Lieberg started, and turned red. "Morley Ernstein's post-town!" he exclaimed. "But nonsense!" he continued, after pausing for a moment, "he is still lingering on in London. The thing cannot be. He must have got somebody to receive her in the neighbourhood;" and with some doubts still upon his mind, he mounted the staircase and entered the room, where William Barham was seated over the fire, though by this time the weather had become sultry to the feelings of every one else. "How hot the room is!" exclaimed Lieberg, as he entered. "Tell the people to serve dinner as soon as possible.--Well, William, how do you feel now?" "Very much bruised, and very cold," replied the youth, sullenly. "I hear you have had a letter from your sister," said Lieberg, in a quiet, easy tone. "Pray where is she now?" The man Martini was in the room; and it is probable that Lieberg calculated upon the youth giving him an answer at once. But William Barham still sat over the fire, without looking up, and replied--"We'll talk about that by-and-by." "Leave the room, Martini," said Lieberg, adding, as soon as he was obeyed--"Well, William, now, where is your sister?" The youth rose up from before the fire, and stood opposite to Lieberg, pale, ghastly, and haggard, replying, boldly--"I do not mean to say I do not know where my sister is, for I do, and I know too that you have got me in your power; but before I tell you any more, or help you any farther, I will have you promise me to settle something upon her, so that she may never want." Lieberg gazed at him for a moment, with a dark, considering look, not unmixed with contempt, and he then replied--"Make your mind easy, she shall never want. Now answer my question, and quickly, for I do not love being trifled with." The worm he trod upon turned against him, and the youth replied--"I shall not tell you anything more, or help you any farther, unless you give me some better assurance than that. I'll tell you what, Count; last night in the storm, when I was clinging to the wreck, I thought I heard Helen's voice in the wind, and this morning I have been thinking of her ever since I woke; and I have made up my mind sooner to die than to do anything farther, unless you will give me something, under your hand, which will ensure that she shall never be walking about the streets in misery, as I have seen some poor girls do."