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Volume Two – Chapter Sixteen.
The Old Watch-Dog

The silence as if of death reigned for days and days at Van Heldre’s house, which, unasked, old Crampton had made his residence. In a quiet furtive way he had taken possession of the inner office, to which he had brought from his own house a sofa-cushion and pillow, carrying them there one dark night unseen, and at times, no doubt, he must have lain down and slept; but to all there it was a mystery when he did take his rest.

If Mrs Van Heldre called him to partake of a meal he came. If he was forgotten he ate one of a store of captain’s biscuits which he kept in his desk along with his very strong tobacco, which flavoured the said biscuits in a way that, being a regular smoker, he did not notice, while at ten o’clock he regularly went out into the yard to have his pipe. He was always ready to sit up and watch, but, to his great annoyance, he had few opportunities, the task being shared between Madelaine and her mother.

As to the business of the office, that went on as usual as far as the regular routine was concerned, everything fresh being put back till the principal resumed his place at his desk. Bills of lading, the smelting-house accounts, bank deposits, and the rest, all were attended to, just as if Van Heldre had been there instead of lying above between life and death. From time to time Mrs Van Heldre came down to him to beg that he would ask for everything he wanted.

“I cannot help neglecting you, Mr Crampton,” she said, with her hands playing about the buttons of her dress.

“Never you mind about me, ma’am,” he said, admonishing her with a penholder. “I’m all right, and waiting to take my turn.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very good, Mr Crampton, and you will see that everything goes on right, so that when he comes down he may find that we have not neglected any single thing.”

Crampton frowned, but his face grew smooth again as he looked at the little anxious countenance before him.

“Don’t you be afraid, ma’am. If Mr Van Heldre came down to-day everything is ready for him – everything.”

“Yes, of course, Mr Crampton. I might have known it. But I can’t help feeling anxious and worried about things.”

“Naturally, ma’am, naturally; and I’ve been trying to take all worry away from you about the business. Everything is quite right. Ah!” he said as the little woman hurried away from the office, “if Miss Maddy would only talk to me like that. But she won’t forgive me, and I suppose she never will.” He made an entry and screwed up his lips, as he dipped a pen in red ink and ruled a couple of lines, using the ebony ruler which had laid his master low. “Poor girl! I never understood these things; but they say love makes people blind and contrary, and so it is that she seems to hate me, a man who wouldn’t rob her father of a penny, and in her quiet hiding sort of way worships the man who robbed him of five hundred pounds, and nearly killed him as well. Ah! it’s a curious world.”

“I’ve – I’ve brought you a glass of wine and a few biscuits, Mr Crampton,” said Mrs Van Heldre, entering and speaking in her pleasant prattling way. Then she set down a tray, and hurried out before he could utter his thanks.

“Good little woman,” said Crampton. “Some people would have brought a glass of wine and not the decanter. Well, yes, ma’am, I will have a glass of wine, for I feel beat out.”

He poured out a glass of good old sherry, held it up to the light, and closed one eye.

“Your health, Mr Van Heldre,” he said solemnly. “Best thing I can wish you. Yours, Mrs Van Heldre, and may you never be a widow. Miss Madelaine, your health, my dear, and may your eyes be opened. I’m not such a bad man as you think.”

He drank the glass of wine, and then made a grimace.

“Sweet biscuits,” he said, “only fit for children. Hah, well! Eh? What’s the matter?”

He had heard a cry, and hurrying across the office, he locked the door, and ran down the glass corridor to the house.

“Worse, ma’am, worse?” he cried, as Mrs Van Heldre came running down the stairs and into the dining-room, where she plumped herself on the floor, and held her hands to her lips to keep back the hysterical sobs which struggled for vent.

“Shall I run for the doctor, ma’am?”

“No, no!” cried Mrs Van Heldre, in a stifled voice, with her mouth still covered. “Better.”

“Better?”

She nodded violently.

“Then it was very cruel of you, ma’am,” said the old man plaintively. “I thought – I thought – ”

Crampton said no more, but he walked to the window with his face buried in his great yellow silk handkerchief, blowing his nose with a continuity and force which became at last so unbearable that Mrs Van Heldre went out into the hall.

She went back soon into the dining-room, where Crampton was waiting anxiously.

“He looked at me when I was in the room with my darling child, Mr Crampton, and his lips parted, and he spoke to me, and I was obliged to come away for fear I should do him harm.”

“Come away, ma’am! and at a time like that!” said Crampton, angrily.

