u a better grip on the meaning of that
wise advice which I repeat now: no matter what the trouble, come to me."

"I shall come," said the lad with a show of spirit that delighted
Arthur. "Even if you should see me hanged the next day."

"That's a fine sentiment to sleep on, so we'll go to bed. However,
remind yourself that a little good sense when you resume business ... by
the way, it's morning ... no super-sensitiveness, no grieving, for you
were straight all through ... go right on as if nothing had happened ...
and in fact nothing has happened yet ... I can see that you understand."

They went to bed, and slept comfortably until noon. After breakfast
Louis looked passably well, yet miserable enough to make explanations
necessary for his alarmed parents. Arthur undertook the disagreeable
office, which seemed to him delightful by comparison with that other
story of a runaway son _en route_ in fancied disgrace for India. All's
well that ends well. Mary Everard wept with grief, joy, and gratitude,
and took her jewel to her arms without complaint or question. The
crotchety father was disposed to have it out with either the knaves or
the fools in the game, did not Arthur reduce him to quiet by his little
indictment.

"There is only one to quarrel with about this sad affair, John Everard,"
said he smoothly, "and that only one is your friend and well wisher,
Quincy Livingstone. I want you to remember that, when we set out to take
his scalp. It's a judgment on you that you are the first to suffer
directly by this man's plotting. You needn't talk back. The boy is going
to be ill, and you'll need all your epithets for your chief and yourself
before you see comfort again."

Recalling his son's appearance the father remained silent. Arthur's
prevision came true. The physician ordered Louis to bed for an
indefinite time, having found him suffering from shock, and threatened
with some form of fever. The danger did not daunt his mother. Whatever
of suffering yet remained, her boy would endure it in the shelter of her
arms.

"If he died this night," she said to Arthur, "I would still thank God
that sent him back to die among his own; and after God, you, son dear,
who have been more than a brother to him."

Thus the items in his account with kinsman Livingstone kept mounting
daily.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE END OF A MELODRAMA.

Louis kept his bed for some weeks, and suffered a slow convalescence.
Private grief must giv