on reminded him of the thick fog that had come on
suddenly the night before.

"What fog?" asked Tom.

"Lord! didn't you notice it, sir?"

"No, I came in early, smoked, read, and went to bed about eleven. I
never thought of looking out of the window."

"It began about ten," said Mrs. Seacon, "and got thicker and thicker. I
couldn't see the lights of the river from my bedroom. The poor gentleman
has been and gone and walked into the water." She began to whimper.

"Nonsense, nonsense," said Tom, though his expression belied his words.
"At the worst I should think he couldn't find his way home, and couldn't
get a cab, so put up for the night at some hotel. I daresay it will be
all right." He began to whistle as if in restored cheerfulness. At eight
o'clock there came a letter for Roxdal, marked "immediate," but as he
did not turn up for breakfast, Tom went round personally to the City and
Suburban Bank. He waited half-an-hour there, but the manager did not
make his appearance. Then he left the letter with the cashier and went
away with anxious countenance.

That afternoon it was all over London that the manager of the City and
Suburban had disappeared, and that many thousand pounds of gold and
notes had disappeared with him.

[Illustration: "SCOTLAND YARD OPENED THE LETTER."]

Scotland Yard opened the letter marked "immediate," and noted that there
had been a delay in its delivery, for the address had been obscure, and
an official alteration had been made. It was written in a feminine hand
and said: "On second thoughts I cannot accompany you. Do not try to see
me again. Forget me. I shall never forget you."

There was no signature.

Clara Newell, distracted, disclaimed all knowledge of this letter. Polly
deposed that the fugitive had proposed flight to her, and the routes to
Africa and South America were especially watched. Some months passed
without result. Tom Peters went about overwhelmed with grief and
astonishment. The police took possession of all the missing man's
effects. Gradually the hue and cry dwindled, died.

CHAPTER V.

FAITH AND UNFAITH.

"At last we meet!" cried Tom Peters, while his face lit up in joy. "How
_are_ you, dear Miss Newell?" Clara greeted him coldly. Her face had an
abiding pallor now. Her lover's flight and shame had prostrated her for
weeks. Her soul was the arena of contending instincts. Alone of all the
world she still believed in Everard's innocence, felt that there wa