asy
silence until it arrived. Jean le Roi drank at first sparingly, but his
eyes rested lovingly upon the bottle.

"Now speak," he commanded.

Johnson told his story with appropriate gestures.

"After it was all over," he began rapidly, "and one saw that a rescue
was impossible, I followed madame! It was a moment of fury, I thought.
She will repent, she will pay for lawyers for his defence. So I hung
about her hotel, only to find that she had left, stolen away. As you
know, she did not appear at the trial! It was a bargain with the police
that they should not call her if she betrayed you! She escaped me, Jean,
and as you know, I had no money. All, every penny had been spent on your
clothes and your horse and carriage, to make you a gentleman."

Jean le Roi extended his hands. "Money well spent indeed! Let the old
man continue!"

"She escaped me, Jean, and it was many months before I found a clue on
an old label--just the words 'Thorpe, England.' So I wrote there, and
the letter did not come back as the others. I waited a little time and I
wrote again, this time to receive an answer! It was a stern, angry
letter from a man who called himself her father, and signed himself
Stephen Hurd. He was what is called here an estate agent, and he had
not very much money. He would not send one pound. He said that the
marriage was illegal, and if one came to England he threatened the law!
I wrote again--humbly, piteously. I spoke of your hardships. I told how
all the time you raved of your dear wife, how you repented your
madness--how it was for love of her only that you had committed such a
crime! There came no answer. I forwarded the letters which you had
written to her--I begged, oh! how I begged for just a little money for
the small luxuries, the good wine, the tobacco, the newspapers. They
sent nothing!"

Jean le Roi drew in his breath with a gasp.

"Oh!" he muttered. "So they sent nothing!"

"Not one sou, Jean--not one sou! And all the while the time of your
release was drawing near. What could I do! Well, I raised the money. How
I will not tell you, my boy, but I went on a fruit boat from Havre to
Southampton, and from there down to Thorpe. I saw the old man Stephen
Hurd. It was on a Sunday night that I arrived, and I found him alone.
He was as hard, Jean, as his letters. When I pressed him he ordered
me out of the house. I would not go. I said that I would see my
daughter-in-law. I would remain until I saw her, I sa