ch goodness?" said she. "And Mr.
Trevelyan;--you saw him?"

"Yes:--I saw him."

Before he could answer her further she was up-stairs, and had her
child in her arms. It seemed to be an age since the boy had been
stolen from her in the early spring in that unknown, dingy street
near Tottenham Court Road. Twice she had seen her darling since
that,--twice during his captivity; but on each of these occasions
she had seen him as one not belonging to herself, and had seen him
under circumstances which had robbed the greeting of almost all its
pleasure. But now he was her own again, to take whither she would,
to dress and to undress, to feed, to coax, to teach, and to caress.
And the child lay close up to her as she hugged him, putting up his
little cheek to her chin, and burying himself happily in her embrace.
He had not much as yet to say, but she could feel that he was
contented.

Mr. Glascock had promised to wait for her a few minutes,--even at the
risk of Caroline's displeasure,--and Mrs. Trevelyan ran down to him
as soon as the first craving of her mother's love was satisfied. Her
boy would at any rate be safe with her now, and it was her duty to
learn something of her husband. It was more than her duty;--if only
her services might be of avail to him. "And you say he was well?"
she asked. She had taken Mr. Glascock apart, and they were alone
together, and he had determined that he would tell her the truth.

"I do not know that he is ill,--though he is pale and altered beyond
belief."

"Yes;--I saw that."

"I never knew a man so thin and haggard."

"My poor Louis!"

"But that is not the worst of it."

"What do you mean, Mr. Glascock?"

"I mean that his mind is astray, and that he should not be left
alone. There is no knowing what he might do. He is so much more alone
there than he would be in England. There is not a soul who could
interfere."

"Do you mean that you think--that he is in danger--from himself?"

"I would not say so, Mrs. Trevelyan; but who can tell? I am sure of
this,--that he should not be left alone. If it were only because of
the misery of his life, he should not be left alone."

"But what can I do? He would not even see papa."

"He would see you."

"But he would not let me guide him in anything. I have been to him
twice, and he breaks out,--as if I were--a bad woman."

"Let him break out. What does it matter?"

"Am I to own to a falsehood,--and such a falsehood?"

"Own to anythin