He found the house untouched, although in much disorder, with the wreck of the back porch and the fallen tree still littering the enclosed garden. The fire had found the huge warehouse; and a back addition had been consumed, while the contents of the main building had suffered much from smoke and water. “I am glad to see you, lieutenant,” said Mrs. Bartlett, as she shook him by the hand. “You said you would do what you could for us, and now I wish you to do me a favor.” “Anything I can do, I’ll do willingly,” was Gilbert’s prompt reply. “But how is your husband?” At once the smile that had come into Mrs. Bartlett’s face for a moment faded away. “He is not doing so well,” she said lowly. “He does not seem to be able to get back to his right mind. And the fire has set him back, too.” “What does the doctor say?” “He says it is a peculiar case, and that my husband must have rest as much as medicine. But how can he have rest here?” And the woman wrung her hands. Jennie Bartlett now appeared, and also shook hands. She said her father had heard Gilbert’s voice, and wished the young officer to come to him. “Be careful of what you say to him,” whispered Mrs. Bartlett. “He is easily excited, and excitement is the worst possible thing for him.” “I will be careful,” answered Gilbert, and followed her into the sick-chamber. He found Amos Bartlett lying on a wide bed in the centre of the room, and the Chinese servant was fanning him. The sufferer looked years older than when Gilbert had seen him before. “So it is you, Pennington?” said Amos Bartlett, in a strangely unnatural voice. “I am glad to see you. I have been wanting to talk over that Importing Company’s affair with you. We have millions at stake, and--” “Amos, please do not speak of that now,” interposed Mrs. Bartlett, soothingly. “I am sure Lieutenant Pennington will wait until you are better.” “Yes; but, Viola, Ramsey Polk is a black-hearted swindler. He would ruin us all, sweep away our millions, and leave us beggars. And the fire, too! We shall be penniless, starving in the streets! Pennington can save us. I have thought it all over. He must fight a duel with Polk; and, being a soldier, he can easily run his man through. And then--ah, then we will be saved! Is it not an easy plan, Pennington?” And the sufferer turned his white and haggard face to the young Southerner. Gilbert started, for he had not anticipated such a turn of affairs. Clearly, Amos Bartlett was out of his head, perhaps on the verge of insanity. What should he do? He looked at the sorrowful faces of the wife and the daughter, and that decided him. “Mr. Bartlett, everything is all right,” he said, as he took the sick man’s hand and held it. “Ramsey Polk will be brought to justice without my staining my hands with his blood. He cannot touch what belongs to you, and what is coming to me will soon be in my possession. So you can afford to take it easy, and not bother your head about these matters.”