Mrs Van Heldre drew herself up with dignity.

“My child signed to me to go,” she said quietly; and then with her eyes brimming over with tears, “Do you think I would not have given the world to stay?”

At that moment Madelaine came quickly and softly into the room.

“He is sleeping,” she whispered excitedly; “he looked at me and smiled, and then his eyes closed and he seemed to go into a calm sleep, not that terrible stupor, but sleep. Mother, come and see – it must be sleep.”

Old Crampton was left alone to begin pacing the room excitedly for a few minutes, when Madelaine came down once more.

“Pray go for Dr Knatchbull!” she cried piteously.

“But isn’t he – ”

“We do not know – we are afraid to hope – pray, pray go.”

“She hasn’t spoken so gently since that night,” muttered Crampton, as he hurried down the street. “Poor girl! it is very hard; and this may be only the change before – No, I won’t think that,” cried the old clerk, and he broke into a run.

Volume Two – Chapter Seventeen.
Crampton Reports Progress

“Yes,” said Dr Knatchbull, confidently; “he will get over it, now. Can’t say,” he said, rubbing his hands in his satisfaction, “whether it’s the doctor’s physic, or the patient’s physique, but one of them has worked wonders. What do you say, Miss Van Heldre?”

“That we can never be sufficiently grateful to you.”

“Never,” cried Mrs Van Heldre, wringing his hand.

“Bah!” exclaimed the doctor, “that’s what you people say now that you have got to the turn; but by and by when I send in my bill – and I mean to make this a pretty stiff one, Mrs Van Heldre – you will all be as grumpy as possible, and think it a terrible overcharge.”

“Well, really, Dr Knatchbull,” began Mrs Van Heldre, ruffling up like an aggravated hen, “I am quite sure my clear husband will pay any – ”

“Mamma, mamma, dear!” cried Madelaine, smiling through her tears; “can you not see that Dr Knatchbull is laughing at us?”

“No, my dear,” said the little lady angrily; “but if he is, I must say that it is too serious a matter for a joke.”

“So it is, my dear madam,” said the doctor, taking her hand, “far too serious; but I felt in such high spirits to find that we have won the fight, that I was ready to talk any nonsense. All the same though, with some people it’s as true as true.”

“Yes, but we are not some people,” said Mrs Van Heldre. “But now tell us what we are to do.”

“Nothing, my dear madam, but let him have rest and peace.”

“But he has been asking for Mr Crampton this morning, and that means business.”

“Well, let him see him to-morrow, if he asks. If he is not allowed, he will fidget, and that will do him more harm than seeing him, only I would not let him dwell on the attack. Divert his attention all you can, and keep from him all you possibly can about the Vines.”

John Van Heldre did not ask for his confidential clerk for two days more, the greater part of which time he spent in sleep; but in the intervals he talked in a low voice to his wife or Madelaine, not even alluding once, to their great surprise, to the cause of his illness.

“He must know it, mamma,” said Madelaine, sadly; “and he is silent, so as to spare me.”

At last the demand for Crampton was made, and the old clerk heard it looking eager and pleased.

“At last, ma’am,” said Crampton, rubbing his hands.

“You’ll go up very quietly, Mr Crampton,” said Mrs Van Heldre. “If you would not mind.”

She pointed to a pair of slippers she had laid ready. The old clerk looked grim, muttered something about the points of his toes, and ended by untying his shoes, and putting on the slippers.

Madelaine was quite right, for no sooner had Van Heldre motioned the clerk to a chair by the bed’s head, learned that all was right in his office, and assured the old man that he was a-mending fast, than he opened upon him regarding the attack that night.

“Was that money taken?” he said quickly.

“Is it right for you to begin talking about that so soon?” replied Crampton.

“Unless you want me to go backwards, yes,” said his employer, sharply. “There, answer my questions. I have nothing the matter now; only weak, and I cannot ask any one else.”

“I’m your servant, Mr Van Heldre,” said Crampton, stiffly. “Go, sir.”

“That money, then?”

“Gone, sir, every note. Five hundred pounds.”

“Dead loss,” said Van Heldre; “but it must be repaid.”

“Humph! pretty opinion you seem to have of me, sir, as a confidential clerk.”

“What do you mean, Crampton?”

“Mean, sir? Why, that I did my duty, and stopped every note at the bank of England of course.”

“You did that, Crampton?”

“Yes, sir; and those notes are of no use to anybody.”

“Capital. Hah! that’s better. Five hundred just coming on the other misfortune worried me. Why, Crampton, that’s a white paper plaister for my sore head.”

