"Ah, glad to see you, Mr. Kemble," said the landlord, a moment or two later, with reassuring cheerfulness; "you too, Miss Helen. That's right, take good care of the old gentleman. Yes, we have a sick man here who wants to see you, sir. Miss Helen, take a seat in the parlor by the fire while I turn up the lamp. Guess you won't have to wait long." "Now, Helen," said her father, smiling at her significantly, "can you trust me out of your sight to go upstairs with Mr. Jackson?" Much relieved, she smiled in return and sat down to wait. "Who is this man, Jackson?" Mr. Kemble asked on the stairs. "Well, sir, he said he would explain everything." A moment later the banker needed not Martine's warning gesture enjoining silence, for he was speechless with astonishment. "Mr. Jackson," whispered Martine, "will you please remain in the other room and look after your patient?" "Hobart," faltered Mr. Kemble, "in the name of all that's strange, what does this mean?" "It is indeed very strange, sir. You must summon all your nerve and fortitude to help us through. Never before were your strength and good strong common-sense more needed. I've nearly reached the end of my endurance. Please, sir, for Helen's sake, preserve your self-control and the best use of all your faculties, for you must now advise. Mr. Kemble, Captain Nichol is alive." The banker sank into a chair and groaned. "This would have been glad news to me once; I suppose it should be so now. But how, how can this be?" "Well, sir, as you say, it should be glad news; it will be to all eventually. I am placed in a very hard position; but I have tried to do my duty, and will." "Why, Hobart, my boy, you look more worn than you did after your illness. Merciful Heaven! what a complication!"