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Yankee Blank was nowhere
to be seen.
"Hobart," exclaimed his cousin, "you look ill--ten years older
than you did last night."
"You see me now by daylight," was the quiet reply. "I am not very
well."
"It's a perfect shame that I've been the cause of so much trouble,
especially when it wasn't necessary."
"Oh, my God!" thought Martine, "there was even no need of this
fatal journey." But his face had become grave and inscrutable, and
the plea of ill-health reconciled his cousin to the necessity of
immediate return. There was no good reason for his remaining, for
by a few additional arrangements his relative would do very well
and soon be able to take care of himself. Martine felt that he
could not jeopardize his hard-won victory by delay, which was as
torturing as the time intervening between a desperate surgical
operation and the knowledge that it is inevitable.
After seeing that his cousin made a good breakfast, he sought a
private interview with the wardmaster. He was able to extract but
little information about Yankee Blank more than the man had given
himself.


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