"Yas--no," said the baronet, quietly. "It's best not. All been a mistake, poor girl. I've been thinking about it all, and it wasn't likely she'd care for me. Lady Barmouth is very flattering and kind; but I've driven your sister away.--I think I'll go home now." "Perhaps you are right," said Tom, quietly. "It's very awkward," continued the baronet, "things have gone so far. But I ought to have known better. Could you--a soda and brandy, Tom-- this has shaken me a bit--I'm rather faint." The cellaret was open, stimulants having been fetched from it for her ladyship's use, and Tom hastily poured out some spirit into one of the glasses on the sideboard, and handed it to the baronet. "Thanks," he said--"better now; I think I'll go home;" and bowing quietly to Tom, he slowly left the house. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. IN PURSUIT. "Poor old Wilters," said Tom, as he heard the door close. "I didn't think he was such a thorough gentleman. But this won't do." He was so wound up by the excitement, and the feeling that everything now depended upon him that he seemed to forget that there was such a thing as fatigue. "Now, gov'nor," he said, hurrying into the library, where the old man had finished his port and cigar, and then laid his head upon his hand to sit and think of the little fair-haired girl who had played about his knees, and who had, as it were, been driven from him, to go--whither? who could tell? "Eh? yes, Tom," said the old man. "Quick as lightning, father. Clean linen and socks, brush and shaving tackle in a small bag, and we're off--pursuit." "Pursuit, Tom, eh? Do you mean me?" "Yes, you, of course," said Tom. "Hadn't--hadn't her ladyship better go, Tom?" said his lordship, feebly. "Hang it, no, father. You and I go together." "But--but--but, Tom," faltered the old man; and there was a lingering look of hope in his pathetic face; "it isn't so bad as I thought, is it?" "I don't know, father, 'pon my soul, I can't say, really. We'll see. Poor Maude has been driven to this mad step by her ladyship, and it is possible--mind, I only say possible--that she may have preferred to accompany--no, damn it all, I'm as mad as she is, even Wilters don't believe it. Father, no! no!! no!!! Wilters is right--my sister would not stoop to take such a step. She is a true lady." "Yes, Tom, God bless her, she is," faltered the old man, "and I shall-- shall about break my heart if I'm to lose my darling." "Come, father, come, father," cried the young man huskily. "This is no time for tears, you must act. Yes, and in future too. You see what giving way to her ladyship has done." "Yes, yes, my son," said the old man. "I'll rebel--I'll strike for freedom." Tom smiled sadly as he gazed at his father; and then he rang the bell, which was responded to promptly by Robbins. "Send up and ask her ladyship if she can see us. Then put a change of linen in one valise for his lordship and myself."