"That is my meaning, young lady; and, further,
that within twelve hours I will have in my
personal custody the murderer of your father!"

There was something in the man's assured,
significant manner that made Polly colour to the
very roots of her hair. She made an effort to
speak.

"Is—is Sir James aware of your present visit,
sir?"

"He is not. He has, however, made me fully
acquainted with your noble and dutiful intentions."

"Leave me, for the present, I beg, sir," said
Polly, turning whiter and whiter.

Conscious that his blow must be struck now
or never, Henry, instead of retiring, calmly stood
his ground, and put his point with his usual
unperturbed and business-like manner. He made
one step forward.

"Am I to understand, madam, that you
depart altogether from the principles of the
arrangement you announced to Sir James
Polhill? Or was it intended, may I ask, for the
exclusive advantage of the young foreign
gentleman to whom you gave the snu——"

"Ze young foreign gentleman is here to
answer for himself," said a stern voice, almost
at Henry's ear. "Leave ze room, fellow!"

"I think you had better do so, Mr. Armour,"
said a somewhat milder voice: that of Sir James
Polhill, who had followed Arthur into the room.
"You're a first-rate fellow in your line, Henry"
—apart to the officer—"but this is a little beyond
it. Leave the case to me."

Henry withdrew without a word.

Polly-my-Lamb was in the arms of Aunt
Serocold, and for some minutes tears and sal
volatile had it all their own way. Meanwhile,
the apartment was silently filling. Mr. Hartshorne
had appeared, but stood apart, sympathetic,
yet inactive, as if he knew that his closer
attentions would not be required. Mrs. Goodall,
Stephen, and Kezia were present, and even a
faint vision of Mrs. Ascroft hovered near the
door.

"Better, darling?" were the first accents that
broke the silence of the room.

"Much, dear," said Polly, raising her head
from its lavender pillow, and smiling through
her tears. "What is the matter? O tell me
what has happened!"

"Tell me first, my dear," said Sir James;
"can you bear good tidings bravely?"

"Try me, Sir James."

"I think I may. I think I will. You know,
my dear, that I have always entertained an idea,
amounting to conviction, that your father's life
was not taken."

Polly knew nothing of the sort, but she welcomed
the idea with all the warmth due to an old
acquaintance.

"My dear, there is hope of his safety."

"There is certainty!" cried Polly, with hands
uplifted, and eyes glittering through tears. "I
read it in your kind faces. Where is he?"

The group opened, and Arthur Haggerdorn
came forward, tenderly supporting an aged
withered broken form, with stooping head and
snow-white hair. Was this, indeed, all that was
left of the bluff, healthy, jovial merchant, Basil
Humpage? Polly thought so, for she fell upon
his neck without delay or question, gave him
one kiss, and, her excitement having reached its
crisis, fainted. Nevertheless, the old man would
not suffer her to be removed. He was placed in
the great chair from which Polly had risen, and
the care of those around quickly restored the
happy child to the consciousness of her newly-
recovered treasure.

In the explanations that succeeded, Arthur
was, of necessity, chief orator. As agitation
proved detrimental to his English, we interpret
for him as follows:

When the old gentleman fainted in the coffee-
house, Arthur, in accordance with the suggestion
of his friend the grazier, took him under his
peculiar care; and, on his recovering sufficiently
to mention an address in Westminster, and his
desire to be transported home, bore him thither
in a coach with every care and solicitude. But
it was some time after his arrival, and the
application of powerful restoratives, that the
poor old man regained the complete use of his
faculties.

His sole personal attendant appeared to be an
honest-featured old matron, who wept genuine
tears at the condition in which he was brought
back; but who, notwithstanding, bestirred herself
vigorously in doing all that was required for
his relief.

"Of course I knew his name warn't Higgledum,"
said the old lady, softly, to Arthur, as the
two sat in the adjoining room, but with the door
open, so as to command a full view of the patient's
bed. "Nobody's name ever yet was Higgledum,
or Piggledum either. But he's the best
of masters; and of men; and, now you tell me
you know his right name, why it's no use me
making a mystery about it. He ought to have
his friends about him."

"And he shall," said Arthur.

"I knew well enough he was a-hidin'," continued
the old dame, apparently so delighted to
get the secret off her soul, that she could not
check her revelations. "Bless you, he was up
to all sorts of tricks, 'specially to make me think
his name was Higgledum. Scores of letters he
must have written to himself, 'Humphrey
Higgledum, Esquire;' but he forgot, now and again,
to destroy them, and so I see, as they lays on his
bureau, there was nothing in 'em. But I fancy
they was tiresome to answer, so he soon gave
that up. He used to dine at some out-o'-the-
way place, and read his paper at another out-o'-
the-way place. I don't think he spent forty
pound a year. I knew he was a hidin', but I'd
take my Bible oath he never hurt any mortial, nor
I don't think any mortial would hurt him. And,"
concluded the honest lady, wiping her eyes, "of
course I don't believe in that 'Reward.' "