maniac I should make just now! The people would gather from all sides to hear honest Wat raving about stealing the property of the baronet. It would be town talk. Never was mad-mad so mad, they would say. But let me get on——

"Of course a man in my position ought to have a house. I must have a place to see my friends in. I must entertain a little and——"

His thoughts paused again a while, and then he abandoned thinking on the line he had been following with the mental exclamation: "No, no! I must not think of that now. I must not think of that—over the open grave of poor Bee!"

He shook himself and endeavoured to fix his mind on matters of the hour, and to keep it free of the future:

"How the purely business aspect of things has altered within these awful twenty-four hours! Sir Alexander has become powerless to alter that will, and still lives. The longer he lives now, the better for me. While he retained his faculties there was always great danger he might make some change. Now there is no longer any fear of that.

"What a terrible scene that was at the bedside! If I had known anything of the kind was about to occur, I don't think I should have had the courage to face it. I fear I would have gone the fatal length before I would have knowingly encountered it. It was so awful to hold her hand and swear such things in the face of the facts. But it is all over, and I am well out of it. Perhaps, after all, it is better the scene should have taken place.

"I suppose I shall be much at the Castle now. In fact, I don't know who is to give any orders now if I do not. It will be all thrown on me, I can plainly see that. Often at the Castle means meeting her often, and meeting her often means that we shall be good friends.

"How long did we stand hand-in-hand this evening? Not long. I did not note her beauty then, but now I can call back the face and change the surroundings——

"No, no! I must not sell the Manor. A man in my position must have a house for—I may marry again."

He set his teeth and clenched his hands, and drove the nails of his fingers into his palms. Then he faced the position resolutely:

"A while ago I shirked looking into the future across an open grave. But my own grave is open too. Can I fill it up? I think I can. Self-preservation is the first law. I cannot get back my five thousand pounds from the Rodwell. I cannot get back my wife from the Weeslade: can I get back my life? That is the question of questions, and it is idle out of feeble sentimentalism to defer looking at such grave business in a straightforward and candid way.

"I must marry, and I must marry this girl. Nothing else can save me, and I think nothing can prevent my doing it. I hold the winning cards in my hand at last, and I mean to win."

The old gentleman here broke in upon the banker's reverie with: "We are passing your house, Mr. Grey."

"Ah, so we are; thank you. Drop me here; I'll walk up, and you take the fly on. I hope you will find your son all safe."

"God grant it! I hope you will find your wife at the house."

"Thank you; good-night."

"Good-night."

Grey turned into the Park, and walked slowly in the direction of his house.

Twice he paused and faced round, as though the place were new to him, and he wished to fix indelibly on his memory what could be seen in the dim light. Or was it that he now looked at the Park in a new aspect, from a new standpoint? Or was it that he wanted to gain time and composure before reaching the house? He could not have told himself why he stopped, in fact he was perfectly unconscious of having ceased to move forward; and although his eyes passed deliberately from tree to tree, and seemed to be dissatisfied with the want of light, he was not aware his thought was occupied with the scene. The pause in his walk indicated merely a pause in his thought. While he moved towards the house he had but one idea.

"I must marry, and I must marry this girl. Nothing else can save me."

With this thought beating through his brain he shook himself, straightened his figure, and collected his faculties for meeting the servants and formally ascertaining his wife had left the house and taken passage in the ill-fated Rodwell.

With a steady stride, and head erect, he walked up to the front door and into the hall.

He looked round hastily, and then asked:

"James, where is your mistress?"

The man blinked in surprise at seeing his master and being asked such a question. Mrs. Grey had told the servants that morning she and Mr. Grey were going to Seacliff that evening, and now here was his master come back alone, and asking in a startling manner where the mistress was. He had better be guarded in his reply. "I don't know, sir," was his answer.

"Is she in the house, James?"

"No, sir."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Quite sure."

"When did she go out?"

"I did not see her go out, sir; but at luncheon she said she was going out, and I have not seen her since."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Yes, sir. She said if anyone called I was to tell them she had gone to Seacliff with you this evening."

"Are you quite sure of all this?"

"Quite sure, sir. The cook was in the dining-room at the time, and heard the mistress tell me. Mistress had the cook up to give her orders about to-morrow."

"James, you will never see your poor mistress again. The Rodwell blew up, and she was not among the saved."

"Good God!" exclaimed the old soldier, starting back and involuntarily bringing his hand to his forehead, as though he found himself thrust into the presence of the general of the enemy. He fell back two paces, and, dropping his hand to his mouth, uttered a sob. "Good God!" exclaimed the near-sighted servant, whose heart was full of dumb gratitude and desolate sense of loss. "The last words she said to me were, 'Thank you for the flowers, James; I know it was you put them fresh in the vases. Thank you, James.' That's what she said to me as she went down the passage to her own room. When she was in the passage she turned back, and said so that I shouldn't forget it, 'Thank you, James; and recollect if anyone calls I'll be back to-morrow.' And now to think that she is dead!" He had forgotten the presence of his master, who stood irresolute a moment, and then with a heavy sigh walked into the inner hall and disappeared up the gloomy unlit staircase.

Neither master nor mistress having been expected home, there was no light in any of the rooms or passages on the first floor. With heavy slow step Mr. Grey proceeded to his own bedroom and lit the gas.

How cold and dreary and desolate it looked!

He poured out some water and bathed his face. This revived and invigorated him. Then he rang the bell. The chambermaid answered it.

"Jane, I suppose you have heard the awful news from James?"

"Yes, sir." The girl burst out crying.

"Do you know the exact time at which your poor mistress left the house for the boat?"

"No, sir. None of us saw her go; but none of us were in the front of the house after luncheon. We dined at three, just after the mistress had her luncheon; and we all think she must have gone out while we were sitting down."

"That will do, Jane, thank you."

"Thank you, sir; and if you please, sir, we're all very sorry for her and for you," crying. "She was a good kind mistress, and never took any of us up short, or refused us anything in reason."

"She was a good kind mistress, Jane. I am very much obliged to you and to them. Tell all of them below that."

The girl withdrew, weeping bitterly.

Once more he was alone.

Until now there had lingered in his mind a haunting doubt. He could not believe the evidence before him. Now all was simple and intelligible.

He commenced to pace the room. At first his step was firm and slow. He was weighing mighty thoughts.

Gradually the past seemed to fall from him like a cope of