A deplorableexplosion of oaths was the Dictator's first reply.
"Son and father?" he cried. "Father and son? What d-d unnatural

comedy is all this? How do you come in my garden? What do you
want? And who, in God's name, are you?"

Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got upon his feet
again, and stood in silence.

Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and he laughed
aloud

"I see," cried he. "It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr.
Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how you stand. You

have entered my private residence by force, or perhaps by fraud,
but certainly with no encouragement from me; and you come at a

moment of some annoyance, a guest having fainted at my table, to
besiege me with your protestations. You are no son of mine. You

are my brother's bastard by a fishwife, if you want to know. I
regard you with an indifference closely bordering on aversion; and

from what I now see of your conduct, I judge your mind to be
exactly suitable to your exterior. I recommend you these

mortifying reflections for your leisure; and, in the meantime, let
me beseech you to rid us of your presence. If I were not

occupied," added the Dictator, with a terrifying oath, "I should
give you the unholiest drubbing ere you went!"

Francis listened in profoundhumiliation. He would have fled had
it been possible; but as he had no means of leaving the residence

into which he had so unfortunately penetrated, he could do no more
than stand foolishly where he was.

It was Miss Vandeleur who broke the silence.
"Father," she said, "you speak in anger. Mr. Scrymgeour may have

been mistaken, but he meant well and kindly."
"Thank you for speaking," returned the Dictator. "You remind me of

some other observations which I hold it a point of honour to make
to Mr. Scrymgeour. My brother," he continued, addressing the young

man, "has been foolish enough to give you an allowance; he was
foolish enough and presumptuous enough to propose a match between

you and this young lady. You were exhibited to her two nights ago;
and I rejoice to tell you that she rejected the idea with disgust.

Let me add that I have considerable influence with your father; and
it shall not be my fault if you are not beggared of your allowance

and sent back to your scrivening ere the week be out."
The tones of the old man's voice were, if possible, more wounding

than his language; Francis felt himself exposed to the most cruel,
blighting, and unbearablecontempt; his head turned, and he covered

his face with his hands, uttering at the same time a tearless sob
of agony. But Miss Vandeleur once again interfered in his behalf.

"Mr. Scrymgeour," she said, speaking in clear and even tones, "you
must not be concerned at my father's harsh expressions. I felt no

disgust for you; on the contrary, I asked an opportunity to make
your better acquaintance. As for what has passed to-night, believe

me it has filled my mind with both pity and esteem."
Just then Mr. Rolles made a convulsive movement with his arm, which

convinced Francis that he was only drugged, and was beginning to
throw off the influence of the opiate. Mr. Vandeleur stooped over

him and examined his face for an instant.
"Come, come!" cried he, raising his head. "Let there be an end of

this. And since you are so pleased with his conduct, Miss
Vandeleur, take a candle and show the bastard out."

The young lady hastened to obey.
"Thank you," said Francis, as soon as he was alone with her in the

garden. "I thank you from my soul. This has been the bitterest
evening of my life, but it will have always one pleasant

recollection."
"I spoke as I felt," she replied, "and in justice to you. It made

my heart sorry that you should be so unkindly used."
By this time they had reached the garden gate; and Miss Vandeleur,

having set the candle on the ground, was already unfastening the
bolts.

"One word more," said Francis. "This is not for the last time - I
shall see you again, shall I not?"

"Alas!" she answered. "You have heard my father. What can I do
but obey?"

"Tell me at least that it is not with your consent," returned
Francis; "tell me that you have no wish to see the last of me."

"Indeed," replied she, "I have none. You seem to me both brave and
honest."

"Then," said Francis, "give me a keepsake."
She paused for a moment, with her hand upon the key; for the

various bars and bolts were all undone, and there was nothing left
but to open the lock.

"If I agree," she said, "will you promise to do as I tell you from
point to point?"

"Can you ask?" replied Francis. "I would do so willingly on your
bare word."

She turned the key and threw open the door.
"Be it so," said she. "You do not know what you ask, but be it so.

Whatever you hear," she continued, "whatever happens, do not return
to this house; hurry fast until you reach the lighted and populous

quarters of the city; even there be upon your guard. You are in a
greater danger than you fancy. Promise me you will not so much as

look at my keepsake until you are in a place of safety."
"I promise," replied Francis.

She put something loosely wrapped in a handkerchief into the young
man's hand; and at the same time, with more strength than he could

have anticipated, she pushed him into the street.
"Now, run!" she cried.

He heard the door close behind him, and the noise of the bolts
being replaced.

"My faith," said he, "since I have promised!"
And he took to his heels down the lane that leads into the Rue

Ravignan.
He was not fifty paces from the house with the green blinds when

the most diabolical outcry suddenly arose out of the stillness of
the night. Mechanically he stood still; another passenger followed

his example; in the neighbouring floors he saw people crowding to
the windows; a conflagration could not have produced more

disturbance in this empty quarter. And yet it seemed to be all the
work of a single man, roaring between grief and rage, like a

lioness robbed of her whelps; and Francis was surprised and alarmed
to hear his own name shouted with English imprecations to the wind.

His first movement was to return to the house; his second, as he
remembered Miss Vandeleur's advice, to continue his flight with

greater expedition than before; and he was in the act of turning to
put his thought in action, when the Dictator, bareheaded, bawling

aloud, his white hair blowing about his head, shot past him like a
ball out of the cannon's mouth, and went careering down the street.

"That was a close shave," thought Francis to himself. "What he
wants with me, and why he should be so disturbed, I cannot think;

but he is plainly not good company for the moment, and I cannot do
better than follow Miss Vandeleur's advice."

So saying, he turned to retrace his steps, thinking to double and
descend by the Rue Lepic itself while his pursuer should continue

to follow after him on the other line of street. The plan was ill-
devised: as a matter of fact, he should have taken his seat in the

nearest cafe, and waited there until the first heat of the pursuit
was over. But besides that Francis had no experience and little

natural aptitude for the small war of private life, he was so
unconscious of any evil on his part, that he saw nothing to fear

beyond a disagreeableinterview. And to disagreeableinterviews he
felt he had already served his apprenticeship that evening; nor