“That is because you do not know the nature of my crime! Lord Killcrichtoun, it was I who caused your child to be abducted!—There! kill me where I stand if you like! No one will think of blaming you,” said Everage, in a broken voice, as he tottered to his feet and stood before little Lenny’s father. But Alexander gazed at him in amazement and incredulity for a full minute before he found ideas or words to reply. Then he exclaimed: “Everage, you are mad to think so! What motive could you possibly have had for getting possession of my child? You who have so many of your own? I say you are mad to think it.” “No,” said Everage, dropping back in his chair and covering his face. “No, not mad _now_: but I was mad then, when I caused the child to be carried off! I was mad blind, and Heaven-forsaken!” “Not Heaven-forsaken, Everage, or you would not have been brought to this confession. But is this really true? You caused the child to be carried off? You said the reparation was still in your power!—_that_ means the child still lives! Where is he? Is he in London? Is he in our reach? Is he well?” inquired Alexander scarcely able to control the violence of his emotions—his strangely mingled and warring emotions—of astonishment, indignation, ecstasy and impatience. “Yes, to all your questions,” answered Everage, dropping his face into his hands. “But, good Heaven, what _possible_ motive _could_ you have had for carrying off my child? You _must_ have been mad!” “I was! I was, my lord! mad and blind and God-forsaken! I was tempted beyond——” “Stop, Everage! don’t tell me just now. I must see my boy immediately. Can you take me to him now?” “Yes,” answered the poor gentleman, in an almost inaudible voice. “How far is it?” asked Alexander, with his hand upon the bell. “About two miles from here,” breathed Everage. “Then we must have a carriage,” observed Alexander, ringing the bell. “A cab, immediately!” he said, as the waiter appeared. “And now, Everage,” he continued, when they were left alone together again, “now tell me what could possibly have caused you to have my child carried off. Do you know his loss has nearly broken his mother’s heart?” “Do I _not_ know it? Have I not felt it? felt it day and night since the devil deluded me into doing this deed? Lord Killcrichtoun, look at me! See the wreck remorse has made of me! No sooner had I done this deed than remorse, like a consuming fire, than which the fires of Hell cannot be fiercer, entered my heart and burned my life away to this.” “Burned your guilt away, Everage, but not your life.” “This agony of remorse I would not have borne for a week, but for my wife’s critical condition.” “But she must have been very much distressed by the change in you.” “She was; but she ascribed it all to overwork in the school. And I soothed her by saying that after her confinement I should leave the school. I did not tell her, _for the Old Bailey_.”