There was a momentary pause. They both stood still at the window, absorbed in the interest of the moment. They both forgot that their contemplated place of shelter from the rain had been the breakfast-room upstairs.
'Before I answer your question,' said Midwinter, a little constrainedly, 'I want to ask you something, Allan, on my side. Is it really true that you are in some way concerned in Miss Gwilt's leaving Major Milroy's service?'
There was another pause. The disturbance which had begun to appear in Allan's manner palpably increased.
'It's rather a long story,' he began. 'I have been taken in, Midwinter. I've been imposed on by a person, who —I can't help saying it—who cheated me into promising what I oughtn't to have promised, and doing what I had better not have done. It isn't breaking my promise to tell you. I can trust in your discretion, can't I? You will never say a word, will you?'
'Stop!' said Midwinter. 'Don't trust me with any secrets which are not your own. If you have given a promise, don't trifle with it, even in speaking to such an intimate friend as I am.' He laid his hand gently and kindly on Allan's shoulder. 'I can't help seeing that I have made you a little uncomfortable,' he went on. 'I can't help seeing that my question is not so easy a one to answer as I had hoped and supposed. Shall we wait a little? Shall we go upstairs and breakfast first?'
Allan was far too earnestly bent on presenting his conduct to his friend in the right aspect to heed Midwinter's suggestion. He spoke eagerly on the instant, without moving from the window.
'My dear fellow, it's a perfectly easy question to answer. Only'—he hesitated—'only it requires what I'm a bad hand at: it requires an explanation.'
'Do you mean,' asked Midwinter, more seriously, but not less gently than before, 'that you must first justify yourself, and then answer my question?'
'That's it!' said Allan, with an air of relief. 'You're hit the right nail on the head, just as usual.'
Midwinter's face darkened for the first time. 'I am sorry to hear it,' he said, his voice sinking low, and his eyes dropping to the ground as he spoke.
The rain was beginning to fall thickly. It swept across the garden, straight on the closed windows, and pattered heavily against the glass.
'Sorry!' repeated Allan. 'My dear fellow, you haven't heard the particulars yet. Wait till I explain the thing first.'
'You are a bad hand at explanations,' said Midwinter, repeating Allan's own words. 'Don't place yourself at a disadvantage. Don't explain it.'
Allan looked at him, in silent perplexity and surprise.
'You are my friend—my best and dearest friend,' Midwinter went on. 'I can't bear to let you justify yourself to me as if I was your judge, or as if I doubted you.' He looked up again at Allan frankly and kindly as he said those words. 'Besides,' he resumed, 'I think, if I look into my memory, I can anticipate your explanation. We had a moment's talk, before I went away, about some very delicate questions which you proposed putting to Major Milroy. I remember I warned you; I remember I had my misgivings. Should I be guessing right if I guessed that those questions have been in some way the means of leading you into a false position? If it is true that you have been concerned in Miss Gwilt's leaving her situation, is it also true—is it only doing you justice to believe—that any mischief for which you are responsible has been mischief innocently done?'
'Yes,' said Allan, speaking, for the first time, a little constrainedly on his side. 'It is only doing me justice to say that.' He stopped and began drawing lines absently with his finger on the blurred surface of the window-pane. 'You're not like other people, Midwinter,' he resumed, suddenly, with an effort; 'and I should have liked you to have heard the particulars all the same.'
'I will hear them if you desire it,' returned Midwinter. 'But I am satisfied, without another word, that you have not willingly been the means of depriving Miss Gwilt of her situation. If that is understood between you and me, I think we need say no more. Besides, I have another question to ask, of much greater importance—a question that has been forced on me by what I saw with my own eyes, and heard with my own ears, last night.'
He stopped, recoiling in spite of himself. 'Shall we go upstairs first?' he asked, abruptly, leading the way to the door, and trying to gain time.
It was useless. Once again, the room which they were both free to leave, the room which one of them had twice tried to leave already, held them as if they were prisoners.
Without answering, without even appearing to have heard Midwinter's proposal to go upstairs, Allan followed him mechanically as far as the opposite side of the window. There he stopped. 'Midwinter!' he burst out, in a sudden panic of astonishment and alarm, 'there seems to be something strange between us! You're not like yourself. What is it?'
With his hand on the lock of the door, Midwinter turned, and looked back into the room. The moment had come. His haunting fear of doing his friend an injustice had shown itself in a restraint of word, look, and action which had been marked enough to force its way to Allan's notice. The one course left now, in the dearest interests of the friendship that united them, was to speak at once, and to speak boldly.
'There's something strange between us,' reiterated Allan. 'For God's sake, what is it?'
Midwinter took his hand from the door, and came down again to the window, fronting Allan. He occupied the place, of necessity, which Allan had just left. It was the side of the window on which the Statuette stood. The little figure, placed on its projecting bracket, was, close behind him on his right hand. No signs of change appeared in the stormy sky. The rain still swept slanting across the garden, and pattered heavily against the glass.
'Give me your hand, Allan.'
Allan gave it, and Midwinter held it firmly while he spoke.
'There is something strange between us,' he said. 'There is something to be set right which touches you nearly; and it has not been set right yet. You asked me just now where I met with Miss Gwilt. I met with her on my way back here, upon the high-road on the further side of the town. She entreated me to protect her from a man who was following and frightening her. I saw the scoundrel with my own eyes, and I should have laid hands on him, if Miss Gwilt herself had not stopped me. She gave a very strange reason for stopping me. She said I didn't know who his employer was.'
Allan's ruddy color suddenly deepened; he looked aside quickly through the window at the pouring rain. At the
