"I did not mean that, uncle. I mean that he was in a terrible state of fever, and hardly seemed accountable for his actions. I think I should have felt obliged to go with him, even if he had not been so determined." "Ah! well, you've talked about it quite enough." "No, no; I must talk about it--about Harry. Oh! uncle! uncle! after all this suffering for him to be taken after all! The horror! the shame! the disgrace! You must--you shall save him!" "I'm going to try all I know, my darling; but when once you have started the police it's hard work to keep them back." "How could you do it?" "How could I do it?" cried the old man testily. "I didn't do it to find him, of course, but to try and run you to earth. How could I know that Harry was alive?" "But you will not let him be imprisoned. Has he not suffered enough?" "Not more than he deserves to suffer, my child; but we must stop all that judge and jury business somehow. Get Van Heldre not to prosecute." "I will go down on my knees to him, and stay at his feet till he promises to spare him--poor foolish boy! But, uncle, what are you going to do? You will not send word down?" "Not send word? Why, I sent to Madelaine a couple of hours ago, while you lay there insensible." "You sent?" "Yes, a long telegram." "Uncle, what have you done?" "What I ought to do, my child, and bade her tell her father and mother, and then go and break it gently to my brother." "Uncle!" "There, there, my dear, you said I ought to put myself in your place; suppose you put yourself in mine." "Yes, yes, uncle, dear; I see now; I see." "Then try and be calm. You know how these difficulties sometimes settle themselves." "Not such difficulties as these, uncle. Harry! my brother! my poor brother!" "Louie, my dear child!" said the old man, with a comical look of perplexity in his face, "have some pity on me." "My dearest uncle," she sobbed, as she drew his face down to hers. "Yes," he said, kissing her; "that's all very well, and affectionate, and nice; but do look here. You know how I live, and why I live as I do." "Yes, uncle." "To save myself from worry and anxiety. I am saving myself from trouble, am I not? Here, let go of my hand, and I'll send off another message to hasten your father up, so as to set me free." "No, uncle, dear, you will not leave me," she said, with a pleading look in her eyes. "There you go!" he cried. "I wish you wouldn't have so much faith in me, Louie. You ought to know better; but you always would believe in me." "Yes, uncle, always," said Louise, as she placed his hand upon her pillow, and her cheek in his palm. "Well, all I can say is that it's a great nuisance for me. But I'm glad I've found you, my dear, all the same." "After believing all manner of evil of me, uncle." "No, no, not quite so bad as that. There: never mind what I thought. I found you out, and just in the nick of time. I say, where the dickens can Leslie be?" "Mr Leslie!"