“Glad you’re satisfied, sir.”

“More than satisfied. Now tell me: have the police any notion who committed the robbery?”

Crampton nodded.

“Do you know?”

Crampton looked at his employer curiously, and nodded again.

“Have they taken any one?”

“No, sir,” said the old man sadly.

“Hah! That’s bad. Who was it?”

“Well, sir, you know of course?”

“I? No!”

“You don’t know, sir?”

“I have no idea, Crampton. I heard a noise, and went in and surprised the scoundrel, but it was quite dark, and as I tried to seize him I was struck down.”

“And you mean to assure me, sir, that you don’t know who it was?”

“I have not the most remote idea.”

“Well then, sir, I must tell you it was him who had been robbing you ever since the first day he came to us.”

“Robbing me?”

“Well, not exactly of money in hard cash but of your time, which is just the same. Time’s money. Always an hour late.”

Van Heldre turned upon him fiercely.

“Crampton, can you let your prejudice go so far as to suspect that young man?”

“Yes, sir, I can… Suspect? No, I am sure. I doubted him from the first.”

“It is monstrous. You were unjust to him from the first.”

“I, sir?”

“Yes. But then how can a man who has never had a child be just to the weaknesses of the young?”

“I can be just, sir, and I have been. You don’t know the supercilious way in which that boy treated me from the day he entered our office. Always late, and as soon as he was settled down to his work, in must come that scoundrel with the French name to ask for him, and get him away. Why, Mr Van Heldre, sir, if I hadn’t been a law-abiding subject of her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria, I’d have knocked that man down.”

“Bah!” said Van Heldre impatiently, as he lay back frowning, and looking very thoughtful. “I am sorry that you should have entertained such a suspicion about the son of my old friend.”

“Ah!” sighed Crampton. “Poor Mr Vine! It’s heart-breaking work, sir. It is, indeed.”

“Heart-breaking!” said Van Heldre. “It is atrocious. There, I will not speak angrily, Crampton.”

“No, sir. You must not; and now I’m going, sir. You’ve talked twice as much as is good for you.”

“Sit down,” said Van Heldre sternly.

Crampton, who had moved towards the door, slowly resumed his place.

“I am not too weak to talk about this terrible accusation. I am not going to say much now, only to ask you to throw aside all this prejudice and to look upon the mishap as an unfortunate occurrence. Come, Crampton, be a little broader. Don’t be so ready to suspect the first person you dislike, and then to keep obstinately to your opinion.”

“Better not talk any more,” said Crampton shortly.

“I must talk,” said Van Heldre, more sternly. “Mind this, Crampton, you are wrong.”

The care, want of rest, and anxiety had produced a state of acidity in the old clerk’s organisation which had made him exceptionally irritable.

“Wrong, eh?” he said sharply.

“Yes; and I must call upon you to be careful to keep these fancies to yourself.”

“Fancies, sir?”

“Yes, fancies, man. I would not on any consideration have Mr Vine know that such a suspicion had existed in my office, and – ”

He paused for a few moments, and then held out his hand to the old clerk, who took it, and felt his own gripped warmly.

“Come, Crampton,” continued Van Heldre, smiling; “after all these years together, I trust we are something more than master and man. You have always proved yourself a friend in the way in which you have looked after my interests.”

“I’ve always tried to do my duty, Mr Van Heldre.”

“And you always have done your duty – more than your duty. Now just go quietly down, and ask Henry Vine to step up-stairs with you. I must have this put straight at once. Crampton, you and my old friend’s son must make a fresh start.”

Crampton’s fresh countenance grew dingy-looking, and Van Heldre felt his hand twitch.

“Come, I tell you that your suspicious are absurd, and I must have you two work well together. The young man only wants a little humouring to make him all that we could wish. Go and fetch him up.”

“He – he is not here this morning, sir,” gasped Crampton, at last.

“Not here?”

“No, sir,” said the old man hastily; and he passed the hand at liberty across his face.

“I am sorry. I should have liked to settle this now it is on my mind.”

Crampton looked wildly towards the door, in the hope that the coming of wife or daughter would bring about a diversion.

“Of course,” said Van Heldre suddenly, “you have not shown the young man that you have had this idea in your head?”

Crampton was silent, and as Van Heldre looked at him he saw that the great beads of perspiration were standing upon his face.

“Why, good heavens, Crampton,” he cried, “you have not breathed a word of all this to a soul?”

