Quite suddenly my uncle's patience gave way in a singular manner to
exasperation, exposing a side to his character which I had not till then
suspected.

"Because I can save your neck, that's why! Though, God knows, you don't
seem to value it. I have interceded for you, George, I have come here to
induce you to give up that paper peacefully and quietly, or else to take
the consequences."

Evidently the force he gave his words contrived to drive them home, for
my father nodded.

"You mean," he inquired, "that they propose to take me to France, and
have me handed over to justice, a political prisoner?"

"It is what I meant, George, as a man in a plot to kill Napoleon--" then
his former kindliness returned--"and we cannot let that happen, can we?"

"Not if we can prevent it," my father replied. "If the trouble is that I
have the paper in my possession, I suppose I must let it go."

Uncle Jason smiled his benignest smile.

"I knew you would understand," he said, with something I took for a sigh
of relief. "I told them you were too sensible a man, George, not to
realize when a thing was useless."

My father drew the paper from his breast pocket, and looked at it
thoughtfully.