help him! Oh, help him. Whatever it is,
let me know the worst!" "I don't want to frighten you, my pet," broke in Oldstone; "but I own I
am much perplexed myself. Perhaps he never received the letter. Sometimes letters get lost. At any rate, we'll hope for the best." "Oh, sir, sir!" cried the girl in agony, "do you think that likely?" "Certainly, my dear. Why not? All sorts of things happen to prevent
letters arriving--especially those sent abroad. Vessels go down at sea;
the mail may be detained by an accident. Who can tell? Come, cheer up,
girl; there is no good in brooding. If I don't hear from him in another
week I'll write again." "Why not write at once, sir?" "Not a bad idea, Helen; so I will." At this juncture voices and footsteps were heard outside. The other
members of the club had just returned in time for their mid-day meal. So
the letter was postponed. Helen ran to lay the cloth, and the repast was served. The meal being
over, pipes were lit, and some desultory conversation ensued,
interspersed with wonderments about our artist's long silence and
suggestions as to the reason of it. The weather still being fine, the
members suggested a stroll, so off they went together, Mr. Oldstone
being also of the party. Thus, what with one interruption and what with
another, the writing of the letter was put off for that day. CHAPTER XI. Next morning, in the middle of breakfast, a knock was heard at the door,
and our landlord let himself in with the newspaper in his hand and an
expression like a sphinx on his face. He closed the door quietly after
him, and walking up to Mr. Oldstone presented him with the paper, at the
same time silently pointing out to him a paragraph that he had already
marked with his thumb-nail. The door was no sooner closed than it
silently re-opened, apparently by itself, and remained some three or
four inches ajar. Few noticed this, or would have given it a thought if
they had. Their attention was rivetted on Mr. Oldstone, as he settled
his spectacles on his nose preparatory to reading out some tit-bit of
news. "Eh! What!" exclaimed the antiquary, trembling, and turning pale with
extreme emotion. "Just listen to this, gentlemen, all of you:--

  "'CAPTURED BY THE BRIGANDS. "'The well-known artist, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, whose picture of "The
  Landlord's Daughter" caused such a _furore_ last exhibition at the
  Royal Academy, whilst taking a trip in the Sabine Mountains, in the
  vicinity of Rome, to recuperate his health, was suddenly surrounded by
  a band of brigands, about twelve in number, who sprang upon him from
  an ambush and compelled him to surrender. The painter was alone and
  unarmed, besides being hampered by the materials of his art. All
  resistance would have been worse than useless, so, finding himself
  perfectly defenceless, he had no choice but to "stand and deliver." They seized his gold watch and other trinkets, as well as all the coin
  that he carried about him. Not satisfied with this, they forced him to
  tramp with them high up in the fastnesses of the mountains, where he
  still remains in daily and hourly peril of his life. The brigand chief
  has demanded an exorbitant ransom, and threatens that if it does not
  arrive within five days they will cut off his ears and send them to
  his friends in a letter. Any attempt at rescue, they declare, will at
  once seal the fate of their captive. His position is one to cause the
  greatest anxiety to his friends, as the barbarity of these desperadoes
  is well known.'" Our antiquary had proceeded thus far when all present were startled by a
smothered shriek, which was followed by a dull thud, as from a heavy
fall. All rushed to the door, and flung it open. Helen had fainted. Need we relate with what agility Dr. Bleedem leapt to the fore; how
carefully he raised the slim form in his arms, cut her stay lace, and
applied restoratives; then, finally, with the assistance of our host,
carried his patient upstairs, where he deposited her on her own little
bed, administering in every way to her comfort--this we will leave to
the imagination of the reader--whilst, in the breakfast-room below, the
various members talked to each other in subdued tones, and Mr. Oldstone
looked thoughtful. "Humph! I think I can see through the spoke of _that_ wheel," muttered
Mr. Hardcase to his neighbour. "Yes, a dreadful blow though, poor girl!" sighed Mr. Parnassus. "Quite dramatic in its effect," remarked Mr. Blackdeed. A snort came from Mr. Oldstone, who had turned his back on the group and
begun reperusing the newspaper that he had thrust into his capacious
pocket, when Dr. Bleedem re-entered the room. "Well, doctor," inquired Professor Cyanite, "and what of your patient?" "Recovered now, of course, but dreadfully shaken," replied our medico. "The nervous system has sustained a terrible shock. Luckily, she has
suffered no injuries from her fall." "Poor young thing!" observed Mr. Crucible, compassionately. "Well, who
can wonder at it?" During these remarks, to which Mr. Oldstone paid no attention whatever,
being absorbed in the reperusal of his newspaper, he was suddenly
observed to flush as with pleasure. His brow cleared, his eye sparkled. Then, suddenly rising from his chair, he crumpled up his paper, thrust
it again into his pocket, rubbed his hands with satisfaction, then with
a relieved expression in his face he slowly left the room without a
word. "Wonder what's come over Oldstone!" muttered one of them. "He seems
quite himself again." No sooner was our antiquary outside the door than he beckoned the
landlord aside, who was still looking grave, and asked him how he had
left his daughter. "Dreadful cut up like, sir, 'bout somethin' or other," replied that
worthy, "but Dr. Bleedem says as how we ain't got no call to be afeared,
and that when she has finished the cordial she'll come round agin as
right as a trivet." "Now look here, Jack," began our antiquary, rubbing his hands together
cheerily, and with difficulty repressing his delight. "What'll you bet
that in five minutes time I don't bring her round again, cordial or no
cordial?" "Do you think you could, sir?" asked our host, somewhat incredulously,
yet becoming infected, in spite of himself, by Mr. Oldstone's assurance
and good humour. "I do, mine host, most certainly I do," replied the antiquary. "Can I see the patient?" "Willingly, sir," rejoined the landlord. "There is her room," and
pointed to the door. "Now, Jack, you shall see which is the best doctor, Bleedem or I. If in
five minutes I don't lead her out by the hand, smiling and in her right
mind, my name's not Obadiah Oldstone." Here, he opened Helen's chamber door, and for the space of five minutes
was closeted with her, leaving our host completely bewildered. The girl
started at seeing her friend and adviser enter her chamber, and looked
at him inquiringly.