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Keep your
counsel; give me a light in another private room; detain the young
lady in the parlor, and then, bring Mr. Kemble to me."
"Ah, glad to see you, Mr. Kemble," said the landlord, a moment or
two later, with reassuring cheerfulness; "you too, Miss Helen.
That's right, take good care of the old gentleman. Yes, we have a
sick man here who wants to see you, sir. Miss Helen, take a seat
in the parlor by the fire while I turn up the lamp. Guess you
won't have to wait long."
"Now, Helen," said her father, smiling at her significantly, "can
you trust me out of your sight to go upstairs with Mr. Jackson?"
Much relieved, she smiled in return and sat down to wait.
"Who is this man, Jackson?" Mr. Kemble asked on the stairs.
"Well, sir, he said he would explain everything."
A moment later the banker needed not Martine's warning gesture
enjoining silence, for he was speechless with astonishment.
"Mr. Jackson," whispered Martine, "will you please remain in the
other room and look after your patient?"
"Hobart," faltered Mr.


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