'What do you suspect me of?' he continued politely; 'running away with her? You don't answer. Afraid to put it into words. But that's the plain English of it, isn't it? You did a wise thing in stipulating that what passes between us is to be kept private, or I might have been tempted to tell the young lady in question something which would not be pleasant for her to hear. Had you known what is due to a gentleman from one in your station of life, I might have been induced to satisfy your inexplicable anxiety concerning her; as it is, I decline to do so. She would be both amused and angry to learn that you have set up some sort of a claim upon her, as if there could be any community of feeling between you. You seem to forget that she is a lady, and that you--well, that you are not a gentleman. Take this piece of advice from one who is competent to give it--go home and stick to your bench, and don't presume to cast your thoughts on what is not only beyond your reach, but immeasurably above you. Good-night, Turk.' And with a contemptuous glance at me, Mr. Glover walked away in a very leisurely manner. CHAPTER XXXIX. A NEW FEAR. I walked home in the most sorrowful of moods. Turk accompanied me part of the way, but when he began to speak in Mr. Glover's favour, I said that I would prefer to walk by myself. The good fellow took the hint, and would not notice my churlishness. 'I know, I know, old fellow,' he said, shaking hands with me; 'but you might count me as nobody. Never mind, Chris, my boy, you won't find many better friends than Turk West; and he's not to be shaken off, let me tell you.' I reflected with bitterness that I had not one friend who thought as I thought. Everybody was against me, and I was distrusted and misunderstood even by those who should have held to me most closely. I walked for miles out of my way, almost blindly, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing, but my own despair and grief. The streets were very still as I approached our house, and I lingered about the spots where Jessie and I had lingered and talked in the days that were gone. Josey West opened the door for me. Her face was very grave. 'Well?' she said. 'I have heard nothing, Josey. She has not come home?' 'No.' A peculiar accent in her voice struck me. 'How is mother?' I asked. She closed her lips firmly, and looked at me seriously and reproachfully. I rebelled against that look; my heart was full almost to bursting. 'Why don't you and those who were my friends say what you think of me?' I demanded bitterly. 'Why don't you say at once that I am to blame for all that has occurred, and that I, and I only, am the cause of all this misery?' 'I don't say so,' she replied gently, 'because I don't think so.' 'But you look at me as if it were so,' I said loudly; 'you and all the others. You have fair words and fair excuses for every one but me----' She placed her fingers on her lips. 'Hush!' she said; 'don't be cruel as well as unjust.'