“Well, well, what?”
“Oh, my brother!” she exclaimed, wildly, as she stepped forward and caught his hand, “tell me it is not true.”
“How can I tell you what is not true when I don’t know what you are talking about,” cried the old man, impatiently. “My dear Laura, do you think I have not worries enough without your coming here?”
“Yes, yes; I know, dear.”
“And you ought to know that I shall do what is just and right.”
“I am sure of that, Josiah, but I felt obliged to come. Kitty and I were out shopping, and we met a crowd.”
“Then you should have turned down a side street.”
“But they were your men in the midst, and directly after I saw little Sally Wimble following.”
“Oh, she was, was she?” cried the old man, glad of some one on whom to vent his spleen. “That woman goes. How dare she leave the gates when her husband is out? I shall be having the place robbed again.”
“Yes, that is what she said, Josiah—that you had been robbed, and that Don—my boy—oh, no, no, no; say it is not true.”