don't think it! (I suppose you saw we were
ordered abroad to Gib.?) And don't go on;
for if I hear a ghost of a whisper that you are
sneaking about and trading on my absence, I'll
come back and give you a lesson that you'll
rue to your death, or will be your death—I
don't care which."

He had forgotten to sign his name, but it was
easy for Mr. Tillotson to know who it came
from. Yet on his mind all this string of
incoherence made not the least impression; he was
reading on, waiting, hoping to find something
that concerned him more nearly. But he never
found it, and here he was at the end, with the
certainty that she had treated his caution with
the contempt it deserved, that she disdained to
reply to him, and that she thought his behaviour
unworthy of an honourable man. "It is
quite clear," he said, with a sort of relief; "it
is all explained now" As for the mad letter
he had just read, it as completely passed from
his mind as if it were merely the symbols and
letters in which the other greater blow must be
conveyed. He never thought again of that Ross,
who was only speaking according to his frantic
nature.

CHAPTER VII. ILLNESS.

THEY did not see Mr. Tillotson at the captain's
house for a long time. Day after day went by,
and they heard nothing. At last, Captain Diamond
had put on the bishop's hat and the grey
thread gloves, and was limping away on what he
called " his three legs," on a private expedition
of his own. The private expedition was to the
grand office of the Foncier Bank, in whose halls
there was, as usual, a crowd—a crowd of angels
with pens behind their cars, and fluttering wings
of paper in their hands, who were flying to and
fro, and bringing joyful or evil tidings to man.
Captain Diamond stopped an angel in a scarlet
waistcoat to ask for his friend.

"Mr. Tillotson, sir? Not here to-day. Not
been here since yesterday—a little unwell.
Like to see Mr. Newton ?—if you step this
way, sir."

For one of the grand principles of the Foncier
Company was to welcome everybody with
warmth, and a part of their capital was set aside
for ensuring politeness and attention.

The captain walked away in trouble. " I was
sure of it," he said. "I saw it in his face that
night. And I ought not to have joked him, poor
fellow."

And having called a cab, he drove off to the
chambers where Mr. Tillotson lived.

They were not fashionable, but they were out
of the way, and at this time of the year the
rooms were not "very well let." It seemed a
grand solitude. There were mahogany doors,
and under a black hood in the hall a porter sat
and took in messages.

"He's not been well at all," said this
functionary. "You see, he's been overworking
himself lately at the bank, sir," he added, getting
out of the hood and becoming intimate and
confidential with the captain, as every one was
sure to do.

"Ah, now! Is that it?" said the captain,
with deep feeling, and reciprocating this
confidence. " Do you know, I was afraid so. He
dined with us only two days ago, and I was
afraid then. Would you be good enough to
take him up this card."

He found Mr. Tillotson up, with his hand to
his head, sitting at his table. "This is very kind
of you," said the latter. "I am trying to fight
it off, you see, and I hope I shall. Those accounts
and figures make my head swim, so I am trying
what a little change will do."

"But, my dear friend," the captain said, looking
round despondingly. "This is not the way
to fight it off. No, no. This is the way to bring
it on. This is the way to be beaten."

"Well, and if I am," said Mr. Tillotson, "perhaps
it would be all the better."

"But it isn't, it couldn't," said the captain,
eagerly. " You mustn't give in to this sort of
thing. You must rouse, my friend. There was
poor Tom Hammond, who went off just by
giving way. Have you seen anybody?"

"No, no," said Mr. Tillotson. "There is
nothing to see any one about. They would only
laugh at me. No, no, I shall be all right soon."

"Then come up to us," said the captain,
"and take a bit of dinner. Do now. Oblige
old Tom—come. The girls will amuse you.
And little Alice—the creature, who is a sweet
child, and the life of us all, was a little sore about
it—between you and me and the post. You know
women—the creatures—they feel everything.
God knows, they all suffer enough, and do you
know, Tillotson, I should always like to spare
them when I could."

"Indeed, what you say covers me with
confusion," said Mr. Tillotson; "but you believe
me when I say I hardly knew what I was
saying? And give my especial apologies to Miss
Alice."

"Apologies, nonsense. But I'll tell them.
Then you can't come? No, I suppose it would
be better not. Very well. Now, now. You
must take care of yourself. I wish to God
you were out of this. It is very lonely, isn't
it?"

"The landlord isn't flourishing," said Mr.
Tillotson. " I and another gentleman—a barrister,
I believe—are his only tenants. It would
be cruel to leave him, you know."

"Well, promise me to see some one. Let me
send Gilpin to you."

Captain Diamond, however, had to leave without
obtaining any satisfactory assurance. But he
had a second interview in the hall with the tenant
of the hood, who by this time seemed to have a
sort of personal regard for him, and who laid his
hand on the captain's arm, as he impressed on
him that " the poor gentleman neglected himself
sadly, sadly, sir!" And with him the captain
agreed, and, going away, made him promise to
come straight to his house on any emergency.
Tbe captain knew enough of human nature not
to trust exclusively to this sudden intimacy or