The cab was turning the corner of the little street in Soho in which Lily lived, and Lily was about to ring the door-bell, when Mr. Sheldrake laid his hand on her wrist, and said:

"Let me have a few minutes' conversation with you to-night. I beg it as a favour."

Not daring for Alfred's sake to refuse, Lily tremblingly suggested that they should go indoors and talk; but Mr. Sheldrake said, in a tone that was half decided and half imploring:

"I cannot speak to you in the house."

She raised her eyes to his face for an explanation, and he answered the look.

"Your grandfather is not my friend."

"But that is not grandfather's fault," she said loyally.

"I do not say it is; it is my misfortune, perhaps. He is not so much a friend of Alfred's as he should be."

"How can you say that?" asked Lily, with a beating heart. "You are wrong--very wrong; grandfather loves Alfred."

"I only judge from what Alfred has told me. So far as regards myself, of course, I can see that your grandfather is not over cordial to me. He has no right to be otherwise; I have been a good friend to his grandson, and I deserve some better return."

"I know, I know, Mr. Sheldrake," said Lily earnestly. "Alfred has told me of your kindness to him. I am very grateful to you for it, believe me."

"Well, then," rejoined Mr. Sheldrake briskly, "you can scarcely refuse me the small favour of a few minutes' quiet conversation with you--although I accept it as a great favour. It is a fine night, and after the heat of the theatre, the air will do you no harm."

She had no power to refuse, and they turned slowly from the door. Near to the house was an arched avenue which led to one of the larger thoroughfares. Not many persons were stirring in this quiet courtway, and thither Mr. Sheldrake led Lily.

"If we walk up and down slowly," he said, "our talking together at this time of night will not attract attention. Pray take my arm."

She laid her hand lightly on his sleeve, and waited anxiously for his next words.

"I hope," he said, looking into her face with an expression of tender solicitude, "that the effects of your faintness have quite passed away."

"Yes, thank you. It was very stupid of me to give way so."

"You must not say that. You could not help it. And you are the last person, I am sure, to give pain to your friends."

She raised her eyes to his.

"It pained me exceedingly to see you overcome, and I could not help reproaching myself for being the innocent cause of your suffering."

"You were not to know that I was so weak; you did not know what kind of a play it was we were going to see."

"Thank you, Miss Lily," he said eagerly, "thank you. You do me greater justice than your friend Lizzie did. I think she must be ungrateful."

"No, indeed," said Lily warmly. "She is the very reverse of that. You must not speak ill of Lizzie, Mr. Sheldrake."

"Your wish is law," he replied gallantly; "but if she is not ungrateful, I am the most unfortunate of men, for I have by some unaccountable means incurred the displeasure of two persons whom you love--your grandfather and Lizzie."

He paused here, anticipating, and wishing, that Lily would have replied to this, but she was silent.

"And the mystery is, that both have good reason to behave differently towards me, to think better of me, for they must know that I have stood a good friend to Alfred. You know that."

"Yes."

"We entered into a compact, if you remember--you and I--to work together for Alfred's good. You do remember it, do you not?"

"Yes."

"That was at Bushey Park. It is one of the pleasantest days in my remembrance. Well, now, I've tried to perform my part in the contract. I've stood Alfred's friend through thick and thin--very few men would have stuck to him as I have done. However, I can take no credit to myself for doing so; he has you to thank for it--only you. Why, here am I repeating the very few words I said to you on the day we entered into partnership!"

His treacherous hand closed upon hers with a tender pressure which made her shiver. Not so much in the words he had spoken, but in the manner of their utterance, he made her understand that he held Alfred's safety--perhaps his life--in his hand, and she felt that if she repulsed him Alfred would be made to suffer. He released her presently, and encouraged by her submission his treacherous arms would have stolen round her waist. But instinctively she evaded the embrace, and stood apart from him. Had her life depended upon it, she could not have acted otherwise. At this moment a man passed through the archway. Mr. Sheldrake's back was towards the man, who, with a keen observance of Lily's attitude, walked slowly onwards in the direction of Lily's home. Mr. Sheldrake waited until the man was out of hearing before he spoke again.

