e his
companion a shrewd look--"the question still remains: How did Brake come
to his end?"

CHAPTER XVII. TO BE SHADOWED

Dick Bewery burst in upon his sister and Ransford with a budget of news
such as it rarely fell to the lot of romance-loving seventeen to tell.
Secret and mysterious digging up of grave-yards by night--discovery
of sealed packets, the contents of which might only be guessed at--the
whole thing observed by hidden spectators--these were things he had read
of in fiction, but had never expected to have the luck to see in real
life. And being gifted with some powers of imagination and of narrative,
he made the most of his story to a pair of highly attentive listeners,
each of whom had his, and her, own reasons for particular attention.

"More mystery!" remarked Mary when Dick's story had come to an end.
"What a pity they didn't open the parcel!" She looked at Ransford, who
was evidently in deep thought. "I suppose it will all come out?" she
suggested.

"Sure to!" he answered, and turned to Dick. "You say Bryce fetched old
Harker--after you and Bryce had watched these operations a bit? Did he
say why he fetched him?"

"Never said anything as to his reasons," answered Dick. "But, I rather
guessed, at the end, that Bryce wanted me to keep quiet about it, only
old Harker said there was no need."

Ransford made no comment on this, and Dick, having exhausted his stock
of news, presently went off to bed.

"Master Bryce," observed Ransford, after a period of silence, "is
playing a game! What it is, I don't know--but I'm certain of it. Well,
we shall see! You've been much upset by all this," he went on, after
another pause, "and the knowledge that you have has distressed me beyond
measure! But just have a little--a very little--more patience, and
things will be cleared--I can't tell all that's in my mind, even to
you."

Mary, who had been sewing while Ransford, as was customary with him in
an evening, read the Times to her, looked down at her work.

"I shouldn't care, if only these rumours in the town--about you--could
be crushed!" she said. "It's so cruel, so vile, that such things--"

Ransford snapped his fingers.

"I don't care that about the rumours!" he answered, contemptuously.
"They'll be crushed out just as suddenly as they arose--and then,
perhaps, I'll let certain folk in Wrychester know what I think of them.
And as regards the suspicion against me, I know already that the only
peo