It was then nine o'clock, and she readily assented; she guessed Mr. Williams--he had told her his name was Williams--could look after the office while he was gone. Mr. Williams was generously glad to do so. Behind Mrs. Harmon's smooth large form, he playfully threatened her with his hand levelled at his shoulder; but even this failed to gladden Lemuel. It was half-past nine when he reached the minister's house, and the maid had a visible reluctance at the door in owning that Mr. Sewell was at home. Mrs. Sewell had instructed her not to be too eagerly candid with people who came so late; but he was admitted, and Sewell came down from his study to see him in the reception-room. “What is the matter?” he asked at once, when he caught sight of Lemuel's face; “has anything gone wrong with you, Mr. Barker?” He could not help being moved by the boy's looks; he had a fleeting wish that Mrs. Sewell were there to see him, and be moved too; and he prepared himself as he might to treat the trouble which he now expected to be poured out. “Yes,” said Lemuel, “I want to tell you; I want you to tell me what to do.” When he had put the case fully before the minister, his listener was aware of wishing that it had been a love-trouble, such as he foreboded at first. He drew a long and deep breath, and before he began to speak he searched himself for some comfort or encouragement, while Lemuel anxiously scanned his face. “Yes--yes! I see your--difficulty,” he began, making the futile attempt to disown any share in it. “But perhaps--perhaps it isn't so bad as it seems. Perhaps no harm will come. Perhaps he really means to do well; and if you are vigilant in--in keeping him out of temptation----” Sewell stopped, sensible that he was not coming to anything, and rubbed his forehead. “Do you think,” asked Lemuel, dry mouthed with misery, “that I ought to have told Mrs. Harmon at once?” “Why, it is always best to be truthful and above-board--as a principle,” said the minister, feeling himself somehow dragged from his moorings. “Then I had better do it yet!” “Yes,” said Sewell, and he paused. “Yes. That is to say--As the mischief is done--Perhaps--perhaps there is no haste. If you exercise vigilance--But if he has been in prison--Do you know what he was in for?” “No. I didn't know he had been in at all till we got to my room. And then I couldn't ask him--I was afraid to.” “Yes,” said Sewell, kindly if helplessly. “I was afraid, if I sent him off--or tried to--that he would tell about my being in the Wayfarer's Lodge that night, and they would think I had been a tramp. I could have done it, but I thought he might tell some lie about me; and they might get to know about the trial----” “I see,” said Sewell. “I hated to lie,” said Lemuel piteously, “but I seemed to have to.”