"Unless my ears deceive me," said Gilbert, "I hear the voice of my niece's maid in the passage. Doubtless my niece accompanies her. Do you think it seemly that she shall be a witness of this scene?"
"Corrie," said Basil, "take one of the lamps, and keep Miss Bidaud outside; I will come to her immediately. Allow me, Mr. Philpott; it will shorten matters if I say a word." He addressed Gilbert Bidaud. "You and your confederate have laid yourselves open to serious consequences, and if I consent to an arrangement which will keep the bad work that has been going on, and of which I was made the victim, from exposure in the public courts, it is to spare the feelings of a sweet and suffering young lady whose happiness you would have wrecked."
"My niece," said Gilbert, nodding his head. "As you say, a sweet young lady, and she has been made to suffer by this villain. We have all been made to suffer; we have all been his victims. But for your arrival he would have murdered me. He can no longer impose on me; I arrange myself on your side, against him. To my regret I perceive that he has partially recovered his senses, and, while simulating insensibility, is listening to what we are saying; his cunning is of the lowest order. It is my earnest wish to make such an arrangement as you suggest; it will be to my advantage, that is why I agree. Instruct your man to release me."
"Set him loose, Mr. Philpott," said Basil, "and see what you can do. I put the matter unreservedly into your hands. Do not allow either of them to leave the room. They will pass the night here. To-morrow, if Miss Bidaud wishes it, she will quit this prison----"
"No, no," interrupted Gilbert, good-humouredly, "not a prison--not a prison."
"--For England."
"She shall have my free consent," said Gilbert. "Take that in writing, Mr. Philpott. And there must be restitution, in some part, of the inheritance her father left her."
"In some part, that shall be done."
"If it is any punishment to the wretch," said Basil, who saw that Newman Chaytor was conscious and attentive, "who conspired against the man who trusted in him, and treacherously endeavoured to compass his death, to learn that had he followed the straight road he would have known long since that his unhappy father died wealthy, let him learn it now. You have a copy, Mr. Philpott, of the last letter written to him by his father. Give it to him, that he may read the bitter words written on the death-bed of one whom he should have loved and honoured. His good mother died with her head upon my breast, and if he escapes the punishment he deserves and has richly earned, he will owe his escape to the kind memories I have of her who rescued me from death in the London streets."
"A noble man," murmured Gilbert Bidaud as Basil left the room, "A gentleman. How is it possible that I allowed myself to be deceived for an hour by so miserable a counterfeit!"