"I suppose so, unless I was changed at my birth," he said, laughing at Tryphie, and then giving his father a free-and-easy nod. "Spirits and water--internal and ex." "Oh, my boy, your wicked, wicked sister!" sobbed her ladyship. "Serve you right," said Tom. "Such a wanton disgrace to her family." "Of course," said Tom. "I shall never get over it." "Shouldn't have tried to make the poor girl marry a man that she did not care a curse for." "Oh, but, Tom, Tom!" sobbed Tryphie, "this is too dreadful." "Stuff!" cried Tom. "I'll be bound to say that you were in the secret." "Indeed, no," cried Tryphie, reproachfully. "I did not know a word. I had left her in her room, as I thought, to dress, and when I went to fetch her because dinner was waiting she was gone." "Tell him, Justine, for mercy's sake tell him," wailed her ladyship. "Yes, poor milady, I will," said the Frenchwoman. "Miss Tryphie knocked many time, and I ascend the stairs then, and she say she begin to be alarmed that mademoiselle was ill. We enter then togezzer, and we find--" "Nothing," said Tom, coolly. "Oh, no, monsieur, all her beautiful dresses, ze trousseau magnifique, lying about the room, but she is not there. Then I recollect that I see somebody pass down ze stair, in a black cloak and veil, but I take no notice then, though I think now it must have been my young lady." "But you knew she was going," said Tom, gazing straight into her eyes, which only shone a little brighter, for they did not shrink. "I know, monsieur?" she replied. "I know, I come straight to tell milady of ze outrage against ze honour of her family. _Parole d'honneur_ no, I know nozing as ze lil _bebe_ which come not to be born." This was said at a tremendous pace, and with a very strong French accent, for, as Mademoiselle Justine grew excited, so did she forget her good English, and began to return towards the language of the land of her birth. "What's been done?" said Tom, shortly. "Aunt sent directly for Mr Hurkle, and then Sir Grantley went after him as well." "Curse Mr Hurkle," cried Tom, and he hurried out of the room, and dashed, two steps at a time, downstairs, and nearly tumbled over one of the footmen, who looked quite scared. "You're always in the way," cried Tom, savagely, and he dashed into the library, where he found Lord Barmouth busy with trembling hands examining a very old pair of flintlock duelling pistols. "Hallo, dad!" cried Tom, "none of that. You're not tired of life?" "No, no, my son," said the old gentleman; "damme, no, Tom, though it does get very hard sometimes. Tom, my boy, I'm going to find him out and shoot him." Tom slammed down the lid of the case, and pushed the old gentleman unresistingly back into an easy-chair. "Now, look here, gov'nor, let's talk sense," he cried. "Yes, my dear boy, I--I--I'm doosed glad you've come. We will--we will." "It's true then, gov'nor, that poor Maude has bolted?"