his head, perhaps on the verge of insanity. What should he do? He looked at the sorrowful faces of the wife and the daughter, and that decided him.
"Mr. Bartlett, everything is all right," he said, as he took the sick man's hand and held it. "Ramsey Polk will be brought to justice without my staining my hands with his blood. He cannot touch what belongs to you, and what is coming to me will soon be in my possession. So you can afford to take it easy, and not bother your head about these matters."
At these words Amos Bartlett stared again at Gilbert. Then his eyes fell. "You are sure of this? Sure he cannot make me a beggar?" he muttered.
"Yes, I am sure."
"And that fire? The warehouse was full of valuable tea. They will not let me get up to see how much damage was done."
"The main warehouse was not touched, so your loss will not be heavy. Just take it easy for a week or so, and everything will straighten itself out. I have got Polk where I want him, and I know what I am doing."
"Thank you, Pennington. You are a wonderful young man. And we shall not be beggars! I am so