"I hope I have not frightened you by telling you that very few men would have stood by Alfred as I have done, Miss Lily?" How strong the armour of modesty is, was never better shown than in the fact that the man of the world had not yet found courage to address her simply by her Christian name. "But it is a fact, I assure you. I daresay Alfred has confided in you, and has told you some of his troubles?"

"I don't know the exact nature of them; I only know that he is very much harassed."

"Perhaps it is better," said Mr. Sheldrake significantly, "that your knowledge should go no farther. I am afraid that he has been very injudicious--it is a mild phrase, but I would not distress you by using a harsher term. Let us say that he has been injudicious, indiscreet. Well, what then? So long as you and I remain true to our compact, he is safe."

"Mr. Sheldrake," said Lily, in an agony of alarm, "is Alfred in danger?"

"Not while we stand by him. Do not needlessly distress yourself. We'll see him through it, you and I. Many a young fellow has been wrecked through want of a friend--but Alfred has two. Shall I tell you what makes me so earnest in his cause?"

"No," she replied hurriedly, and looking round as if for help; "not to-night. It is late, and grandfather will be anxious about me. Some other time."

"What if some other time should be too late?" he questioned pitilessly. "You ask me whether he is in danger, and almost in the same breath you show unkindness to the only friend who has it in his power to pull him through his difficulties. I make no boast of being his friend--it is the simple truth. And what should there be to displease you in the knowledge that I am your brother's friend because of the feeling I entertain for you? A girl should be thankful--I will not speak of gratitude--to be in this way the guardian and protector of her brother."

"I am grateful, Mr. Sheldrake, indeed, indeed I am!"

"You have a strange way of showing it, Miss Lily. Pardon me, if I seem to speak harshly, but I am deeply wounded by your conduct, and by the conduct of others who should show a better regard for Alfred's position. Your grandfather is cold to me--Alfred's sweetheart misjudges me; but I could forgive these, if you were kind. It is due to my self-respect--which I cannot forfeit, even to win your good opinion--to ask you again whether I may tell you what makes me so earnest in your brother's cause?"

Thus miserably constrained, Lily whispered, "Yes," in a faint tone, knowing what was coming, and dreading it. Mr. Sheldrake dropped his voice to the requisite pitch of tenderness, and prepared to make his avowal.

"I saw you first by accident, Miss Lily. I was passing the Royal White Rose Music-hall one evening--it was in June of last year, a night I shall never forget--and having a spare half hour I dropped in. Almost as I entered, you came upon the stage, and from that moment it seemed to me that my fate was fixed. Such an impression did your sweet face make upon me that I drove to the hall on the following evening, and being acquainted with Storks the manager, we spoke together about you. You remember on that night I threw you a bouquet--I bought it especially for the pretty girl who had made such an impression upon me--and after the performance I came to the back of the stage, and had the pleasure of being introduced to you. I saw that you were too good for such a place--that you were in every way different from the usual run of music-hall performers--and you must take the blame on yourself for having attracted me in such a manner. It is not many girls who have done so--nay, no other has ever produced a similar impression upon me. From that moment I began to love you."

He did not appear to be aware that the very words he employed in declaring his love showed of what base material it was composed. His speech flowed smoothly, and he mentally congratulated himself upon his skill in delivering it. There was no tremor in his voice, for the situation was not new to him. He had delivered himself of artificial love-phrases to a score of girls in his time, and he had become practised in the art; but he was compelled to acknowledge to himself that never had he found conquest so difficult as this--which gave it without doubt a keener zest, and made him as artificially earnest as it was in his false nature to be.

Lily listened tremblingly. It was the first avowal of love that had ever been spoken to her, and it met with no response in her heart. But thought of Alfred's peril compelled her attention. Encouraged by her silence, Mr. Sheldrake proceeded.

"I saw you home that night, and after lingering about the street long after you entered the house--see what an impression you made upon me!--it was my good fortune to make the acquaintance of your brother. He has told you of the circumstance probably?"

He paused for her reply, and she gave it.

"Yes." Faintly whispered, as if it were wrung from her.

