lf against the
world. But now that years and dangers are upon me, and my hands are
weakened, I must turn to you for aid."

"It is a crime," replied the girl.

"I am your father," said Mr. Vandeleur.

This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling noise followed
upon the gravel, a chair was overset, and then Francis saw the father
and daughter stagger across the walk and disappear under the verandah,
bearing the inanimate body of Mr. Rolles embraced about the knees and
shoulders. The young clergyman was limp and pallid, and his head rolled
upon his shoulders at every step.

Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator's declaration,
inclined to the latter view. A great crime had been committed; a great
calamity had fallen upon the inhabitants of the house with the green
blinds. To his surprise, Francis found all horror for the deed swallowed
up in sorrow for a girl and an old man whom he judged to be in the
height of peril. A tide of generous feeling swept into his heart; he,
too, would help his father against man and mankind, against fate and
justice; and casting open the shutters he closed his eyes and threw
himself with outstretched arms into the foliage of the chestnut.

Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or broke under his weight;
then he caught a stalwart bough under his armpit, and hung suspended for
a second; and then he let himself drop and fell heavily against the
table. A cry of alarm from the house warned him that his entrance had
not been effected unobserved. He recovered himself with a stagger, and
in three bounds crossed the intervening space and stood before the door
in the verandah.

In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and surrounded by glazed
cabinets full of rare and costly curios, Mr. Vandeleur was stooping over
the body of Mr. Rolles. He raised himself as Francis entered, and there
was an instantaneous passage of hands. It was the business of a second;
as fast as an eye can wink the thing was done; the young man had not the
time to be sure, but it seemed to him as if the Dictator had taken
something from the curate's breast, looked at it for the least fraction
of time as it lay in his hand, and then suddenly and swiftly passed it
to his daughter.

All this was over while Francis had still one foot upon the threshold,
and the other raised in air. The next instant he was on his knees to Mr.
Vandeleur.

"Father!" he cried. "Let me too help you. I will do what