When Derrick left the wood—and how loath he was to leave it, for Celia's presence seemed still to haunt it!—and returned to the inn, he found Reggie still with his writing-pad on his knee. He glanced up, as Derrick sank into the seat beside him, and said drily,

"You look almost offensively happy, Green. I need not ask you if I am to congratulate you."

"Congratulate away," said Derrick, with so obvious an expression of satisfaction that Reggie nodded and smiled. "Have you been working all the time?"

"No," replied Reggie. "There has been an interlude. I have been for a walk. Green, did you ever meet an angel?"

"I have just left one," said Derrick, almost involuntarily.

"I beg your pardon. I forgot that there were two in this wicked old world of ours. Well, I've just parted from the other one. She was walking, with her wings folded, and a basket in her hand. It was heavy; and, after a time, I plucked up sufficient courage to ask her to let me take it. She would have refused, but the child she was carrying on her other arm was not very comfortable."

"There is a child?" said Derrick, with a smile. "I thought you had embarked on a love-story."

"There is a child," assented Reggie, gravely. "And it is a love-story," he added, still more gravely. "But the love is all on my side—at present."

"Oh, I see; a widow," said Derrick, not by any means lightly; for, to your lover, love is a sacred subject, and he is full of subtle sympathy for his kind.

"Very much a widow," said Reggie, with a touch of bitterness, and looking straight before him. "She not only permitted me, after much pressure, to carry the basket, but she allowed me to speak to her. She said very little to me—angels are not obliged to talk, you know; it is quite sufficient for them to exist. I carried the basket to the cottage," he went on in a low voice and dreamily, "and she said, 'Thank you.' When an angel says 'thank you'—But no doubt you have heard one repeat the simple, magic word and know its effect on you. To-morrow I shall be on the road at the same time, and, if Heaven is very kind to me, I shall meet her, and again she will be carrying a basket. You think I am very confiding, Green. Well, I feel that I've got to tell someone; just as you feel that you want to tell me about your angel."

Derrick smiled, and coloured.

"There's something weird about you, Rex," he said. "You'll be a great success as a novelist; you know human nature. Yes—it's strange!—I'm longing to tell someone of the great happiness that has fallen to me."

"Tell away," said Rex. "Of course, I saw, the moment you came in sight, that it was all right. You walked as if you were treading on asphodel, and you carried your head as if you'd bought the whole world. I'm very glad." He sighed and shook his head. "Yes, I'm glad, though I love her myself—in a way. But I'm going to be a brother to her, and therefore—if you'll permit me—to you, too. I hope you have made her very happy."

"I hope so," responded Derrick; "and I hope to make her happy all her life."

"You'll be married soon, I suppose?"

"Yes, if Celia will consent," replied Derrick, looking before him as if he saw a vista of ecstatic years stretching into infinity. "I will marry her as soon as she will have me, and I will take her to South America, where I have work—and friends," he added, as he remembered Donna Elvira.

"Of course, she'll go with you anywhere," said Reggie. "You're a lucky man, Green! But I'm sorry you're going so far away. I shall lose you both. You see, I include your honoured self, because, as I have said, I have already a sneaking fondness for you. May one, without being too intrusive, ask if it is necessary for you to leave your native land?"

"It is," said Derrick, quietly. "I've no place, no foothold here—and there are other reasons with which I needn't bother you."

"Oh, you wouldn't bother me; but I'm not curious. Or, rather, I am, but friendship sets a limit to my curiosity. Well, I must be going. I am to make an after-dinner call, by invitation, on a lady. Literally a lady—Lady Gridborough." Derrick turned his head sharply, and Reggie, noticing the movement, asked blandly, "Know her?"

"I've heard of her," answered Derrick, shortly.

"Delightful old lady," observed Reggie. "As she is a great friend of Miss Grant's, you'll come to know her, of course. She is very kind to me and asks me up to the Grange, that's her place, to smoke a cigarette when I've done my work; indeed, whenever I care to go. Sometimes we talk, sometimes I wander about the garden. She regards me as something between an orphan child and a freak of nature; to her, an author is a kind of imbecile which is to be humoured and cossetted. Well, so long! Shall I tell you what you'll do for the rest of the evening? Yes, I will tell you, whether you want me to do so or not. You will sit here and moon——"

Derrick reached for Reggie's empty tumbler and made a feint of throwing it at him, and Reggie went off, laughing.

