“I am greatly interested, I assure you, in tracing out this romance of real life,” said Mr Endicott. “He left the Hall, I understand, last evening--and my noble friend is advised to take measures for his apprehension. I look upon the whole history with the utmost interest. How interesting to trace the motives of this young mind, perhaps the strife of passions--gratitude mixing with a sense of injury! If he is secured, I shall certainly visit him: I know no nobler subject for a drama of passion; and dramas of the passions are what we want to ennoble this modern time.” “Mother!” cried Agnes, “mother, come; we have no time to lose--Mr Endicott has told me--Mamma, leave these things to another time. Marian is alone; there is no one to support her. Oh, mother, mother! make haste! We must go home!” She scarcely gave a glance to Mr Endicott as he stood somewhat surprised, making a study of the young author’s excitable temperament for his next “letter from England”--but hastened her mother homeward, explaining, as she went, though not very coherently, that Louis had attacked Lord Winterbourne--that he had left the Hall--that he had done something for which he might be apprehended. The terror of disgrace--that most dread of all fears to people in their class--overwhelmed both mother and daughter, as they hastened, at a very unusual pace, along the road, terrified to meet himself in custody, or some one coming to tell them of his crime. And Marian, their poor beautiful flower, on whom this storm would fall so heavily--Marian was alone! CHAPTER V. THE OLD WOOD HOUSE.