“And how long is this to last?” cried Tom.

“It will depend upon yourselves.  If you prove yourself to be a man of honour in this matter, I may be inclined to sanction your addresses.  In the mean time you must give me your word to let it rest, and neither to attempt to speak to Miss Harston, nor to see her, nor to allow your parents to communicate with her.  The last condition may seem to you to be hard, but, in my eyes, it is a very important one.  Unless you can bring yourself to promise all this, my duty will compel me to remove my ward entirely out of your reach, a course which would be painful to her and inconvenient to myself.”

“But I must let her know of this arrangement.  I must tell her that you hold out hopes to us on condition that we keep apart for a time.”

“It would be cruel not to allow you to do that,” Girdlestone answered.  “You may send her one letter, but remember there shall be no reply to it.”

“Thank you, sir; thank you!” Tom cried fervently.  “I have something to live for now.  This separation will but make our hearts grow fonder.  What change can time make in either of us?”

“Quite so,” said John Girdlestone, with a smile.  “Remember there must be no more walking through the square.  You must remain absolutely apart if you wish to gain my consent.”

“It is hard, very, very hard.  But I will promise to do it.  What would I not promise which would lead to our earlier union?”

“That is settled then.  In the mean time, I should be obliged if you would go down to the docks and look after the loading of the transferable corrugated iron houses for New Calabar.”

“All right, sir, and thank you for your kindness,” said Tom, bowing himself out.  He hardly knew whether to be pleased or grieved over the result of his interview; but, on the whole, satisfaction prevailed, since at the worst it was but to wait for a year or so, while there seemed to be some hopes of gaining the guardian’s consent before that.  On the other hand, he had pledged himself to separate from Kate; but that would, he reflected, only make their re-union the sweeter.

All the morning he was engaged in superintending the stowing of great slabs of iron in the capacious hold of the Maid of Athens.  When the hour of luncheon arrived no thought of food was in the lad’s head, but, burying himself in the back parlour of a little Blackwall public-house, he called for pen, ink, and paper, and proceeded to indite a letter to his sweetheart.  Never was so much love and comfort and advice and hope compressed into the limits of four sheets of paper or contained in the narrow boundary of a single envelope.  Tom read it over after he had finished, and felt that it feebly expressed his thoughts; but, then, what lover ever yet did succeed in getting his thoughts satisfactorily represented upon paper.  Having posted this effusion, in which he had carefully explained the conditions imposed