e room and went out again, but that was long enough
for me to see that not only were the table and the window-seat littered
with the contents of pigeonholes and drawers, but that all the books
had been removed from the shelves above, and were undergoing a careful
examination, as though it were thought possible that some paper of
importance might be found between their leaves.

At dinner I sat opposite the lawyer. He was a thin, dry little man,
with very bright eyes and quick, jerky movements which reminded me of a
bird. He spoke kindly to us boys, cracked jokes, and spoke about our
school life and our holiday amusements; but in spite of this I could
not help thinking that his gaiety was rather forced. Mrs. Coverthorne,
too, looked more anxious than usual; and though she also made attempts
to be cheerful, I felt sure that the lawyer's business with her had not
been of a pleasant or reassuring nature.

Almost directly after the meal was finished Miles started off on an
errand to Rockymouth--Mr. Denny, who lived there, having arranged to
return later in the afternoon. Left to myself, I climbed into the old
mulberry tree, and discovering a most comfortable perch among the
branches, read a book until I fell asleep.

As a combined result of the strong sea air and an unusual amount of
outdoor exercise, I must have slept pretty soundly; but I was at length
aroused by the sound of voices, and looking down through the leafy
branches saw Mrs. Coverthorne and the lawyer walking down the garden
path towards the gate. They did not see me, and I could not help
overhearing what they said, though the only words which reached my ears
were those which they spoke as they were passing close to the tree.

"Don't be too downhearted, ma'am," Mr. Denny was saying in his brisk
manner; "there's still that one chance I spoke of. We haven't had an
opportunity to compare the dates yet, and that's an important matter."

"I cannot bring myself to think it possible that my dear husband could
have done such a thing--at least without telling me of his intentions.
There must be some great mistake. We mustn't tell Miles, not just yet,
for I had so wished to make these holidays specially happy."

A few moments later, as the speaker was returning alone to the house, I
saw that she was weeping. A great longing filled my heart to
understand her trouble, and to render her and Miles some assistance.
It seemed a vain and hopeless wish, for of what us