"Say what amount will satisfy you."
"Five thousand pounds."
"Five thousand pounds! It is not possible that I can give you such an amount."
"It is a mere trifle. I might have demanded double. Your brother is your banker. You have but to ask for the money to obtain it."
"I am not well," said Wilford, faintly. "I grow giddy with all this talking. My head seems in a whirl. Give me time to think!"
"Certainly you shall have time to think. I am not ungenerous, nor unkind, nor forgetful of the past. I have no desire to quarrel. Will you take my hand now? It will be far better that we should remain friends as of old."
Again she stretched out her hand, while a smile full of malice and cruelty disturbed the rigid lines With an effort Wilford conquered a feeling of intense repugnance, and took her hand into his, holding it for a moment, and then dropping it.
"Yes, let us be friends," he said, in a low voice.
"And when will you let me know your decision? When will you come and see me again?" She varied her inquiry with something of a return to her old fawning manner. "Shall we say to-morrow—at the same hour?"
"To-morrow. Be it so. I will be here." He stopped for a few moments, and then went on with an air of greater determination than he had evinced for some time during the interview. "But remember, if I pay this money—I say if– for at present I am undecided—"
She smiled grimly, bowing her head.
"You will understand that I do so because I desire that certain facts known to us only should not be revealed; because to learn of these things might be annoying and painful to others—not because I have any fears as to what the result of a revelation might be so far as I personally am concerned; I fear a disclosure only on account of its effects upon others. You understand me?"
"It is hardly necessary, I think," she answered, quietly, "for us to enter upon a question of this nature."
"And," he said, suddenly, "I have a condition to impose."
"A condition!" the woman repeated, frowning. "I will do nothing until I have seen Regine."
"Certainly. You shall see Regine; not now, however—indeed, she is not here now."
"But to-morrow?"
"To-morrow, if you desire it."
Without another word he passed out, pale, perplexed, lost in thought. Almost mechanically he walked along the Strand, blind and deaf to all surrounding sights and sounds, in the direction of the Temple.
Madame Boissflury stood for some moments with an air of reflection. Then she smiled, rubbing her hands. There was quite a metallic sound about the last-named proceeding, from the clinking together of her rings. She looked at her old, furrowed, painted face in the glass with an air of intense satisfaction, adjusting the folds of her soiled blonde cap, rectifying the tangled, shrivelled, artificial flowers. Then she went out, and knocked at the door of the adjoining apartment.
"Who's there?" said a woman's voice, loud, but not unpleasing, with a slightly foreign accent.
"Regine," answered Madame Boisfleury, in a low tone, "it's only me. Let me in. I've seen him. I think all will go well. I have much to tell you."
"Don't trouble yourself. My ear was at the keyhole. I heard all!"
"Open the door, at any rate," said Madame Boisfleury, rather angrily. "I want my dress hooked."
CHAP XVI. PUTTING A CASE.
Wilford hurriedly entered Martin's chambers in the Temple.
"Well, old friend," cried Martin, in a cheerful tone. "You're better this morning. Let me hear you say so, first of all. Tell me you've slept soundly, have got over all faintness and giddiness, and are now yourself again."
Wilford seemed not to hear his friend's inquiries. He flung himself into a chair, wiping his forehead and gazing round him abstractedly.
"Thank God!" he said, hoarsely, "I am here again! I can breathe freely now. I feel as though I had been poisoned: inhaling infected air. I have been half-stifled, I believe—half-mad, perhaps. There's warrant for that even!" and he laughed wildly.
"What is the matter, Wil?" asked Martin, looking at him curiously, suspiciously. Wilford made no answer; he was rolling his head from side to side in the easy chair, swaying about rcstlessly, his fingers fidgetting, twisting together. A thought occurred to Martin.
"You're not followed?" he said.
"Followed!" Wilford repeated with a start. "I never thought of that! Yet the thing may be; nay, is likely enough-more than likely. They may have set a watch upon me again. He may have tracked me here, even. Heaven! They may come to you, Martin."
"One moment. We'll take care of that."
Martin left the room. He closed the outer door of his chambers. There was a strange expression upon his face as he did this. "How dreadful!" he muttered, "if he should be going mad!" and he turned quite pale. Speedily, however, he regained command of himself. He had full possession of his old, calm, pleasant manner when he re-entered his room, and said with a laugh—
"Now our foes may do their worst! We are closed in here, against the world. A man's house is his castle. We'll make the same rule apply to chambers. Now, Wil, make yourself at~home: rest yourself, get on to that sofa, and lie full~length if you like; it is not long enough, I grant, that sofa; but we can annex a chair, and adapt the thing to your lordship's grand proportions. Compose yourself, and take a cigar; a smoke in the morning is wonderfully soothing, only the tobacco shouldn't be too strong, and you shouldn't smoke too much of it; these cigars are just the thing, beautifully mild, and yet with a good flavour. Have one: that's right, there's a dear old boy; and I don't be in a hurry to talk. We've got the whole