"We'd better sleep," I said, as I turned the key in the door. "And, as for Murray Olivant--let him sleep." "Quite right, Charlie--we can leave him--to sleep soundly," he said, nodding his head at me. "He's safe enough." He stretched himself on the bed, and seemed to fall asleep at once. I had curled myself up in a corner, and was slowly nodding to slumber, when I thought he moved; I asked sleepily if he wanted anything. There was no reply, and the only sound in the room was his steady breathing. I decided sleepily that everything might well wait until the morrow; my head dropped forward on my breast, and I slept heavily. I had no recollection of anything during the night, save that it seemed to me once that some one touched me, and that I fretfully begged to be left alone. But I awoke in the morning to find the bed unoccupied, and only myself in the room. Fanshawe was gone. I wondered about it a little, and yet was relieved to be rid of him. I had got clearly in my mind what I was to do. I wanted to know that Barbara and the girl were safe at Hammerstone Market; I wanted to be certain that the girl was back again in her father's house. Always when I got to that point I stopped, and my thoughts refused to travel further. For while Murray Olivant was safely out of the way, never to trouble the child's peace again, there always came on top of that the shuddering remembrance that the boy had killed him, and that only afterwards, if he was the boy I knew him to be, would there come upon him the knowledge that with that knife thrust he had killed not only Murray Olivant, but all hope of any love story with Barbara. That was one of the problems I had to solve; to know what the boy would do. I was certain in my own mind that Barbara, at least, would keep her promise to me, and would take the girl to Hammerstone Market. It seemed at once to become vitally necessary that I should see Barbara--should let her understand, in however vague a fashion, what had happened, and should get the clear light of her reason upon it. Up to a certain point I had taken my way strongly, without fear and without question; but now I had come to a point when I was afraid to move--afraid to take any step that might involve young Arnold Millard. One man I feared, and feared greatly; and that man was Jervis Fanshawe. I knew he would not hesitate for a moment to denounce me, if it served his purpose to do so. I knew that he believed that I had killed Murray Olivant, and I did not know how far that old vengeance with which he had pursued me before would stir him to pursue me again. I did not like, above all things, that secret creeping away in the night on some unknown errand.