d lately been through a terrible personal
trial; and to find herself suddenly associated with another tragedy
might well induce a nervous breakdown. Who would come to the rescue
now? To whom would she look? Whither would she go?

Mark was early astir and with Inspector Damarell he organized an
elaborate search system for the day. At nine o'clock a large party
had set out, for another morning brought no news by telegram or
telephone, and it was clear that Redmayne still continued free.

Brendon proceeded presently to "Crow's Nest," drawn thither solely
by thoughts of Jenny, for whatever she might secretly think of Doria
and feel toward him, it was certain that he could not be of any
great support under present circumstances. Doria was essentially a
fair-weather friend. Many were the things that Jenny would be called
to do and, so far as Mark knew, there was none to assist her. He
found her distressed but calm. She had telegraphed to her uncle in
Italy and though she doubted whether he would risk return into an
English winter, she hoped that he might do so.

"Everything is chaos," she said, "just as it was at Princetown.
Uncle Bendigo told me only a few days before these things
happened--when he had made up his mind that his brother Robert must
be dead--that the law would not recognize his death for a certain
period of years. And now we know that he is not dead but that poor
Uncle Bendigo is. Yet the law will not recognize his death, either
perhaps, seeing that he has not been found. Uncle Robert's papers
and affairs were gone into and he left no will; so his property,
when the law sanctions it, would have been divided between his
brothers; but now I imagine it all belongs to my uncle in Italy;
while, as for poor Uncle Bendigo, I expect that he has made a will,
because he was such a methodical man; but what he intended to do
with his house and money we cannot tell yet."

Jenny had nothing to say or suggest that could help Brendon and she
was very nervous, desiring to leave the lonely habitation on the
cliffs as quickly as possible; but she intended to await Albert
Redmayne's decision.

"This will greatly upset him, I fear," she said. "He is now the
last of 'the red Redmaynes,' as our family was called in Australia."

"Why the adjective?"

"Because we were always red. Every one of my grandfather's children
had red hair, and so had he. His wife was also red--and the only
living member of the next generation is red,