"No," she said; "I cannot speak. If he who is hovering between life and death could advise, he would say, 'Be silent; let his conscience be his judge.' I say the same. Go. The locket is not there."

"The police?" he cried in a questioning tone.

"No," she said, "the secret was mine. I found it tightly clasped in my poor father's hand."

"Then the secret is safe."

"Safe?" she said scornfully. "Safe? Yes, it is my secret. You asked for mercy. I give it you, for the sake of all who are dear to me; and because, if he lives, my poor father would not prosecute the son of his old friend. There is your locket. Take it, and I pray heaven we may never meet again. Crampton!"

"Yes, Miss Maddy, Crampton--old Crampton, who held you in his arms when you were one hour old."

"What are you doing here?"

"Watching my master's interests--watching over you."

"Then you have heard?"

"Every word, my child."

"You cursed spy!" cried Harry fiercely, as he seized the old man by the throat.

"You've done enough, Master Harry Vine, enough to transport you, sir; and if he dies to send you to your death."

"Crampton!" shrieked Madelaine, as Harry drew back trembling.

"Be merciful, like you, my dear? No, I cannot."

"Then you'll go and tell--"

"What I've heard now, my dear? No; there is no need."

"What do you mean?"

"To watch over you, whether my poor master lives or dies. I know you!

You'd forgive him if he asked."

"Never! But Crampton, it is our secret. He must go--to repent. Dear Crampton," she cried, throwing her arms about his neck, "you must be merciful too!"

"Too late, my dear," said the old man sternly; "too late."

He placed his arm round her and drew her to his breast, as if to defend her from Harry.

"When I went home that night," he continued in a slow, solemn voice, "I felt that something was not right, and I came on here--in time to see--"

"Oh!" cried Madelaine.

"In time to see that shivering, guilty wretch flee from where he had struck my poor master down; and if I had been a young man and strong I could have killed him for his crime."

"You saw him?"

"Yes, my dear. No need for the locket to bear witness. I had my duty to do, and it is done."

"Done?"

"Yes; to punish him for his crime."

"Crampton, what have you said? Harry! before it is too late!"

"It is too late, my child. See here." He held out a sc.r.a.p of reddish paper. "From the London police. I could not trust those bunglers here."

Madelaine s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from his hand and read it.

"Oh!" she moaned, and the paper dropped from her hand.

Harry s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the floor, read it, let it fall, and reeled against the table, whose edge he grasped.

Madelaine struggled and freed herself from the old man's detaining arm.

"Harry!" she panted--"it would be my father's wish--escape! There may yet be time."

He leaned back against the table, gazing at her wildly, as if he did not grasp her words. Then he started as if stung by a sudden lash as old Crampton said: "I have done my duty. It is too late."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

LESLIE MAKES A DECLARATION.

"Where is Harry?" said George Vine that same evening, as he sat in his study, surrounded by his living specimens of natural history, and with the paper before him that he had vainly tried to fill.

"He must be waiting about down in the town--for news," said Louise, looking up from her work.

"He ought to have been here to dinner, my dear," said the naturalist querulously; "it would have been some comfort. Tut--tut--tut! I cannot collect my thoughts; everything seems to slip from me."

"Then why not leave it, dear, for the present? This terrible trouble as unhinged you."

She had risen and gone to the back of his chair, to pa.s.s her arm lovingly about his neck, and he leaned back, dropping his pen to take her hand and play with it, pressing it to his lips from time to time.

"I suppose I had better," he said sadly; "but I am dreadfully behindhand--four letters from the Society unanswered. I wish they did not expect so much from me, my darling."

"I do not," said Louise, smiling. "Why should you wish to be less learned than you are?"

"Had we not better go on again to Van Heldre's now?"

"I think I would leave it till quite the last thing."

"Ye-es," said Vine, hesitating, "perhaps so; but I don't like it, my child. Van Heldre has always been to me like a brother, and it seems so strange and hard to be almost driven from his side. Doctor's like a tyrant, and as for Crampton--there, wait till the poor fellow is well again, and if we together do not give Master Crampton a severe setting down, my name is not what it is."

"You must forgive it, dear; he is so anxious about his master."