bear. Guy's weak, I know, and might be led half unawares into
certain sorts of crime; yet I only knew one man ever likely to lead
him--and that was poor Nevitt himself, not Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve,
whom he hardly even knew to speak to."

As he paused and reflected, a servant with a salver came up and
looked into Cyril's face inquiringly.

"Beg your pardon, sir," he said, hesitating, "but I think you're
Mr. Waring."

"That's my name," Cyril answered, with a faint blush on his cheek.
"Do you want to speak to me?"

"Yes, sir; there's half-a-crown to pay for porterage, if you please.
A telegram for you, sir."

Cyril pulled out the half-a-crown, and tore open the telegram.
Its contents were indeed enough to startle him. It was dated "Cape
Town," and was as brief as is the wont of cable messages at nine
shillings a word--

"Coming home immediately to repay everything and stand my trial.
Kelmscott accompanies me. All well.--GUY WARING."

Cyril looked at it with a gasp, and handed it on to Elma. Elma took
it in her dainty gloved fingers, and read it through with keen eyes
of absorbing interest. Cyril sighed a profound sigh. Elma glanced
back at him all triumph. "I told you so," she said, in a very jubilant
voice. "He wouldn't do that if he didn't KNOW he was innocent."