e heard him say with his loud voice, putting his
arm within that of Mr. May, who resisted, but not enough to attract the
attention of the new-comer, as Reginald came up breathless and placed
himself on his father's other side. The darkness prevented any
revelation of the strange appearance of the fugitive, and Mr. Copperhead
was not lively of perception in respect to people unconnected with
himself.

"You, too," he cried, nodding at Reginald, "come along. I've come to
save that boy of mine from a little artful--Come, both of you. The sight
of a young fellow like himself will shame him more than anything; and
you, May, you're the very man I want--"

"Not there, not there, for God's sake!" said Mr. May, with a hoarse cry,
"not there, my God! Reginald! it used to be hanging. Do you mean to give
me up?"

"Hold him fast," Reginald whispered in desperation, "hold him fast! It
is madness."

"Lord bless us!" said Mr. Copperhead, but he was a man who was proud of
his strength, and not given to timidity. He held his captive fast by the
arm, while Reginald secured him on the other side. "Why, what's this,
May? rouse yourself up; don't give in, man. No, you ain't mad, not a bit
of you. Come along, wait here at Tozer's for me, while I do my business;
and then I'll look after _you_. Come on."

There was a violent but momentary struggle; then all at once the
struggling man yielded and allowed himself to be dragged within the
garden-door. Was it because an ordinary policeman, one of the most
respectful servants of the law, who would have saluted Mr. May with the
utmost reverence, was just then coming up? He yielded; but he looked at
his son with a wild despair which made Reginald almost as desperate as
himself in maddening ignorance and terror.

"Ruin! ruin!" he murmured hoarsely, "worse than death."

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE CONFLICT.

The day which had intervened between Phoebe's morning walk, and this
darkling flight along the same road, had been full of agitation at the
house of the Tozers. Phoebe, who would willingly have spared her lover
anything more than the brief intercourse which was inevitable with her
relations, could find no means of sending him away without breakfast.
She had escaped from him accordingly, weary as she was, to make
arrangements for such a meal as she knew him, even in his most
sentimental mood, to love--a thing which required some time and
supervision, though the house was always plentifully