"Nothing he attempts against us will succeed," Uncle Job answered, and believing what he said. For he was in all things a very religious man, and did not think it possible that the innocent could suffer wrong. "What chance have you, Uncle Job, anyway, for we are all worried to death?" I exclaimed at last, my emotion overcoming me. "The chance an innocent man always has"; saying which he looked into my eyes, as if to read there my inmost thoughts concerning him. "We know you’re innocent, we’re sure you are," I answered; "but if they don’t believe it and find you guilty?" "How can I help that, save by telling the truth? There is no other way, for I can’t make head or tail of it, and haven’t a single witness. Nothing save my word and what men know of me." "They know nothing but good of you, but who did take the money? You know, I’m sure." "If I knew, I would say so; but I don’t, and so can’t accuse any one." "Then who do you think took it?" I asked, standing up and facing him. "What I think isn’t of any account unless I know and can prove it, and that I can’t do." "Yes, and keeping still, they will convict you!" I cried, stirred out of all patience by his calm assurance. "I hope not; but there is no other way that I know of, or that others can devise for me, so far as I can see." "Mr. Seymour says you were drugged." "I was, but by whom I can’t tell; and as regards the money, I know no more about it than Constance here," he exclaimed, laying his hand on her head. At this she burst into tears, and for that matter Uncle Job himself could no longer maintain any semblance of calmness, so great was his distress. Long we talked, but without any result, for not a thing could I learn likely to afford Fox a clew to work upon. When at last we returned home, much discouraged, we were greatly surprised to find Mr. and Mrs. Blake awaiting us. Mrs. Blake greeted me in the most affectionate way, throwing her arms about my body and holding me against her bosom for a long time without speaking. At last overcoming her agitation, she exclaimed between her sobs: "How could you leave us in the way you did, Gilbert; and the horror of it, too! You can never know, you foolish boy, how my heart sank when I found you were out in that dreadful storm. How could you have been so cruel?" and stopping, she held me from her, as if to assure herself that it was I and no one else she clasped in her arms. "I had no thought of the storm or that I ran any risk. Indeed, it was not so bad, after all, for when I reached the Eagle’s Nest I found supper and a warm bed. I’m not a bit the worse, you see, for the journey; but I’m sorry to have caused you so much anxiety and trouble, and hope you’ll forgive me," I answered, much cast down at her distress.