"Yes, dear, you will--will you not? I am sure it is important." "But I could not leave poor Steve." "It need not take long," I said; "you will go and see what she wants?" Linny looked at me in silence for a few moments, and there was something very dreamy in her face. "If you think it right that I should go, Antony," she said at last, "I will. Shall I speak to Stephen first?" "No," I said. "Hear first what she has to say." She promised, and I went down to my own room, glad to lay my aching head upon the pillow; where I soon fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming of my encounter with John Lister, and feeling again the heavy blow as we fell, and my head struck the broad, flat fender with a sickening crash, that seemed to be repeated again and again. CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. THIS CRISIS. By my advice, then, Linny said nothing to Hallett about where she was going, and as I had stayed at home from the works on purpose, we started in pretty good time for Westmouth Street, my companion's flushed cheeks making her look extremely bright and pretty. She was terribly nervous though, and when we neared the door I feared that she would not muster up courage enough to enter. "I feel as if I dare not meet her, Antony," she faltered. "What nonsense!" I said, smiling. "Why, she is gentleness and tenderness itself. Come, be a woman." "It is not that," she whispered. "There is so much more behind. Take me back, Antony. Why does she want to see me?" "I don't know," I replied; "but you may be sure that it is for some good purpose." "Do--do you think she will be angry with me--about--about, you know whom I mean? Do you think it is to reproach me?" "I am sure it is not, Linny. Come, come, make an effort. I don't know, but I feel sure it is to try and help poor Hallett." "Do you think so?" she faltered, "or is this only to persuade me to go on? Oh, Antony, you cannot think how my heart beats with dread. I am afraid of this Miss Carr, and feel as if I ought to hate her." "Come along, you foolish girl," I said; and, yielding to me, I led her up to the door, when we were admitted, and at once ushered into the drawing-room. I did not at first see Miss Carr, but the door had hardly closed before I heard the rustle of her dress, and the next moment Linny was folded in her arms, and returning the embrace. I stood for a moment listening to Linny's passionate sobs, and then stole softly away, going down into the dining-room to stand gazing out of the window, but seeing nothing of the passers-by, only in imagination the scene upstairs, and wondering why Miss Carr had sent for Linny. I was kept in doubt for quite an hour, and then the servant came and asked me to step upstairs, where, to my surprise, I found Miss Carr dressed for going out. She held out her hand to me as I entered, and pressed mine. "Don't speak to me, Antony," she whispered, in a broken voice. "I am going home with Linny Hallett." "You--going home--with--"