private matters, I will go and rest until you areready to recommence."
The artist glanced inquiringly at his friend.
"There is no necessity for leaving us, Dolly," said Trethowen. "We areall three old friends, and my purpose in coming here this afternoon isto spend an hour with you for the last time."
"The last time!" she echoed in dismay. "Why--are you going away?"
He did not answer for a moment. His eyes were fixed upon the girl'sface, and his lips trembled a little under the shadow of his fairmoustache. Could he really muster up courage to tell them of hisintention? He hesitated, then he replied, firmly enough:
"By an unfortunate combination of circumstances I am compelled to leaveall my friends. I much regret it, but it cannot be avoided."
The men had seated themselves, and the pretty model was pouring tea intothree dainty little cups.
Egerton frowned impatiently.
"This sort of talk isn't like you, Hugh, and it sounds bad. Surely youdon't contemplate leaving us altogether?"
"I must--I cannot remain."
"Why?"
"I've already told you. I'm ruined."
"Ruined--good God--you're joking! But even if you are--confound it--whyshould you go? Other men have got on their legs again."
"I never shall," Trethowen replied sadly. "It's impossible."
"If you'll tell us about it," said the artist persuasively, "we canjudge for ourselves."
"Well, briefly told, the facts are these, old fellow. You are aware I'monly the younger son, and that on my father's death my elder brother,Douglas, with whom I've not been on friendly terms for several years,succeeded to the estate."
The other nodded acquiescence.
"My father undoubtedly meant well," Hugh continued, "for he left me someproperty yielding nearly five hundred a year. Upon this I lived forfive years, but--"
"And what more could you expect?" interrupted his friend. "Surelythat's enough for a bachelor to live upon?"
"It would have been, I admit," he replied despondently. "Unfortunately,I have been compelled to dispose of the property."
"Why?"
"To temporarily satisfy my hungry creditors."
"Are they numerous?"
"Numerous! Why, they're so plentiful that, by Jove, I've never troubledto count 'em."
"But how have you become so entangled?"
"The usual method is responsible, old chap--tempting fortune," hereplied bitterly. "The fact is, things have been going wrong for a longtime past, and I've disposed of all I'm worth in an endeavour to settleup honourably. It's no use, however--I've sunk deeper and deeper intothe mire, until the only means by which to extricate myself is to goright away. Dunned on every side, with county court summonsesdescending in showers, the Hebrew Shylocks who hold me in their accursedclutches seem to be taking a delight in crushing me out of existence."
The artist was mute with astonishment. He had always considered hisfriend very lucky in having ample means at his command, and had neverimagined he was in such straits.
"Then, as I understand, you've had to go to the Jews, and they'veforeclosed," he said, after silently contemplating the canvas beforehim.
"Exactly," Hugh replied. "Think. What can a fellow do when he's abouttown like I've been? He must necessarily follow the example of otherson the course and in the clubs, if he doesn't wish to be ranked withoutsiders. As an instance, I lost over the St. Leger a clear eighthundred."
"Whew! If that's the case, I'm at a loss to give advice," exclaimedEgerton gravely.
"It would be of no assistance," he said. "Like an ass, I've run throughall I possess, with the exception of a bare couple of pounds a week. Imust therefore drag out an existence in one of those dismal oldcontinental towns that seem to be provided as harbours of refuge forunfortunate fellows like myself. I'm truly sorry to leave you both, butneeds must when the devil drives."
"Why not remain here? If you are hard hit, I can see no reason why youshould bury yourself," contended the artist thoughtfully.
"No, Mr. Trethowen," added Dolly, gazing into her teacup in a vainendeavour to hide the tears that stood in her eyes, "don't leave us.Why, Mr. Egerton would not have half the spirit for his work if youdidn't run in now and then and make him laugh."
"I--I cannot remain," he replied hesitatingly. "You see, I'm utterlyincapable of making a fresh start in life, for I've no profession.Besides, there's a much stronger reason for my departure. It'sabsolutely imperative."
His face was lined with pain and sorrow, as he drew a deep sigh, theindex to a heavy heart.
"What's the reason?" demanded his friend, glancing sharply at him.
"Because, if I don't get away almost immediately I shall find myselfarrested."
"Arrested?"
He nodded, but for a few moments no words escaped his lips.
"Yes, Jack, old fellow, I'm in a terrible fix," he replied in a gloomytone unusual to him. "I'll confide in you because I can trust you.Three months ago I was hard pressed for money, and seeing a dishonestway of obtaining it, I yielded to the temptation of the moment. Iimitated a signature, and drew a thousand pounds."
"Forgery!" the artist exclaimed, dumbfounded.
"Call it what you like. The bill is due the day after to-morrow, thenthe fraud will be detected."
He uttered the words mechanically, his head bowed upon his breast.
Jack Egerton bit his lip. He could scarcely realise the graveimportance of his companion's words.
"Are there no means by which I can assist you, Hugh?" he asked presentlyin a sympathetic tone.
"None. There is room enough in the world for everybody to stretchhimself. You understand my departure is inevitable. It is eitherarrest or exile, and I choose the latter."
"I'm afraid it is; but, look here. Have a trifle on loan from me--say ahundred."
"Not a penny, Jack. I couldn't take it from you, indeed," he replied,his voice trembling with an emotion he was unable to subdue. "Withfinances at the present low ebb I could never repay you. Perhaps,however, there may be a day when I shall require a good turn, and I feelconfident of your firm friendship."
"Rely on it," the artist said, warmly grasping his hand. "You have mymost sincere sympathy, Hugh; for bad luck like yours might fall upon anyof us. In times gone by you've often assisted me and cheered me whenI've been downcast and dispirited. It is, therefore, my duty to renderyou in return any service in my power."
Hugh Trethowen rose, listless and sad. The lightheartedness andcareless gaiety which were his chief characteristics had given place tosettled gloom and despair. "Thanks for your kind words, old fellow," heexclaimed gravely. "I really ought not to trouble you with my miseries,so I'll wish you farewell."
The handsome girl, who had been silent and thoughtful, listening to theconversation, was unable to control her feelings, and burst into tears.
"Don't cry, Dolly," said he in a sorry attempt to comfort her. "Jackand yourself are old friends whom I much regret leaving, but don't takeit to heart in this way."
Raising her hand reverently to his lips he kissed it, with a murmuredadieu.
She did not reply, but, burying her face in the rich silk robe she wore,wept bitterly.
For a moment he stood contemplating her, then, turning to the artist, hesaid:
"Good-bye, Jack."
"Good-bye, Hugh," replied Egerton, wringing his hand earnestly."Remember, whatever happens, I am always your friend--always."
A few brief words of thanks, and Hugh Trethowen snatched up his hat andstick, and, drawing aside the heavy plush _portiere_ before the door,stumbled blind out.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE NECTAR OF DEATH.
Slowly and solemnly the clock of St. James's, Piccadilly, chimed nine.
In his comfortable chambers in Jermyn Street, Hugh Trethowen sat alone.The graceful indifference of the Sybarite had vanished, the cloud ofapprehension had deepened, and with eyes fixed abstractedly upon theflickering fire
, he was oblivious of his surroundings, plunged inpainful reverie.
The silk-shaded lamp shed a soft light upon the objects around,revealing that the owner of the apartment had debarred himself noluxury, and that, although a typical bachelor's abode, yet the daintynick-nacks, the cupboard of old china, the choice paintings, and thesaddle-bag furniture--all exhibited a taste and refinement that wouldhave done credit to any drawing-room. Upon a table at his elbow was aspirit stand, beside which stood a