The old clerk looked at him wildly.

“Ah! you are keeping something back,” said Van Heldre.

“Hush, sir, hush!” cried the old clerk in alarm; “for goodness’ sake don’t be excited. Think of how weak you are.”

“Then answer,” said Van Heldre, in a low whisper. “Tell me what you have done?”

“I – I did everything for the best, sir.”

“Henry Vine! You did not accuse him of this terrible affair?”

Crampton’s face grew gradually hard and stern. His tremulous state passed off, and he turned as if at bay.

“Crampton! Good heavens, man! What have you done?”

“I had to think of you sir, lying here. Of Mrs Van Heldre, sir, and of Miss Madelaine.”

“Yes, yes; but speak, man. What have you done?”

“My duty, sir.”

“And accused him of this – this crime?”

Crampton was silent.

“Are you mad? Oh, man, man, you must have been mad.”

Crampton drew a long breath.

“Do my wife and daughter know?”

“Yes, sir,” said Crampton slowly.

“And – and they have spoken as I speak? They told you it was prejudice.”

Crampton drew a long breath once more.

“Don’t, pray don’t say any more, sir – not now,” he said at last pleadingly.

“They – surely they don’t – there, quick! Ring that bell.”

“Mr Van Heldre, sir. Pray – pray don’t take it like that; I only did my duty by you all.”

“Duty! In a fit of madness to make such a charge as this and prejudice others!” cried Van Heldre angrily. “Ring that bell, man. I cannot rest till this is set right.”

“Think, sir, how I was situated,” pleaded the old clerk. “You were robbed; I saw you lying, as I thought, dying, and I saw the scoundrel who had done all this escape. What could I do but call in the police?”

“The police! Then it is known by every one in the place?”

Crampton looked pityingly down at the anguished countenance before him.

“And Henry Vine? He refuted your charge? Speak, man, or you will drive me mad.”

“Henry Vine did not deny the charge, sir. He was manly enough for that.”

“Crampton, is this all true?”

“It was my duty, sir.”

“He does not deny it? Oh! it seems monstrous. But you said the police; you gave information. Crampton – his father – his sister – my poor child!”

“Is saved from a villain, Mr Van Heldre!” cried the old clerk fiercely. “Better she should have died than have married such a man as he.”

“And I – I lying here helpless as a child,” said the sick man feebly. “But this must all be stopped. Crampton, you should not have done all this. Now go at once, fetch George Vine here, and – Henry – the young man. Where is he?”

“Gone, sir, to answer for his crime,” said the old man solemnly. “Henry Vine is dead.”

Volume Two – Chapter Eighteen.
A Title of Honour

Duncan Leslie sought patiently and well, but he was as unsuccessful as the rest, and after searching from a boat and being pulled close in along the shore, he rose at daybreak one morning, and crossing the harbour, went up along the cliff away to the east, and wherever he could find a place possible for a descent, he lowered himself from among the rocks, and searched there.

The work was toilsome, but it was an outlet for his pent-up energy, and he went on and on, reaching places where the boat could not land him; but even here he found that he had been forestalled, for hunting along among the broken rocks, he could see a figure stepping cautiously from crag to crag, where the waves washed in, and the slimy sea-wrack made the task perilous, the more so that it was the figure of a woman, whom he recognised as the old fish-dealer by the maund hanging on her back from the band across her forehead.

As he toiled after her she looked round, and waited till he came up, and addressed him in a singing tone.

“Not found him, have you, sir?”

Leslie shook his head, and continued his search, seeing the old woman on two alternate days still peering about among the rocks, like many more, for the young master, and more stubborn in her search than any of the rest.

By slow degrees the search was given up. It had been kept up long after what would have been customary under the circumstances, some of the searchers working from sheer respect for the Vines, others toiling on in the hope of reward.

But there was no result, and the last of the boats, that containing Duncan Leslie, returned to the harbour, after days of seeking to and fro along the coast.

“I felt it were no good all along, Mr Leslie sir,” said the old fisherman who had been chartered for the escape. “Sea’s a mystery, sir, and when she gets hold of a body she hides it where mortal man can’t find it, and keeps it till she’s tired, and then she throws it ashore. I’ve watched it well these thirty years, and one gets to know by degrees.”

Leslie bowed his head dejectedly.

“Course I wasn’t going to say so before, sir, because it’s a man’s dooty like to go seeking for what’s lost; but, mark my words, sir, one o’ these days that poor fellow will be throwed up pretty close to where he jumped in. You mark my words, he will, and Poll Perrow will be the first to see.”

