For a moment it occurred to Mr. Erin that here was an opportunity for snatching an ally from the enemy’s camp, by getting Mr. Albany Wallis to add his name to the list of believers, but on the whole he decided not to do so, upon the ground of the danger of the experiment. If Miss Margaret Slade, however, had asked Mr. Wallis the favour, it is doubtful whether he would not have acceded to her request. He felt such a brute at having given her distress of mind by his unmannerly suspicions that he would have made almost any sacrifice in reparation of them. He retired with a profusion of bows and excuses, while Mr. Reginald Talbot followed in silence at his heels like a whipped dog, who, professing to find a hare in her form, has only found a mare’s nest. CHAPTER XVIII. ‘WHATEVER HAPPENS, I SHALL LOVE YOU, WILLIE.’ IT was not till his visitors had gone that their host seemed to become fully conscious of the gravity of their errand. While the mind is clouded with doubt it is impossible for it to entertain any emotion very acutely, but now that the accusation of the literary lawyer had been shown to be groundless, Mr. Erin became at once alive to its great wickedness and impertinence. ‘The man must have been mad—stark, staring mad!’ he exclaimed, ‘to have come here, and upon the ground of that trumpery deed of his to have made such abominable imputations! I know that Malone is burning to see my manuscripts, though he has not the honesty to confess it, and I should not wonder if he had sent that fellow here as a spy.’ ‘Nay, I am sure Mr. Wallis was no spy,’ said Margaret. ‘Well, at all events, instead of reporting “All is barren,” as was hoped, ‘continued the antiquary, ‘he will have to speak of “milk and honey.” Upon my life, I believe I could have got him to sign our Profession of Faith if I had only pressed it; for by nature, however, warped by evil communications, he struck me as an honest man.’ ‘Not only honest, but kind, uncle,’ observed Margaret gently. ‘He was very civil to _you_, I noticed,’ returned her uncle grimly. ‘I am sure you could have got him to sign. What a thorn it would have been in that scoundrel’s side if one of his lieutenants could have been seduced so far from his allegiance!’ When Mr. Erin said ‘that scoundrel’ he always meant Malone. It was not necessary for him—as in the case of the gentleman who had married three times, and was wont to observe, ‘When I say “my wife” I mean my first wife’—to explain whom he meant. ‘I don’t blame Mr. Wallis at all,’ said Margaret. ‘He came upon a disagreeable errand, in the interests of truth, and has frankly acknowledged himself to be in the wrong. The person I do feel indignant against is that horrid Mr. Talbot.’ ‘“The man of letters,” as he called himself,’ remarked Mr. Erin contemptuously. ‘He never even asked to look at the manuscripts: I don’t believe he can read. What do you think of your young friend now?’ he inquired turning to William Henry.