highest tower of _Lubbertoo_, and more
freely still when he arrived at the station, where he was met by his
coat-of-arms carriage, instead of a writ, and was suffered to go
peaceably home, a disappointed, if not a better man.

CHAPTER XLIII.

HAROLD AND JERRIE.

The news which so electrified all Shannondale was slow in reaching Mrs.
Crawford, but it did reach her at last, crushing and overwhelming her
with a sense of shame and anguish, until as the day wore on, Grace
Atherton, and Mrs. St. Claire, and Nina, and many others came to
reassure her, and to say that it was all a mistake, which would be soon
cleared up.

Thus comforted and consoled, she tried to be calm, and wait patiently
for the train. But there was a great pity for her boy in her heart as
she sat by Jerrie's bedside and watched her in all her varying moods,
now perfectly quiet, with her wide open eyes staring up at the ceiling
as if she were seeing something there, now talking of Peterkin, and the
Tramp House, and the table, and the blow, and again of the bag, which
she said was lost, and which her grandmother must find.

Thinking she meant the carpet bag, Mrs. Crawford brought that to her,
but she tossed it aside impatiently saying:

'No, no; the other one, which tells it all. Where is it! I must have
lost it. Find it, find it. To be so near, and yet so far. What did it
say? Why can't I think? Am I like Mr. Arthur--crazy, like him?'

Mrs. Crawford thought her crazier than Arthur, and waited still more
impatiently for Harold, until she heard his step outside, and knew that
he had come.

'Harold!'

'Grandma!' was all they said for a moment while the poor old lady was
sobbing on his neck, and then he comforted her as best he could,
telling her that it was all over now--that no one but Peterkin had
accused him--that everybody was ready to defend him, and that after a
little he could explain everything.

'And now I must see Jerrie,' he continued, starting for the stairs, and
glad that his grandmother did not attempt to follow him.

Jerrie had heard his voice, and had raised herself in bed, and as he
came in, met him with the question:

'Have you brought them? Has any one seen them?'

The strange light in her eyes should have told Harold how utterly
incapable she was of giving any rational answers to his questions, but
he did not think of that, and instead of trying to quiet her, he plunged
at once into the subject she had broached:

'