These were almost the last words spoken between the friends before they parted, Robert going his way to Brixton, and Yeldham returning to his chambers, to pass several hours of the night in so arranging his work as to admit of a brief absence from London. The morrow brought Robert's messenger, but not the expected question. On the contrary, Robert sent word to Yeldham that he wished to see him, feeling too ill to "keep his appointment." The first glance which Charles Yeldham gave at his friend showed him that he must revert to the second alternative which had presented itself to his mind. Old Alice had admitted him, and had told him "Master Robert" was bad again with "them spazims;" and the state of prostration in which Robert lay on a large sofa, drawn as near the dining-room fire as its size would admit, fully bore out her assertion. Mrs. Streightley was not at home, her daughter requiring her services just then; and the interview between the friends was quite uninterrupted. Robert's complete inability to undertake a journey to Paris being admitted, his nervous impatience for Yeldham's departure in his stead became uncontrollable. Yeldham did not attempt to contest it, but assured him that the following day should see him at Paris, and, if by any effort or exertion the thing were possible, in Katharine's presence. "And I'll bring her back to you, my dear fellow; I'll bring her back to you--rest assured I will." "No, no, never; I can't believe it; nevertheless go and tell her all. See her; let me see a face that has looked on hers, though I am to see hers no more. Tell her--tell her----" "Yes, yes," said Yeldham; "I know, Robert, I know; have trust in me; be assured I will tell her all you wish--every thing--and I will bring her with me--something tells me so--and you know I am not sentimental, or presentimental either. Only keep quiet, and get well; it won't do to frighten her with such a face as that, you know," said Yeldham, with a dreary attempt at cheerfulness. "I'll take care," returned Robert; "but, Charley, you won't deceive me, will you? You'll tell me every word she says, no matter how severe, no matter how hopeless. You'll tell me every word and, as far as you can, every look. I shall be able to see them by the aid of _this_;" and he touched his breast-pocket, in which Yeldham knew he always carried the miniature by whose aid Katharine had been identified. "And, Charley, you'll tell her I never, never blamed her: you'll tell her I suffered; but I know I deserved it all." His eyes were shining now with a feverish light, and Yeldham hastened to terminate their interview. He bent over Robert, as he lay upon the sofa, and took his hand.