He had all the information he wanted--all he had come in search of, although it was not exactly what he wished or what he had expected:--his uncle ruined and an exile; his father half blind and Kate's wedding expected any week.

That was enough at least for one night.
He stepped forward and grasped Pawson's hand, his well-knit, alert body in contrast to the loosely jointed, long-legged, young attorney.
"I must thank you, Mr.Pawson," he said in his old outspoken, hearty way "for your frankness, and I must also apologize for my apparent rudeness when I first entered your door; but, as I told you, I was so astounded and angry at what I saw that I hardly knew what I was doing.

And now one thing more before I take my leave: if Mr.Temple does not want his present retreat known--and I gather from the mysterious way in which you have spoken that he does not--let me tell you that I do not want mine known either.

Please do not say to any one that you have seen me, or answer any questions--not for a time, at least.

Good-night!" With the closing of the front door behind him the exile came to a standstill on the top step and looked about him.