“I will, Mr. Harrington,” stammered Roux, terribly agitated, “I will be cool. I won’t let it overcome me.”
“That’s right—don’t,” replied Harrington, with an affectation of phlegm. “By the way, how is your wife? How does she bear the letter I sent her?”
“Oh, she’s pretty well, Mr. Harrington, and she says she thinks I’ll be safe here,” said Roux, trembling all over.
Harrington led him on to talk of other subjects, diverting his mind as much as possible from the matter in hand, and in a few minutes got him tranquil again.
“Now, Mr. Roux,” he said, “Antony is free as I told you, and I want you to prepare yourself to see him soon.”
“Yes, Mr. Harrington, I will,” said Roux with a wondering face. “Did Miss Ames buy him, Mr. Harrington?”
“Oh no,” returned Harrington, “how could she when it was only a day or two since she knew of him? Antony ran away. I have him at my house.”
Roux sprang to his feet, wild with joy.
“Let me go to see him, Mr. Harrington,” he cried.
“No,” said Harrington, rising and gently pressing Roux into his chair again. “You are not safe out of this room. I will bring him here to stay with you. Keep cool, Roux, and be patient. You must expect to see Antony very thin, for he has been sick. But he will soon recover. Now I must go, and to-night when it is dark, I will bring him here. Good bye. Keep up a good heart. He will soon be with you.”