away. My only friend, is it possible that you think me ungrateful
enough to consent to be your wife? The woman (in my situation)
must be heartless indeed who could destroy your place in the
estimation of the world and the regard of your friends! The
wretchedest creature that walks the streets would shrink from
treating you in that way. Oh, what are men made of? How _can_
you--how _can_ you speak of it!"

I yielded---and spoke of it no more. Every word she uttered only
increased my admiration of the noble creature whom I had loved,
and lost. What refuge was now left to me? But one refuge; I could
still offer to her the sacrifice of myself. Bitterly as I hated
the man who had parted us, I loved her dearly enough to be even
capable of helping him for her sake. Hopeless infatuation! I
don't deny it; I don't excuse it--hopeless infatuation!

"You have forgiven me," I said. "Let me deserve to be forgiven.
It is something to be your only friend. You must have plans for
the future; tell me unreservedly how I can help you."

"Complete the good work that you have begun," she answered,
gratefully. "Help me back to health. Make me strong enough to
submit to a doctor's estimate of my chances of living for some
years yet."

"A doctor's estimate of your chances of living?" I repeated.
"What do you mean?"

"I hardly know how to tell you," she said, "without
speaking again of Mr. Van Brandt."

"Does speaking of him again mean speaking of his debts?" I asked.
"Why need you hesitate? You know that there is nothing I will not
do to relieve _your_ anxieties."

She looked at me for a moment, in silent distress.

"Oh! do you think I would let you give your money to Van Brandt?"
she asked, as soon as she could speak. "I, who owe everything to
your devotion to me? Never! Let me tell you the plain truth.
There is a serious necessity for his getting out of prison. He
must pay his creditors; and he has found out a way of doing
it--with my help."

"Your help?" I exclaimed.

"Yes. This is his position, in two words: A little while since,
he obtained an excellent offer of employment abroad, from a rich
relative of his, and he had made all his arrangements to accept
it. Unhappily, he returned to tell me of his good fortune, and
the same day he was arrested for debt. His relative has offered
to keep the situation open for a certain time, and the time has
not yet expired. If he can pay a dividend to his creditors, they
will give him his freedom; and he believes he can raise the money
if I consent to insure my life."

To insure her life! The snare that had been set for her was
plainly revealed in those four words.

In the eye of the law she was, of course, a single woman: she was
of age; she was, to all intents and purposes, her own mistress.
What was there to prevent her from insuring her life, if she
pleased, and from so disposing of the insurance as to give Van
Brandt a direct interest in her death? Knowing what I knew of
him--believing him, as I did, to be capable of any atrocity--I
trembled at the bare idea of what might have happened if I had
failed to find my way back to her until a later date. Thanks to
the happy accident of my position, the one certain way of
protecting her lay easily within my reach. I could offer to lend
the scoundrel the money that he wanted at an hour's notice, and
he was the man to accept my proposal quite as easily as I could
make it.

"You don't seem to approve of our idea," she said, noticing, in
evident perplexity, the effect which she had produced on me. "I
am very unfortunate; I seem to have innocently disturbed and
annoyed you for the second time."

"You are quite mistaken," I replied. "I am only doubting whether
your plan for relieving Mr. Van Brandt of his embarrassments is
quite so simple as you suppose. Are you aware of the delays that
are likely to take place before it will be possible to borrow
money on your policy of insurance?"

"I know nothing about it," she said, sadly.

"Will you let me ask the advice of my lawyers? They are
trustworthy and experienced men, and I am sure they can be of use
to you."

Cautiously as I had expressed myself, her delicacy took the
alarm.

"Promise that you won't ask me to borrow money of you for Mr. Van
Brandt," she rejoined, "and I will accept your help gratefully."

I could honestly promise that. My one chance of saving her lay in
keeping from her knowledge the course that I had now determined
to pursue. I rose to go, while my resolution still sustained me.
The sooner I made my inquiries (I reminded her) the more speedily


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