cured, and then boldly got out of the window and
swung off. In a minute he was by the side of his friend.

"How do ye feel now?" asked the good woman, in a tone of sympathy.

"Better," said Julius.

"What made them lock ye up?"

"They didn't think I'd want to go out till mornin'. Good-bye, Mrs.
O'Connor; I'm goin' for the doctor. You can get your line in the
mornin'."

He left the house with a quick, alert step, showing no further
evidence of pain. Mrs. O'Connor noticed it, and wondered that he
should have got over his sickness so soon. Julius had been tempted to
take her into his confidence and explain the real state of the case,
but in the uncertain issue of the burglary he decided that it would
not be best.

"Good-bye, old house!" he said, looking back to it in the indistinct
light; "I shall never come back and live here again. I'll go down to
the wharves and find a place to sleep the rest of the night."

He turned his steps in the direction of the East River. He found an
out-of-the-way corner on one of the piers, where he disposed himself
for sleep. It was nothing new to him. Scores of times he had spent the
night in similar places, and never found fault with the
accommodations. They might be poor, but the best of it was there was
nothing to pay, and he must be indeed unreasonable who could complain
under such circumstances. He fell asleep, but the shadow of recent
events was upon him. He dreamed that Marlowe had him by the throat,
and woke up in terror to find a dock-hand shaking him by the shoulder.

"Avast there!" said the man, who had caught some phrases from the
sailors; "wake up and pay for your lodgin's."

"All my money's in the bank," said Julius. "I can't get at it till the
bank opens."

"Not then, either," said the dock-hand, good-humoredly. "Well, I'll
let you off this time. Your wife's expectin' you home."

"Are you sure of that?" said Julius. "I told her I was goin' to a
party, and she needn't expect me home till mornin'."

"Well, the party's broke up, and you'd better be going," returned the
other, good-naturedly.

Meanwhile let us go back to Marlowe, whom we left hurrying home a
little past midnight, intent upon wreaking his vengeance on Julius for
his treachery. Had he found the boy it would have gone hard with him.
The ruffianly instinct of the burglar was predominant, and he might
have killed him in the intensity of his blind rage. But the foresight
and prudent caution of Julius de