Leslie thought but little of the man’s words then; in fact he hardly heard them, for in those hours his mind was full of Louise’s sufferings, and the terrible misfortune which had come upon the homes of those two families so linked together, and now so torn apart. Unsuccessful in his search, he was now terribly exercised in mind as to what he should do to help or show some sympathy for the poor girl who, in the sorrow which had befallen her home, seemed nearer and dearer to him than ever.

It was a hard problem to solve. He wished to show his willingness to help, but he felt that his presence at the Vines’ could only be looked upon now as an intrusion, and must inflict pain.

On the other hand, he was in dread lest he should be considered indifferent, and in this state of perplexity he betook himself to Uncle Luke.

“Nonsense, my good fellow,” said the old man quickly; “what more could you have done?”

“I don’t know,” he said desolately. “Tell me; I want to help – to serve you all if I can, and yet I seem to do nothing.”

“There is nothing that we can do,” said the old man solemnly. “Time must be the only cure for their trouble. Look at me, Duncan Leslie; I came to live up here with the fewest of necessities – alone, without wife or child, to be away from trouble, and you see I have failed. I cannot even help myself, so how can you expect to help them? There, leave it all to time.”

“And your brother, how is he?”

Leslie felt that he had been speaking for the sake of saying something, and he bit his lip, as the old man gave him a peculiar look.

“How is a man likely to be who has lost a son as he has lost his?”

Leslie was silent.

“And now you would ask after my niece, young man, but you feel as if you dare not.”

Leslie gave him an imploring look.

“Broken-hearted as her poor father, Leslie, seeing nothing in the future but one black cloud of misery. There, let’s go out and sit in the sunshine and think.”

Leslie followed the old man without a word. He longed to ask his advice about that future, and to question him about the friend in France, for in spite of himself he could not help feeling a thrill of satisfaction at the thought that for a certainty there must be an end to that engagement. No scion of a great house could enter into an alliance with the sister of a man whose career had ended as had ended Harry Vine’s.

But he could not lay bare his heart to that cynical old man, who read him as easily as the proverbial book, and on whose lip there was always lurking the germ of a sneering smile.

He accompanied him then to his favourite seat among the rocks, just in front of his cottage, and they sat in silence for a time, Leslie hardly caring to start a topic lest it should evoke a sneer.

“Let’s go down into the town,” said Uncle Luke, jumping up suddenly.

Leslie rose without a word, and looked wonderingly at the old man, who, with his eyes shaded by his hands, was gazing along the rugged coast towards where, looking like dolls, a couple of fishermen were standing by something lying on a pebbly patch of sand.

Leslie looked at Uncle Luke, but the old man avoided his gaze, as if unwilling to lay bare his thoughts, and together they walked pretty quickly down the steep slope.

“Yes,” said Uncle Luke; “the doctor says he will pull him through.”

“Mr Van Heldre?”

“Yes. Why don’t you go and see him?”

“I have sent to ask again and again, but I felt that any call on my part in the midst of such trouble would be out of place.”

“Walk faster,” said the old man excitedly, “if you can. No. Let me go alone. Look at them – running. Look!”

Leslie had already noted the fact, and out of respect for the old man he stopped short at once, with the result that Uncle Luke stopped too.

“Why don’t you come on?” he cried. “Good heavens, man, what can I do alone? There, there, Leslie, it’s of no use, I can play the cynic no longer. Man is not independent of his fellows. I never felt more in need of help than I do now.”

Leslie took the old man’s arm, and could feel that he was trembling, as they hurried on down towards the harbour, which they would have to cross by the ferry before they could reach the little crowd gathering round the first two men on the patch of sand.

“Keep a good heart, sir,” said Leslie, gently. “It may not be after all.”

“Yes, it is – it is,” groaned Uncle Luke. “I’ve hung on so to the belief that being a clever swimmer he had managed to get away; but I might have known better, Leslie, I might have known better.”

“Let’s wait first and be sure, sir.”

“There is no need. I don’t think I cared for the boy, Leslie; there were times when he made me mad with him for his puppyism; but he was my brother’s son, and I always hoped that after a few years he would change and become another man.”

“Well, sir, let’s cling to that hope yet.”

“No, no,” said the old man gloomily. “There is the end. He was no thief, Leslie. Believe that of him. It was his wretched scoundrel of a friend, and if Harry struck down poor Van Heldre, it was in his horror of being taken. He was no thief.”

