Philip stared at her in astonishment. “Why, little mother”—he said, laughing—“what on earth are you rambling on about?” “Not ramblin’ at all, deary—but jus’ speakin’ of plain honest facts. The man who’s sleepin’ upstairs now is a chap—a Doctor—by the name of Cripps——” “Not the Cripps of whom you told me, Betty!” cried Philip, excitedly. “Not the man who was paid to keep the secret of my birth?” “The very same,” cried Betty, with equal excitement. “Why—Phil, dear lad——” “Don’t waste a moment, Betty,” he cried—“I must see this man at once.” “But ’e’s in bed—an’ sleepin’ like a pig; it took Toby an’ another man to get ’im upstairs las’ night—an’ ’e fought all the way.” “I don’t care if he’s in bed—or where he is,” said Philip—“I must see him.” Persuaded at last that the matter was really urgent, Betty led the way upstairs—pointed to a door—and hurriedly retired. Philip Chater, after knocking once, and getting no response, turned the handle and went in. Dr. Cripps must have gone to bed, as suggested by Betty Siggs, in a state of considerable excitement. His dilapidated clothing was literally all over the room, as though he had stripped it from his person, and hurled it in all directions. He was hanging half out of bed, as though he had made a vain attempt to stand on his head on the floor, and had fallen asleep before accomplishing it; so that his countenance, at all times an inflamed one, was literally purple. Philip, in his impatience, hurried towards him, shook him into an upright position, and spoke his name. The unfortunate Cripps, awakened thus hurriedly from his slumbers, and having no time to collect his thoughts properly, saw before him the man who had been the cause of all his miseries and troubles, and remembered nothing of that solution of the mystery at which he had so opportunely arrived. Indeed, the fifty pounds he had earned—or obtained—from Madge Barnshaw was going far to make him a greater wreck than before; for he was melting it into a liquid form, as rapidly as mortal man could. Staring, in those first moments of semi-consciousness, into the eyes of Dandy Chater, as he supposed, he beat him off with both hands, shrieked aloud, and made for the window. Philip had only just time to catch him round the waist; in another moment, he would have gone head first into the yard below. “Steady, my friend—steady!” exclaimed Philip, putting the terror-stricken man into a chair, and getting between him and the window. “What are you frightened at? What’s the matter?” Cripps looked at him for a moment or two, and then his face gradually changed. “You came—came on a man so suddenly,” he said. “But I see now; I suppose you’re the other one.” Philip laughed. “Yes,” he said—“I’m the other one. You know all about me, Cripps; you know that I’m a fugitive from justice—and you know, better than any one, that I am innocent, and am suffering for my brother’s sins. I suppose you know that he is dead?”