If he did not sit in the same place all the evening, certainly Derrick "mooned," as Reggie had prophesied. The mention of Lady Gridborough had recalled the past, when he had been a favoured friend of the old lady's. He knew that she thought him guilty of wronging Susie Morton; it was just possible that she had heard of the forged cheque. He bit his lip with mortification and a dull anger, as the desire rose in him to go up to the Grange and clear himself. But he could only do so by breaking the promise he had given to Heyton, by ruining Miriam's happiness.

He had suffered so much already for the sacrifice he had made, that it seemed to him an absolute waste of it to divulge the truth. Once again, there was Miriam, whose life would be wrecked if her husband were exposed. He must still remain silent, still bear the burden which he had taken upon his shoulders. Fortunately, there was a chance that he might persuade Celia to marry him very soon; they would leave England and the past behind them. She trusted him, would still continue to trust him; and some day, not to-morrow, as he had decided to do, he would tell her everything.

Long before ten o'clock the next morning, he was in the wood; and, as the clock struck, Celia came towards him. As he held her in his arms, indeed, at the very first sight of her, all his doubts and difficulties fled. At first they spoke but little; for there is no need for speech where perfect love exists. But presently, perhaps unconsciously, Celia led him to talk of his adventures; she had heard many of them yesterday, but she wanted to hear all again; she was insatiable. Every person he had met interested her.

"I seem to know them all," she said; "you describe them so beautifully to me. I should like to meet that funny old Mr. Bloxford and the circus people; but, much more than any of the others, the lady, Donna Elvira, who was so kind to you. I love her already!"

Derrick was silent for a moment; then he said:

"You shall meet her soon, if you will, dearest. Don't be startled, Celia. I'm going to ask you to do something, a great thing. I am going to ask you to marry me soon, at once. I want you to come back with me."

They had been walking slowly through the wood amongst the trees, his arm round her; she stopped, the blood suffused her face, then she turned pale. She was silent for a moment or two as he looked down at her yearningly, anxiously; then she said in a low voice,

"I will, if you wish it."

He drew her to him, and kissed her passionately, gratefully.

"You will, Celia?" he said, astonished at her goodness to him.

"Yes," she said, simply. "Does it seem so great a thing? No, don't answer. I feel mean; for, dearest, I'm only too ready. Oh, it's no use my trying to conceal my love. Think of the time we have been parted, all the months I've been thinking of and longing for you! Why should I refuse to marry you, now, this minute, if I could?"

He was silent, as she lay on his breast, her face upturned to his, her eyes, glowing with woman's tender passion and woman's glad surrender, meeting his fearlessly and yet with a little pleading in them, as if she were begging him not to think her immodest.

"I'm not worth such love as yours," said Derrick, his lips drawn straight. "I'm overwhelmed by it. You're too good for me to touch, dearest—and you're going to marry me, to be my wife!"

She laughed at him softly. "Don't put me on too high a pedestal," she said. "I shall tumble off some day and the fall will be so great. I'm just an ordinary girl, whose only merit is that she loves the best, the dearest man in the world. Such a lucky girl, dear!"

"All right," he said, with a laugh that was rather broken. "We'll leave it at that; it's too wild an assertion to contradict. Though the luck's all on my side, God knows. Now, let me think—it's hard to think when I'm holding you like this, when my heart's jumping and something's shouting in my ear, 'She's going to be your wife. Your wife!' I don't know much about the business of being married—I've never been married before, you see—but I fancy it's possible to get a special licence. I don't know how you manage it; but I'll find out. Oh, by George! I'll ask our friend, Reggie Rex; he appears to know everything, the human heart included. Dearest, I hope you won't mind: I told him about—ourselves, our happiness, last night. Not that it was necessary to tell him, for, with that weird penetration, acuteness, of his, he guessed it the moment he saw me, when I came back from you."

"I don't mind his knowing," said Celia. "I don't mind anyone knowing; I'm so proud, so happy!"

Derrick bit his lip and was silent for a moment; then he said reluctantly, hesitatingly,

"Celia, will you mind if I ask you, if I tell you that—that there are reasons why I want our engagement, our coming marriage, to be kept secret. Secret between us three."

