'Well, Mr. Larcom, I think you have been led into an erroneous
conclusion. Indeed, I may mention I have reason to think so--in fact, to
_know_ that such is the case. What you mention to me, you know, as a
friend of the family, and holding, as I do, a confidential position--in
fact, a _very_ confidential one--alike in relation to Mr. Wylder and to
the family of Brandon Hall, is of course sacred; and anything that comes
from you, Mr. Larcom, is never heard in connection with your name beyond
these walls. And let me add, it strikes me as highly important, both in
the interests of the leading individuals in this unpleasant business, and
also as pertaining to your own comfort and security, that you should
carefully avoid communicating what you have just mentioned to any other
party. You understand?'

Larcom did understand perfectly, and so this little visit ended.

Mr. Larkin took a turn or two up and down the room thinking. He stopped,
with his fingertips to his eyebrow, and thought more. Then he took
another turn, and stopped again, and threw back his head, and gazed for a
while on the ceiling, and then he stood for a time at the window, with
his lip between his finger and thumb.

No, it was a mistake; it could not be. It was Mark Wylder's
penmanship--he could swear to it. There was no trace of madness in his
letters, nor of restraint. It was not possible even that he was wandering
from place to place under the coercion of a couple of keepers. No; Wylder
was an energetic and somewhat violent person, with high animal courage,
and would be sure to blow up and break through any such machination. No,
no; with Mark Wylder it was quite out of the question--altogether
visionary and impracticable. Persons like Larcom do make such absurd
blunders, and so misapprehend the conversation of educated people.