She was silent for a moment, with a flush upon her face. “Oh, my dear,” she cried, with a look of awe, “how can we ever be sufficiently thankful that we knew in time!” This was all she could think of, it seemed; and poor young Fred had to return to his own troubled thoughts by himself without help from his mother. She entertained, it would seem, no doubt as to her duty towards her husband. The fraud did not weigh on her mind. He had come back--that was all. CHAPTER X. In the afternoon of the miserable day which had begun in this wise, Fred was sitting alone, trying to come to some conclusion in the crowd of his unhappy thoughts. His mother had been able to rest after her agitation, and sleep, but had sent for him again early to ask for his father--where he was in the meantime, and when he was coming home? It had better, she thought, be got over as quietly as possible, and all the friends informed. Mr. Wedderburn was always fond of Robert: he would take it very quietly; he would see that the less said the better for all parties. Her mind was full of these thoughts. She had arranged everything in her mind. There would be much to forgive--on both sides--which perhaps on the whole was better than had it been entirely on one. As for business matters, Mrs. Dalyell was aware there must be troubles; but fortunately this was not her share of the business. Robert and Mr. Wedderburn would settle these things. It all seemed so simple as she put it, that Fred withdrew again with a sort of artificial calm in his spirit, but had no sooner been alone for ten minutes than the hurlyburly began over again. What was he to do? Inform the insurance companies? But what could be done to raise the necessary money? Throw Yalton into the market--or what? Anyhow, it must be ruin, whether the father came home or disappeared again; anyhow, his own happy career was over, and nothing but trouble was to come. In the meantime he did not know where his father was, or what had become of him, and he had not yet the courage to question Janet, who no doubt knew. Janet was at the bottom of it all. For all he could tell, it might be she who had first suggested that dreadful expedient out of which all this misery came. Oh! had the family been but ruined honestly, naturally, two years ago! Fred felt, like a child, that it must be that wretched old woman’s fault all through, and he could not subdue his mind to the extent of asking her for information. It would come, he felt sure, in good time. And so it did: that afternoon Foggo entered the library where his young master was sitting, with a very mysterious air, and informed him that there was “one” who desired to speak with him. Fred’s heart leapt to his mouth, for his thoughts were bent solely on his father, and it seemed certain that it could be no other than he. “A gentleman,” he added faintly, “with a beard?” It was the only description he could venture upon.