“I am not timid generally, but I am always afraid of him. I am afraid to see a newspaper, or to hear a word spoken of what is done in London, lest he should have done some violence.”

“Then you are not afraid of him for yourself, dear?” said Bella, after pondering on the words.

“I should be even that, if I met him about here. I look round for him always, as I pass to and fro at night.”

“Are you afraid of anything he may do to himself in London, my dear?”

“No. He might be fierce enough even to do some violence to himself, but I don’t think of that.”

“Then it would almost seem, dear,” said Bella quaintly, “as if there must be somebody else?”