“I will give your message,” said Kenelm, with a polite inclination of his head; “and pray pardon me if I remind you that I styled myself the protector of your correspondent, and if the slightest advantage be taken of that correspondent’s youth and inexperience or the smallest encouragement be given to plans of abduction from home and friends, the stage will lose an ornament and Herbert Compton vanish from the scene.” With these words Kenelm left the player standing aghast. Gaining the street-door, a lad with a band-box ran against him and was nearly upset. “Stupid,” cried the lad, “can’t you see where you are going? Give this to Mrs. Compton.” “I should deserve the title you give if I did for nothing the business for which you are paid,” replied Kenelm, sententiously, and striding on. CHAPTER V. “I HAVE fulfilled my mission,” said Kenelm, on rejoining his travelling companion. “Mr. Compton said he would be here in half an hour.” “You saw him?” “Of course: I promised to give your letter into his own hands.” “Was he alone?” “No; at supper with his wife.” “His wife! what do you mean, sir?--wife! he has no wife.” “Appearances are deceitful. At least he was with a lady who called him ‘dear’ and ‘love’ in as spiteful a tone of voice as if she had been his wife; and as I was coming out of his street-door a lad who ran against me asked me to give a band-box to Mrs. Compton.” The boy turned as white as death, staggered back a few steps, and dropped into a chair. A suspicion which during his absence had suggested itself to Kenelm’s inquiring mind now took strong confirmation. He approached softly, drew a chair close to the companion whom fate had forced upon him, and said in a gentle whisper,-- “This is no boy’s agitation. If you have been deceived or misled, and I can in any way advise or aid you, count on me as women under the circumstances count on men and gentlemen.” The boy started to his feet, and paced the room with disordered steps, and a countenance working with passions which he attempted vainly to suppress. Suddenly arresting his steps, he seized Kenelm’s hand, pressed it convulsively, and said, in a voice struggling against a sob,-- “I thank you,--I bless you. Leave me now: I would be alone. Alone, too, I must face this man. There may be some mistake yet; go.” “You will promise not to leave the house till I return?” “Yes, I promise that.” “And if it be as I fear, you will then let me counsel with and advise you?” “Heaven help me, if so! Whom else should I trust to? Go, go!” Kenelm once more found himself in the streets, beneath the mingled light of gas-lamps and the midsummer moon. He walked on mechanically till he reached the extremity of the town. There he halted, and seating himself on a milestone, indulged in these meditations:--