lady here; and if you don't get out of my house
when I tell you, I'll send for a real policeman." Then was Bozzle
conquered; and, as he went, he admitted to himself that he had sinned
against all the rules of his life in attempting to go beyond the
legitimate line of his profession. As long as he confined himself
to the getting up of facts nobody could threaten him with a "real
policeman." But one fact he had learned to-day. The clergyman of St.
Diddulph's, who had been represented to him as a weak, foolish man,
was anything but that. Bozzle was much impressed in favour of Mr.
Outhouse, and would have been glad to have done that gentleman a
kindness had an opportunity come in his way.

"What does he want, Uncle Oliphant?" said Mrs. Trevelyan at the foot
of the stairs, guarding the way up to the nursery. At this moment the
front door had just been closed behind the back of Mr. Bozzle.

"You had better ask no questions," said Mr. Outhouse.

"But is it about Louis?"

"Yes, he came about him."

"Well? Of course you must tell me, Uncle Oliphant. Think of my
condition."

"He had some stupid paper in his hand from your husband, but it meant
nothing."

"He was the messenger, then?"

"Yes, he was the messenger. But I don't suppose he expected to get
anything. Never mind. Go up and look after the child." Then Mrs.
Trevelyan returned to her boy, and Mr. Outhouse went back to his
papers.

It was very hard upon him, Mr. Outhouse thought,--very hard. He
was threatened with an action now, and most probably would become
subject to one. Though he had been spirited enough in presence of the
enemy, he was very much out of spirits at this moment. Though he had
admitted to himself that his duty required him to protect his wife's
niece, he had never taken the poor woman to his heart with a loving,
generous feeling of true guardianship. Though he would not give up
the child to Bozzle, he thoroughly wished that the child was out of
his house. Though he called Bozzle a knave and Trevelyan a madman,
still he considered that Colonel Osborne was the chief sinner, and
that Emily Trevelyan had behaved badly. He constantly repeated to
himself the old adage, that there was no smoke without fire; and
lamented the misfortune that had brought him into close relation
with things and people that were so little to his taste. He sat for
awhile, with a pen in his hand, at the miserable little substitute
for a library table which had been provide