She looked up at him with slight surprise in her eyes; then she said, after a momentary pause,

"I do not mind. I am sure there are good reasons——"

"Which I'd tell you, I want to tell you," he broke in, frowning; "but I can't. It's a question of honour——"

She put her hand on his lips. "There's no need to say any more. I don't want you to tell me. If it would help you, I will tell you that I guess it is something to do with that—that trouble which brought us together and separated us."

Derrick nodded.

"I understand," she said. "Dearest, shall we come to an agreement about all this? Shall we agree to forget it, to treat it as if it had never happened?" She pressed his arm and, of her own accord, drew closer to him. "Let us pretend that you and I met in the wood yesterday, for the first time."

"Would to God we had!" he broke out; then he went on, quickly, remorsefully, "No, no, I wouldn't lose that night, our first meeting, in 'the Jail.' That's far too precious a memory, Celia. It was then I fell in love with you, that you wiped out the past, that you gave me back life itself. No, I can't lose that. But we'll forget everything else—for the present, at any rate. Now, let's talk about our—wedding. I'll get Reggie Rex to help us, and we'll be married as soon as we can. I shall have done my business in London in a very short time, and we'll start for the ranch as soon as possible. The country is very beautiful, the house, the whole place, is charming; you will like the life——"

She smiled up at him. "Yes, I know. But, Sydney, don't you know that I should like any place, if I lived in it, with you?"

Unconsciously, they had left the wood and were now standing by the gate on the roadway. It was all so still and solitary that they stood, hand in hand, looking at each other and lost to everything else in the world; they were so lost that they did not hear the sound of a carriage coming round the bend of the road; and Lady Gridborough's jingle was upon them before they had time to escape. In the little carriage were her ladyship and Reggie Rex. Celia was the first to see them, and with a faint exclamation and a burning blush, she gripped Derrick's hand, and looked round as if to fly into hiding. But they were standing in a little clearing, and there was no time to get back to the woods. As the jingle came up to them, Lady Gridborough put up her lorgnette and surveyed them,

"Why, bless me!" she said. "That looks like Celia Grant. It is! Who is that with her? Celia!" she called. "Celia!"

Then suddenly her voice faltered, the hand that held the lorgnette shook, her face seemed to stiffen and, in a low voice, she said to Reggie, who had pulled up Turk,

"Drive on! Drive on quickly!"

"Certainly," said Reggie, who had raised his hat to the pair, and was regarding them with a benedictory smile. "But what's the matter?"

"I—I know that young man," said Lady Gridborough. "What is Celia doing with him? She doesn't know——"

"Doesn't know what?" asked Reggie, as he persuaded Turk to resume his amble.

"That he's a very wicked young man; that he has no right to be in her company, to be standing there with her, all alone. Yes; he's a very wicked, unprincipled young fellow."

"Hold on, Lady Gridborough!" said Reggie, blandly. "I must tell you that you're abusing a friend of mine."

"A friend of yours!" said Lady Gridborough. "Well, he was a friend of mine once." She sighed. "He is one no longer; and, if you take my advice, you will have nothing more to do with him."

"There is no person on earth whose advice I value more highly than yours, Lady Gridborough," said Reggie, as blandly as before; "and in most matters, I should accept it and follow it without hesitation; but, in this matter of my friend, Mr. Sydney Green——"

"Mr. Sydney—what?" broke in the old lady, evidently much agitated. "Oh, an alias, of course; yes, I'm not surprised that he should be ashamed of his own name. But, Celia, Celia Grant—oh, it is too sad! I must tell her, warn her."

"My dear Lady Gridborough," said Reggie, smoothly, "I'm going to ask you a great favour."

"What is it?" said Lady Gridborough, glancing over her shoulder at Derrick and Celia in a half-fearsome way. "I can't think of anything else but that young man and—and Celia Grant. Such a dear, sweet girl!"

"My favours concerns both the wicked young man and the dear, sweet girl," said Reggie. "I am going to ask you to refrain from uttering your warning; for two reasons. First, because Miss Grant is in love with him, and wouldn't listen to you—and wouldn't believe you, if she did listen to you; and secondly because, if I may use a vulgarism quite unfit for your aristocratic ears, you will upset the apple-cart."

"Apple-cart!" echoed Lady Gridborough, looking round confusedly. "What apple-cart? I thought for the moment we were going to run into something! You mean that you want me not to speak to Celia, to tell her what I know about your precious—Mr. Sydney Black?"