As they reached the lowest turn of the cliff-path, the old man gripped Leslie’s arm with spasmodic violence and stopped short, for the far side of the harbour lay before them, and they could see clearly all that was going on amid the rocks behind.

“We should be too late,” he said huskily. “Your eyes are younger than mine. That’s the police sergeant yonder in that boat, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Uncle Luke stood motionless, watching, and they could see that a boat rowed out from the harbour had gone on, and put in just opposite to the patch of the sand where that remote something had been cast up by the sea. To have carried it would have meant the use of a boat at the little ferry, and it was evident that the sergeant had decided to bring the sad flotsam and jetsam round to the harbour steps.

Leslie felt the old man’s arm tremble, and his efforts to be firm, as they stood and watched the boat put off again, after a few minutes’ delay. Then the little crowd which had collected came slowly back over the rugged shore till they reached the eastern arm of the harbour just as the boat was coming in, and a piece of sail spread in the stern sheets told but too plainly the nature of her load.

“Mr Luke Vine,” said Leslie.

“Yes,” cried the old man, starting and speaking in a harsh way, as if suddenly brought back to the present.

“Will you let me make a suggestion?”

The old man only stared hard at him.

“Let me spare you this painful scene. It may not be as you think, and if it is not, it will be a shock; but if – there, let me go, and if it prove to be according to your fears, let me send you word by a trusty messenger, and you can then go up to your brother’s house and break the terrible news as gently as you can.”

Uncle Luke shook his head and began to descend the slope, timing his speed so as to reach the harbour steps at the same time as the boat.

There was a crowd waiting, but the people parted respectfully to allow the old man and his companion to pass, and the next minute Uncle Luke was questioning the sergeant with his eyes.

The man stepped ashore, and gave an order or two which sent a constable off at a trot, and another policeman took his post at the head of the steps, to keep the way down to the boat.

“Am I to speak plainly, sir?” said the detective in a low voice.

“Yes; let me know the worst.”

“I’m afraid it is, sir. We have made no examination yet.”

He did not finish all he had to say aloud, but whispered in the old man’s ear. Uncle Luke made an effort to be firm, but he shuddered and turned to Leslie.

“Up to the King’s Arms,” he said huskily; and taking Leslie’s arm, the old man walked slowly towards the waterside inn; but they had not gone half-way before they encountered George Vine coming hastily down.

Uncle Luke’s whole manner changed.

“Where are you going?” he cried half angrily.

His brother merely pointed to the boat.

“How did you know? Who told you?” he said harshly.

“Nne,” was the calm reply. “Luke, do you suppose I could rest without watching for what I knew must come?”

His piteous, reproachful voice went to the heart of his hearers.

“Tell me,” he continued earnestly, “Mr Leslie, the truth.”

“There is nothing to tell, sir,” said Leslie gravely, “so far it is only surmise. Come with us and wait.”

Their suspense was not of long duration. In a very short time they were summoned from where they were waiting to another room, where Dr Knatchbull came forward with a face so full of the gravity of the situation that any hope which flickered in Duncan Leslie’s breast died out on the instant; and he heard George Vine utter a low moan, as, arm in arm, the two brothers advanced for the identification, and then Luke led his brother away.

Leslie followed to lend his aid, but Uncle Luke signed to him to go back.

He stood watching them till they disappeared up the narrow path leading to the old granite house, and a sense of misery such as he had never before felt swelled in the young man’s breast, for, as he watched the bent forms of the two brothers, he saw in imagination what must follow, and his brow grew heavy as he seemed to see Louise sobbing on her father’s neck, heart-broken at her loss.

“And yet I could not help clinging to the hope that he had swum ashore,” muttered Leslie, as he walked back to the inn, where he found Dr Knatchbull in conversation with the officer.

“I wish I had never seen Cornwall, sir,” said the latter warmly; “poor lad! poor lad!”

“Then there is no doubt whatever?” said Leslie hurriedly.

“Identification after all these days in the water is impossible,” said the doctor; “I mean personal identification.”

“Then it may not be after all,” said Leslie excitedly.

The detective shrugged his shoulders, and took a packet from a little black bag. This he opened carefully, and placed before Leslie a morocco pocket-book and a card-case, both stamped with a gold coronet and the motto, Roy et Foy, while, when the card-case was drawn open and its water-soaked contents were taken out, the cards separated easily, and there, plainly enough, was the inscription, the result of Aunt Marguerite’s inciting —

“Henri Comte des Vignes.”