“I can’t say.” “Are you yourself sure that this letter is from Mr. Philip?” “Not a doubt of it. I wish there were. Because it shows that he’s in hiding; and what should he be in hiding for, except one thing? What--what are we to do? If--if he has his brother’s blood upon his hands.” “Joe!” “Well, Emma, if he has, he has! And where’ll he find a place big enough, and out-of-the-way enough, for him to hide in? All the world will soon know what he’s done, and all the world will be in search of him. He won’t dare to come here--he daren’t already; soon he won’t dare to write to me; the police will be watching me like cats a mouse. He’ll be an outcast, shunning the places which he knew and the friends who loved him--and he the most sociable gentleman who ever lived, who never could bear to be alone; with a host of friends, and not a single enemy. And--and what are we to do--the wife and I, here, in his house alone? To whom are we to look for help--for guidance--for orders? We--we’re almost afraid to stop in the place as it is; it--it’s as if it were haunted. We seem to see him wherever we turn; we hear his footstep on the stairs--his voice--his laughter.” “Joe!” “Well, Emma, so we do. Our nerves won’t stand it. We--we’re getting all broken up; we’re not so young as we were, and used to regular ways, and--and this sort of thing’s beyond us. Every knock at the door starts us trembling. Who--who’s that?” As Mr. Morley was speaking, there came an assault on the front-door knocker which seemed to shake the house. I do not think I ever heard quite such a clatter made by a similar instrument before. That the nerves of the old folks were in a curious condition was immediately made plain; the attack might have been made on them, instead of on the knocker. They drew closer together, clinging to each other for support; consternation was written large all over them. Their behaviour was not that of persons on whom I should have cared to lay the burden of a great responsibility; especially one in which coolness and presence of mind were necessary factors. The visitor was in a hurry. There had hardly been time to reach the front door when the knocking began again--crash, smash, crash, crash, crash, crash! I really thought the door would have been broken down. The faces of the proper guardians of the house grew whiter, their limbs more tremulous. “Hadn’t you better go and see who’s there? Or shall I?” They let me go. On the doorstep I found an individual who had his own notions of propriety. With scant ceremony he endeavoured, without a word of explanation, to force his way into the house. I am not a man with whom every one finds it easy to play that kind of game. When I am pushed, I push. Placing my hand against his chest, he went backwards across the pavement at a run. “Manners, sir! Manners!” I observed.