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 check of this morning had operated: here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system with effect, if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier to practise that system in broad daylight, in his mill-yard, amidst busy occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour of eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before had stood unlit on the table, brought writing materials, and left the room: Caroline was about to follow her. Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go; whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently kept her back: he did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.

“Shall I tell my uncle you are here?” asked she, still in the same subdued voice.

“No: I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be my messenger?”

“Yes, Robert.”

“Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity of one, at least, of the men who broke my frames; that he belongs to the same gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson’s dressing-shop; and that I hope to have him in custody to-morrow. You can remember that?”

“Oh! yes.” These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone than ever; and, as she said them, she shook her head slightly, and sighed. “Will you prosecute him?”

“Doubtless.”

“No, Robert.”