fury), “I’d go contentedly to my account if I could only kick him along in front of me the whole way! Yes, I’d hang for the hound, and think the satisfaction cheap at the price!”
“What is his name?” demanded Claire.
“Blaydes!” said Tom; “B-l-a-y-d-e-s. Captain Blaydes, forsooth, on half-pay! Blaydes of the Guards, who disgraced themselves for all time by not—”
He broke off and stood looking at the girl.
“By not what?” whispered Claire, who had glanced involuntarily through the gate towards the distant lighted windows, and who was now trembling again, with a new and dreadful agitation.
“By not cashiering your friend Captain Blaydes!”
“He is no friend of mine.”
“But I see you know him.”
“Yes —I just know him.”
“He is at your house to-night!” cried Erichsen, with uncontrolled excitement.
“No—he is not. We have had a dinner-party, but he was not there. I slipped out afterwards—I dare not stay long.” This to explain that incriminating backward glance.
“Then give me his address!”
“Tom —I cannot.”
“You cannot? You who said you would do anything in your power to help me? And this is all I ask—this villain’s address! Oh, Claire, he is not fit for you to speak to! Tell me where you met him—what you think of him—and then I will tell you what I know. Oh, if I had him here!”
Claire answered with deliberate reservations. Her duty was clear as the stars. Tom and Blaydes must be kept
