Charles shook his head with a degree of energy indicative of the strength of the negative he wished to convey, and slipped a shilling into the hand of Whelks as an additional contribution; it happened to be a new one, felt thick and crisp; Whelks slid it into his pocket under the impression that it was a sovereign. He laid his finger upon the side of his nose. “I shall know you when you come again, sir,” he whispered. “If she’s at home, sir, you shall see her. Foller me, sir. Tread lightly. Good night.” Charley stood once more in the park alone. The stars shone brightly above him. He had certainly met with a remarkable adventure, but where was Lotte. He was no nearer to the object with which he came there than he was before. CHAPTER XIV.--REVENGE. I’ll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak. I’ll have my bond; and therefore speak no more; I’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool, To shake the head, relent, and sigh and yield. --Shakspere. Nathan Gomer reached the door of the chamber of Flora Wilton, and paused. He looked about him, up the corridor and down the corridor, and then, stooping down, he peeped through the keyhole. He uttered an exclamation--not of joy. He pressed the palms of his hands together and looked once more up and down the corridor, and then, gently opening Flora’s chamber door, he glided within, closed it after him, and stood for a moment and gazed upon the prostrate girl. A tear twinkled in both eyes. He brushed them sharply away. “Flora--Flora, my child,” he whispered, yet loud enough for her to hear; though his step had been noiseless and her grief was still in its intensity. He bent over her, and raised her up, with eyes red and swimming in tears; she turned her feeble gaze upon him, and could not in spite of her anguish, repress an exclamation of surprise at seeing the strange looking benefactor of her father before her. She attempted to efface the traces of her tears, and to speak, but the task was not so easily to be accomplished. Nathan perceived her intention, and its result, and in a voice agitated and slightly husky, he said to her--“Don’t mind me, pretty one. Don’t mind me--I know all. Make no struggle with your grief on my account--I say don’t make it for me; and when you have exhausted yourself, and feel very ill, as you will if you go on in this fashion--I think I may say that you will--then take for comfort--you can now, if you like--my assurance that you may rely on me as a friend, and all shall yet go well. I say I think you may rely on me. I know whither your heart has travelled and where it resteth; I have vowed to secure your happiness, Flora--I say, your happiness--and it is not wealth that gives happiness. I think--I know that--I believe--I may say I do know that. You shall be happy yet, pretty one, if you will be so.”