"He was in some difficulty, and I was enabled to get him out of it. I was attracted to him by his voice and by his resemblance to you. An acquaintanceship sprang up between us, and it has been in my power to assist him on many occasions. I have done so, as you know, for your sake, and because I love you. There is no need for me to say more. There is one reward I have looked forward to for befriending your brother, and whom I shall continue to befriend if I can hope to find some place in your affection—"

He placed his arm around her, and so overpowered was she by her inward conflict of feeling, that she had no power to resist. But at this critical moment a quick step was heard coming into the archway. Lily turned with a gasp of relief, and seeing who it was that was approaching them, involuntarily cried in a joyful tone,

"Felix!"

And made a movement towards him.

Felix raised his hat, and said:

"Your grandfather is anxious about you, Miss Lily."

"Have you seen him to-night?" asked Lily.

"Yes; I have been to see The Bells, and he told me that you had gone to the same theatre. He expected you would have been home before this time."

"Miss Lily was in perfectly safe keeping, sir," said Mr. Sheldrake, biting his lip with vexation at the interruption, and with jealousy at Lily's more cordial manner towards Felix.

"I make no question of it," replied Felix politely. "Her grandfather must be satisfied of that, but I think he expected Alfred would bring his sister home."

"I will come at once," said Lily. "Alfred has gone to see Lizzie home."

Felix offered his arm, and Lily was about to accept it, when Mr. Sheldrake interposed.

"I would like you to assure this person, Miss Lily, that there was no cause for alarm."

In a very lofty manner indeed did Mr. Sheldrake make this request.

"Indeed, no assurance is necessary," said Felix, with the intention of sparing Lily.

But Mr. Sheldrake would not be denied.

"I asked the lady, sir."

"There was no cause for alarm, Felix."

"One word before you go," said Mr. Sheldrake.

Obedient to her look, Felix fell back a pace or two.

"I will not intrude farther upon you to-night, for I see that you are fatigued and anxious. Of course you will keep what has passed between us an entire secret. For Alfred's sake. Out of consideration for you, I have not told you how serious his position is; I do not wish to alarm you unnecessarily. But you and I, working together, will be able to set him straight."

He pressed her hand tenderly as he wished her good-night; and as she took Felix's arm, he shaped with his lips the warning words, "For Alfred's sake," and turned away without a word to Felix. Before Lily and her protector arrived at the house, Lily said:

"I have not done anything wrong in stopping to speak to Mr. Sheldrake."

"I know that, Lily; but don't say anything more about it."

"I must. I cannot bear that you should think ill of me; and it has so strange an appearance that any one less generous than you would require an explanation, and that I cannot give."

"If I say I am satisfied, and that I hold you in too perfect esteem to think ill of you in any way--that I know you have troubles which you are compelled to keep to your own breast, because they affect others more than yourself--will that content you?"

She answered yes, and he gave her the assurance in other words.

"I have a confession to make before we go in, Lily."

"You, Felix!"

"Yes; I have told an untruth, but one which, I think, may be pardoned. I have not been to your house since eight o'clock. I saw your grandfather then, and he told me you had gone to see The Bells, and appeared anxious about you. I was anxious, also, for I did not care that you should see such a piece."

Lily shuddered. "It was dreadful, Felix! Did you know that I fainted?"

"No; I noticed that you were very pale."

"You were watching me, Felix?"

"Yes, Lily; I was at the back of the pit, and could just see your box."

Lily experienced an exquisite delight at this confession. He had come to the theatre expressly to watch over her. Involuntarily she held out her hand to him, and allowed it to remain in his grasp.

"I knew when you came out of the theatre, Lily," he continued, "and when I came towards you just now, and you asked me if I had been at home with your grandfather, I saw no other way of avoiding an unpleasant explanation with Mr. Sheldrake than to say what was not exactly true. If you can say sincerely that you forgive me for the subterfuge, you will relieve my mind and make me feel less culpable."

"No forgiveness can be necessary, Felix, when the only feeling I have is one of gratitude that you came when you did."

"Thank you; I am more than sufficiently rewarded. Now I am going to say something to you, which may need forgiveness; but I depend upon your generous nature not to misjudge me. My words are prompted by sincerity and pure esteem, Lily. Shall I go on?"

"Yes," she answered, looking him earnestly in the face. There was so much truthfulness in her gaze that he could have taken her to his arms there and then, believing that she would have found comfort in that shelter, knowing that it would be to him the greatest happiness earth could afford. But he mastered the impulse with manly resolve, and with a tender and chivalrous regard for her weakness. There was no fear, no doubt, in her face; she knew she could trust him; all the bright dreams of her youth were embodied in him, and would ever be, though the dear realisation of them might never, never come. He was her knight, in the truest sense of the word.

