Uncle Jasper, too, left Charlotte on that special morning with some displeasure, some surprise, and some anxiety. Remorse, as I have said, did not visit the man. Long ago, a very long time ago now, he and his brother John had touched an evil thing. For both men the natural consequences followed; but how differently? John wanted to fling the base defilement from his soul; Jasper wanted so to bury it there, so deftly, so cleverly to hide it within his very heart of hearts, that it should not appear to dishonor him in the eyes of his fellow-men. Of the final judgment and its disclosure he never thought. It was his inability to cover up the secret; it was his ever-growing knowledge that the garment was neither long enough nor broad enough to wrap it round, that caused his anxiety from day to day. In spite of his cheerful and ruddy face he was feeling quite worn and old. If this continues, if these people will insist on pulling the house down over their heads, I shall fall ill like John, he reflected. He was very angry with these stupid and silly people, who were bringing such shame and dishonor on themselves. He often found himself wishing that his niece Charlotte had not been the fine and open character she was. Had Charlotte been different he might have ventured to confide in her. He felt that with Charlotte on his side all might yet be well. This, however, was absolutely impossible. To tell Charlotte would be to tell the world. Bad as her father was in keeping this ugly secret quiet, Charlotte would be ten times, twenty times, worse. What an unfortunate thing it was that Charlotte had put that advertisement in the papers, and that Mrs. Home had answered it! Mrs. Home of all people! Well, well, it came of that dreadful meddling of women in literature. _He_, Jasper, had known no peace since the day that Charlotte had wished for an amanuensis to help her with her silly book.