"Well, you see, my boy, the circumstances," said the Doctor--"the temptations. You suddenly lifted up to a position of great wealth and influence, she a poor servant." "Doctor, she is a gentle woman, and my nature would not let me forsake her like a brute. Damn you, sir!" cried Clive, leaping from his seat, "how dare you believe it of me--that I could come here ready to swear fidelity to Janet, kiss her sweet pure lips, and tender her my love, while I frankly offered you--her father--my hand? It is a shame, a disgrace, a blot upon your own nature, to think it of your old friend's son." "I--I--beg your pardon, Clive, humbly, my boy," said the Doctor, rising and catching the young man by the shoulders. "I was wrong, I ought to have known you better. I am as hasty and jealous as Janet. Forgive me. I was angry for my child's sake. Things looked so against you. There, there! curse me again, my dear boy, I deserve it, I do indeed." "Then you do not believe it now?" cried Clive, as the Doctor got hold of his hands and shook them warmly. "Believe it? No, not a word of it, nor shall Janet neither--a silly little jealous baby. Then it was that scoundrel Jessop, and the poor girl was appealing to you for help?" "I am not going to be my brother's accuser," said Clive bitterly. "And he played the hypocrite, and took Janet away home here out of the scene. Here! say damn again to me, Clive, my boy, for I am about the most idiotic old fool that ever lived. But why--why the deuce didn't you speak out?" "I was literally stunned, sir." "But the girl--why didn't you make her?" "You saw, sir; she ran sobbing out of the room." "Then you must make her speak now. No, no: not now; let's set this aside till after the funeral. We cannot enter into such matters with my poor old friend lying there." "No, sir, not there; and there is a hindrance: the poor girl has gone." "Gone?" "Yes; she disappeared last night. But I cannot go on living like this, Doctor. Take me up to Janet now; I must clear myself in her eyes." "I would, my boy, but she is not here." "Not here?" cried Clive excitedly. "No; she left this letter and went out again within an hour." The Doctor took a note from his breast-pocket and handed it to Clive to read. "Cannot stay at home and hear about that shame and disgrace--gone away to be at peace, and try to forget it--with one of her aunts or a schoolfellow--will write," stammered Clive, as he hastily read the letter. "Yes, my dear boy, you know what a creature of impulse she is; and I don't know that we can wonder under the circumstances." "But tell me--where do you think she will be? I must follow her." "Heaven only knows," said the Doctor. "Since my poor wife died she has been mistress here, and naturally very independent and womanly--a strange girl, my dear boy. I have been so wrapped up in my profession, that I have lost the habit of guiding her." "But the servants--what do they say?"