"You are but a child, Lily," he said, "inexperienced in the world's hard ways, and bringing only to your aid, in any difficulty you may be labouring under, a simple heart, unused to the artifice and cunning which surround us. I have learnt something of the world in my struggle; and although I have not learned to condemn it--for there is much that is beautiful in it, Lily--I have learned that it is often necessary to arm yourself with weapons that you despise, if you would save yourself from hurt. In battling with the world, a man must not wear his heart upon his sleeve--there are too many vultures about--he must not oppose a bare breast to foes whose breasts are mailed. I am expressing myself in this way, so as to make you understand that I--who, I would have you believe, despise meanness and unworthiness as heartily as it is in the power of man to do--feel the necessity of using weapons in life's battle which I would fain throw aside. There is nothing more noble than simplicity of heart--I worship it wherever I see it--but it is a weak weapon, as the world goes, and in most cases, where it is relied on solely, it becomes woefully bruised. Say that you are in any trouble, that any cloud hangs over your life, that you are threatened by storms which you see approaching to you nearer and nearer--how can you meet them, Lily? What weapons have you at your command to save yourself from the peril? Simplicity, innocence, self-sacrifice! Relying only on these and on yourself, the storm breaks, and then—"

He paused, and Lily did not speak. How precious his words were to her! How skilfully and delicately he had contrived to tell her that her happiness was dear to him! His voice was like music to her heart.

"Then, Lily," he resumed, "think what occurs. It may be that I am wrong in my fears. How happy it would make me to know that it is so! But if I am right, think what may occur. You may bring misery not only to yourself but to others. You are moved by this thought, I see. Has it never occurred to you before? You have at home two whom you love--your brother and your grandfather. There is no need for me to say how dearly your grandfather loves you, and what anguish you may bring upon him if you allow suffering to come on yourself unprepared. In both your brother and your grandfather you should confide, and from your grandfather's larger experience of the world, and from his whole-hearted love for his dear child, good counsel would surely come, if counsel be needed. I should say, if I were asked, that were I in your place and needed counsel, I should deem it a matter of duty, as it is equally a matter of affection, to seek for it in one whose riper years qualify him for giving it, and whose life of love for his child is a sufficient warrant for his sincerity. I should say more than this, Lily, if you would allow me, and if you are not displeased with me—"

"Go on, Felix. I honour you for what you are saying."

"I should say, were I in your place and in such a position as I have hinted at, that I should fail in my duty and my love if I neglected to take him into my confidence, and that, in that case, doubts might well arise in his mind—"

"Of my love for him, Felix?" interrupted Lily, with all the earnestness of her nature. "No, no; do not say that!"

"I might have been harsh enough to use these very words, if I did not know that good old man's heart. Cling to him and to his love, dear Lily; do not throw him aside in your trouble. It is the dearest privilege of affection to share the troubles of those we love. If I were married"--his voice trembled slightly here--"the first consoling thought that would arise to my mind should misfortune overtake me would be, 'Thank God, I have one at home who will sympathise with me and, by her sympathy, console me!'"

Had Felix been the most cunning of men, and had he carefully studied every word he wished to say, he could not have made a more successful appeal. Such strength is there in sincerity and honesty of purpose! If anything had been wanting to make him inexpressibly dear to the girl he loved so loyally, to make her cherish him (as she did) in her heart of hearts, he had supplied it. But he had no thought of that; he had spoken out of perfect singleness of motive.

"So, now," he said, in a lighter tone, "my lecture being over, and knowing, as I know, that you are not hurt or offended with me for speaking as I have done, we will go in to your grandfather. I look upon myself as a very conspirator--pretending to be anxious that you should be at home, and keeping you in the night air for my own selfish purpose!"

He raised his hand to the bell, and Lily caught it and kissed it. She felt no shame in the action, no more than a little child might have done; but the soft touch of her lips thrilled through Felix, and so powerful a happiness filled his heart, as he thought of what might be in the future for him and for her, that a mist floated before his eyes, The next moment he raised her hand to his lips, and returned the homage with the respect and devotion of a true and faithful knight.