course, I'll do it--I feel, confused. Little wonder!--What kind of situation? I suppose you have planned it all? I am trying to follow you, to interest myself; but I can only think of _you_!"

"Yes; I have formed some kind of plan," said Mr. Clendon, in his low, vibrant voice. "There is the library at Thexford. It is a great library, a fine collection; it has been neglected for years; I suppose you have not looked after it?"

"No," said the Marquess, shaking his head. "I seldom go to Thexford. I have been in the Cabinet, as you may know; am still interested in politics--it has been something to do--and, in consequence, I have to live in London most of the time. I have not been to Thexford for two years; the house is kept up, of course; I have often intended going there; but there are the other places."

"Pity!" said Mr. Clendon, looking straight before him, as if he were calling up a memory. "It is a beautiful place; perhaps the most beautiful you've got----"

"_You've_ got," muttered Lord Sutcombe, bitterly.

Mr. Clendon ignored the interruption.

"It is time the library was taken in hand, set to rights, and catalogued, and the rest of it. She will do it very well. Give her a good salary--but not too large a one, or she will suspect; and I do not wish her to know how she obtained the post. You need not see her; she can obtain testimonials from the executors of her late employer. She will give you no trouble; she will do her duty; for she is a lady, and a pure, high-minded girl. Will you do this for me, Talbot?"

"You know that you've no need to ask," said the Marquess. "Do you mean to tell me this is all I can do, that you will permit me to do?"

"That is all," said Mr. Clendon, quietly. "I am much obliged to you.

Yes; I am sincerely, unaffectedly grateful. Do you think I don't realize how badly I've treated you, Talbot, not only in allowing you to believe I was dead, but in turning up again? Well, do this for me, help this young girl, and try to persuade yourself that we can cry quits."

"Quits! It is absurd! You are going? By Heaven, I feel that I ought not to let you go. That, in justice to myself, my own sense of right and honour, I ought to detain you, proclaim that----"

"It would be of no use," said Mr. Clendon. "You could not detain me, the disclosure could not serve me. Remember that I am--that I have no child; and that it is only a question of time, a short time, before all you hold will be really, legally yours. Have patience. Let me go my way--it is the only one for me----"

"But you will tell me where you live, where I can find you?" interrupted Lord Sutcombe.

Mr. Clendon smiled, gravely. "I think not, Talbot. To tell you the truth, I am so enamoured of this life of mine, of its solitude and independence, that I cannot run the risk of having it broken in upon.

Good-bye. Don't bear me ill-will. And don't be afraid. I am going back to the grave again."

The Marquess stretched out his hand, as if to detain him; but, with a gesture, full of dignity and command, as well as imploration, the bent figure pa.s.sed out.

CHAPTER VIII

Four days after Mr. Clendon had rescued her from the Wolf, Celia, who had been listening daily for his footsteps, heard them on the stairs.

She ran down, and caught the old man by the hand.

"Oh, come in!" she said, excitedly. "I have something to tell you."

He looked at her flushed face, her eyes all alight now; but without a smile, and with his usual impa.s.siveness, he went to her room.

"The most wonderful thing has happened!" she exclaimed. "Oh, but first, let me try to thank you! The people who brought the things would not tell me who had sent them, but they insisted that everything was paid for, and, of course, I knew the milk and the bread, and the groceries and the rest of it, came from you."

"That is nothing," he said, with the simplicity of good breeding. "Tell me of this wonderful news."

"It's the most extraordinary, the most miraculous news," she said, with a long breath. "You remember that advertis.e.m.e.nt I showed you? Well, there came an answer to it--an answer! Here it is." She handed him one of several letters she had s.n.a.t.c.hed up from the table. "It is from a very great man, you see; but, of course, it is one of his secretaries who writes. It is from a real live marquess!--Lord Sutcombe. Of course, you have heard of him?"

Mr. Clendon nodded affirmatively.

"He is well known."

"Though I had no hope of getting the situation, I sent some letters of poor Mr. Bishop's as testimonials, and this morning--oh, it is almost incredible--I received this letter, informing me that my testimonials were satisfactory, and that I had obtained the post. And what do you think it is? Oh, the most delightful of all work--the very thing I would have chosen! It is to arrange, and catalogue, and generally take care of a large library. And the salary--this is the most wonderful part of the whole fairy tale--is to be 150 a year. Think of it!

One--hundred--and-fifty--pounds a year!"

"It is a very good salary," said Mr. Clendon. "I congratulate you."

She laid her hand on the wrinkled one which rested on his stick.

"But don't you think it is quite extraordinary? Surely one does not usually get such a post as this so easily as I have done! There is a kind of magic in it. You"--she looked at him keenly, searchingly--"Mr.

Clendon, have you had any hand in this?"

He looked up at her and shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you think it is likely that I consort with marquesses or have any influence with them?" he asked, with a smile.

"Anyway, it is you who have brought me this great good luck," she said, as gratefully as if he had admitted the truth. "You have been my mascot.

A very dear, generous mascot. But you will let me pay you back? But I am almost ashamed to speak of payment, when no money could repay."

"Certainly you shall pay me, my dear young lady," he said, quietly. "I am poor, and you are proud. But you will wait until you draw the first instalment of your salary."

"No need," she exclaimed, triumphantly. "See here!" She held up a cheque. "The Marquess--what a kind, good sort of man he must be!--has sent me a cheque to pay my fare and other expenses."

Mr. Clendon took the cheque.

"I see it is an open one. The bank will pay you when you present it," he remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yes, I am going presently. In the last letter he says that I can go down to the place--Thexford Hall, it is called--as soon as I please; and, of course, I shall start to-morrow. It is in Devonshire, and all my life I've longed to see Devonshire. And now I'm to be _paid_ for going there! Mr. Clendon, I have been living in a dream since this letter came. I've read it fifty--oh, a hundred times! Sometimes I've held it tightly in both hands, afraid that it should turn to a withered leaf, as the paper did in the fairy story, or that I should wake up from my dream and find my hands empty. Do you know Thexford Hall?"

"It is a large place, I believe--quite a famous one," he said. "I hope you will be happy there."

"I should be quite happy if it were not so far from Brown's Buildings, and--and one who has been so good to me," said Celia, her eyes suddenly moist. "But I may come up and see you some day, on my first holiday?

Yes, and it's not only you, but--Well, strange as it may sound, I have grown fond of the Buildings. You see, it was my first home; I mean my own home. And I've got to like the people, though I know so little of them. Oh, Mr. Clendon----"

She paused a moment, and the colour stole to her face and she looked hard at the fire. She went on hesitatingly, almost shyly:

"You remember the young man who lived opposite? He has gone; but I think--I mean, it is just possible that he may come back."

She was silent for a moment or two, as she asked herself whether she should tell this good friend of hers all that had happened on that fateful night; but she felt that she could not do so. The secret did not belong to her.