's niece."

"I am Mr. Wilkeson, a friend of Mr. Van Quintem," said Marcus, hastily
introducing himself; "and I am glad you are come."

"Yes, I see. Fainted away. Revive in a moment. Fresh air. Cordial, Quite
right. Now a little water on his forehead."

Mrs. Frump made her sentences short, to accommodate her breath.

As she passed a cool sponge across the patient's brow, she said:

"I knew it would be so. He has been here. I saw him round the corner.
Looking pale and mad."

"You are right, madam. He _has_ been here."

Mrs. Frump's pleasant little eyes shone with unnatural anger, and there
was a presage of wrathful words in her quivering lips. Mrs. Frump was
desperately trying to keep back certain private opinions that she had
long entertained, but proved unequal to the effort. She burst out with:

"He's an undutiful son, sir. A monster, sir. And he's killing his poor
father. He's--"

"Ah! what?" said Mr. Van Quintem, opening his eyes, and looking wildly
around, like one who wakes from a horrible dream.

"It's I. Your niece--Gusty," replied Mrs. Frump, changing her assumed
harsh tones into her natural soft ones "And I think you had better go to
bed. Please take hold, Mr. Wilkeson, and assist him to the next room."
She added, in a whisper, "Don't talk with him any more to-day."

Mr. Wilkeson nodded, raised his eyebrows to signify that he appreciated
the advice, and proceeded at once to aid Mrs. Frump in her benevolent
task. The old gentleman had considerably revived by this time.

"You are right, my dear Gusty," said he, looking fondly at his niece.
"You are always right. And you are right, too, sir," he added, turning
to Marcus. "Ah, if I had known such a good adviser years ago."

Marcus, remembering Mrs. Frump's injunction, made no answer to this
remark.

When the old gentleman had been led tottering into the adjacent parlor,
which was fitted up as his bedroom, and placed comfortably on a high
prop of pillows, Marcus drew out his watch, made an amiable pretence of
very important business down town, and bade his venerable friend
"good-by."

"I had hoped you could stay longer; for I feel that you are a true
friend, and I can confide my sorrows to you," murmured the old
gentleman, taking his guest fondly by the hand.

But Marcus, fortified by another significant look from Mrs. Frump,
declared that business was imperative, and he must go. He would call
to-morrow, without fail, and hoped to find his friend