ngagement, and not
long after midnight the journalist managed to get rid of him.

On Tuesday afternoon arrived a distracted note. 'I shall keep my
promise, and I won't try to see you till you come here tomorrow. But I
am sore beset. I have received _three_ letters from Mrs. Jacox, all
long and horribly pathetic. She seems to have a presentiment that I
shall forsake her. What a beast I shall be if I do! Tom comes here
to-night, and I think I shall tell him all.'

The last sentence was a relief to the reader; he knew nothing of Mr
Thomas Malkin, but there was a fair presumption that this gentleman
would not see his brother bent on making such a notable fool of himself
without vigorous protest.

At the appointed hour next morning, Earwaker reached his friend's
lodgings, which were now at Kilburn. On entering the room he saw, not
the familiar figure, but a solid, dark-faced, black-whiskered man, whom
a faint resemblance enabled him to identify as Malkin the younger.

'I was expecting you,' said Thomas, as they shook hands. 'My brother is
completely floored. When I got here an hour ago, I insisted on his
lying down, and now I think he's asleep. If you don't mind, we'll let
him rest for a little. I believe he has hardly closed his eyes since
this unfortunate affair happened.'

'It rejoiced me to hear that he was going to ask your advice. How do
matters stand?'

'You know Mrs. Jacox?'

Thomas was obviously a man of discretion, but less intellectual than
his brother; he spoke like one who is accustomed to the management of
affairs. At first he was inclined to a polite reserve, but Earwaker's
conversation speedily put him more at ease.

'I have quite made up my mind,' he said presently, 'that we must take
him away with us to-morrow. The voyage will bring him to his senses.'

'Of course he resists?'

'Yes, but if you will give me your help, I think we can manage him. He
is not very strong-willed. In a spasmodic way he can defy everyone, but
the steady pressure of common sense will prevail with him, I think.'

They had talked for half-an-hour, when the door opened and the object
of their benevolent cares stood before them. He was clad in a
dressing-gown, and his disordered hair heightened the look of illness
which his features presented.

'Why didn't you call me?' he asked his brother, irritably. 'Earwaker, I
beg a thousand pardons! I'm not very well; I've overslept myself.'

'Yes, yes; come and sit down.'

Thoma