“You do not believe Mr. Dumont would have abandoned his purpose, just as it was in the very act of being consummated, without a strong motive.”

“True; I understand that the body-servant of the late Colonel Dumont is upon this island.  He must have informed the lady, by this time, of his share in the transaction.”

“Well.”

“And Mr. Dumont saw the boy the night before he left the steamer.”

“True.”

“Was not the reaeppearance, the rising from the dead, of this man, quite enough to convince him that all his plans had failed?”

“Why so?”

“The boy had the will!”

“It is all plain to me,” said Emily, more disposed to trust De Guy than Dr. Vaudelier was.

“Perfectly plain, madam; it is not at all strange that he should adopt this course.  He must trust to his niece’s good-nature to save him from exposure.”

“Perhaps this is only a plan to get the lady into his power again,” suggested Dr. Vaudelier.

“I assure you it is not.  He is sorely troubled in mind, even now, at the guilt which is fastened upon him.  His conscience is awakened.”

“And well it might be,” said the doctor.

“True,” responded the silky attorney, with an appearance of honest indignation; “but when we see a man disposed to repent, we should be ready to assist him.”

Dr. Vaudelier involuntarily turned his thoughts to the incidents of the morning,—­called to mind the feelings which had been awakened in the presence of his penitent son, and he felt the full force of De Guy’s argument.

“If Mr. Dumont is disposed to repent of the injury he has done his niece, and make atonement for it, I should, by all means, advise her to follow the course which, I am sure, her gentle nature suggests.  ’To err is human; to forgive, divine.’  The lady is a Christian, and will act in the true spirit of Christianity.”

“I trust she will,” responded De Guy, meekly; “I trust she will, and, with all convenient haste, try to mitigate his distress.”

“I will!  I will!” exclaimed Emily.

“Perhaps you will accompany me, as your uncle suggests,” insinuated De Guy.

“There is certainly no need of such haste as this,” said the doctor.

“Her uncle may change his mind.”

“Then his penitence is not sincere, and he cannot be trusted.”

“I should scarcely call it penitence, sir, since it is only the fear of discovery which has driven him to this step,” said the attorney, branching off in to a new school of ethics.

“I can go in a few days,” said Emily.  “Captain Carroll, you think, is out of danger now?”

De Guy started, and a scowl of the deepest malignity overshadowed his countenance, which had before been that of a meek and truthful man.  The change was so sudden that he seemed to be a man within a man, and the two creatures of an opposite character.  Neither the doctor nor Emily noticed the start, or the sudden change of expression; and the attorney, seemingly aware of the danger of wearing two faces, restored the former aspect.