"Green," corrected Reggie, suavely. "Yes, that's what I want, Lady Gridborough; and I shall be eternally grateful, if you will consent to perform that operation which has hitherto been considered an impossible one to your sex."

"Operation!" repeated Lady Gridborough, staring at him. "What are you talking about now? What operation?"

"Holding your tongue, dear Lady Gridborough," said Reggie. "Though not fatal, it is always painful; but you really must perform it on this occasion—for Miss Grant's sake, to say nothing of mine."

As the jingle drove on, Derrick and Celia stood watching it in silence. She had seen the sudden change in Lady Gridborough's manner at sight of Derrick; the old lady's agitation had been too obvious, the cut had been too direct, to be mistaken. Celia's heart ached for her lover, and she could not bring herself to look up at him; but her hand stole into his and grasped it with loving pity and sympathy.

"You see!" said Derrick, with a touch of bitterness. "The man you are going to marry is an outcast and pariah, Celia. That old lady was once a friend. I was fond of her, am fond of her still, and she, I think, was fond of me; but you see how she regards me now. How can I ask you to marry me! I'll give you back your promise, Celia."

"Generous offer refused without thanks," said Celia, trying to speak lightly; then her voice grew grave and sweet, as she said, in a low voice, "Do you think it would make any difference to me if a hundred Lady Gridboroughs, if all the world, turned their backs on you? She does not know what I know; that you are innocent, that you sacrificed yourself, are still sacrificing yourself, for another person?"

"You're speaking about the forged cheque," said Derrick, moodily. "But there's something else. See here, dearest—God bless you for those sweet words, for your trust in me!—but there's something else. It was not because of the cheque that Lady Gridborough cut me just now—I'm not sure that she knows anything about it—but for something else she thinks me guilty of; something worse than forgery, something unutterably mean and base—Oh, I've got to tell you!"

"Not now," said Celia, resolutely. "If you were to tell me now, I should feel that you think Lady Gridborough's conduct had forced you to do it; and I want you to tell me, if ever you do so, of your own free will." She paused, then she put her hands on his shoulder and looked up at him, with all her soul in her eyes. "Dearest, don't you know that it is a joy to me to feel that I am trusting you, that I am proving my love for you? Oh, let it go at that"—how soon she had caught his phrases! "And now come back a little way through the woods with me. And try to forget Lady Gridborough. Why, sir," she went on, with a tender, bewitching playfulness, though her eyes were moist, "you ought not to be thinking of any lady, old or young, but me."

When Derrick got back to the inn, he found Reggie at work on his masterpiece.

"Put that away for a minute or two, Rex," he said. "I want to talk to you. Do you know how to get married?"

"You catch your bride and bridegroom, dress them carefully, place them in a church, add a parson and mix slowly and carefully. There is also another way, much more expeditious and less trouble. You obtain a fresh, fair-sized special licence——"

"That's it," said Derrick, nodding. "Be serious, Rex, if you can. I want to know all about it."

"Quite so. And you've come to the right shop," said Reggie. "A novelist knows everything, or what's the use of him! I'll tell you all about it. And so you're going to marry your true love out of hand?" he said, when he had imparted the required information. "I don't blame you. If my angel would consent to marry me, I'd marry her the first available day, hour, instant. But why this haste on your part? I should have thought Miss Grant would have stipulated for the usual fuss and flare-up, bridesmaids, wedding cake, speeches, reception, et cetera."

"She ought to have them all," said Derrick, with a sigh. "But there are reasons why we should be married at once."

"One angel the less in England," said Reggie, with a sigh. "Well, you leave it all to me. I'll fix it for you, as the Americans say. By the way, do you know my friend, Lady Gridborough?"

"I did, but I don't," said Derrick, shortly. "At least, she doesn't know me now—as you saw. No, I can't tell you. Confound it all, I'm like a man in a beastly novel, a man 'with a secret,' a mystery."

"'Beastly novel!' I forgive you the blasphemy," said Reggie, "because I treasure you. A real live man with a secret is more precious than rubies in the eyes of a novelist. There, go in and get something to eat, if you can eat; I couldn't, if I were going to marry Celia Grant."

"And I can't—eat, I mean," said Derrick, and with something between a laugh and a sigh he rose and went into the inn.