“Then what the devil is to be done?” said the impetuous doctor, when they had rejoined the two ladies. “Are we to pass a vote of thanks to all these vagabonds, male and female, and beg them to accept a hundred pounds or so apiece as a trifling mark of our esteem, and some slight acknowledgment of their kindness to Oliver?”
“Not exactly that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow laughing; “but we must proceed gently and with great care.”
“Gentleness and care!” exclaimed the doctor. “I’d send them one and all to——”
“Never mind where,” interposed Mr. Brownlow. “But reflect whether sending them any where is likely to attain the object we have in view.”
“What object?” asked the doctor.
“Simply the discovery of Oliver’s parentage, and regaining for him the inheritance of which, if this story be true, he has been fraudulently deprived.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Losberne, cooling himself with his pocket-handkerchief; “I almost forgot that.”
“You see,” pursued Mr. Brownlow, “placing this poor girl entirely out of the question, and supposing it were possible to bring these scoundrels to justice without compromising her safety, what good should we bring about?”
“Hanging a few of them at least, in all probability,” suggested the doctor, “and transporting the rest.”
“Very good,” replied Mr. Brownlow smiling, “but no doubt they will bring that about themselves in the fulness of time, and if we step in to forestal them, it seems to me that we shall be performing a very Quixotic act in direct opposition to our own interest, or at least to Oliver’s, which is the same thing.”