died
this morning."

"Ah! then Briggs knew that he was ill? That explains the Manfredic
mystery and gloom with which he greeted me."

"I cannot tell. He has written from time to time, but he has never
given any address; so that no one could write in return."

"He may have known. He looked very downcast. Perhaps that explains his
cutting me dead."

"Cut you?" cried Mark. "I dare say he's been doing something he's
ashamed of, and don't want to be recognised. That fellow has been
after no good all this while, I'll warrant. I always say he's
connected with the swell mob, or croupier at a gambling-table, or
something of that kind. Don't you think it's likely, now?"

Mark was in the habit of so saying for the purpose of tormenting the
Doctor, who held stoutly to his old belief, that John Briggs was
a very clever man, and would turn up some day as a distinguished
literary character.

"Well," said Tom, "honest or not, he's thriving; came down inside the
coach, dressed in the distinguished foreigner style, with lavender kid
gloves, and French boots."

"Just like a swell pickpocket," said Mark. "I always told you so,
Thurnall."

"He had the old Byron collar, and Raphael hair, though."

"Nasty, effeminate, un-English foppery," grumbled Mark; "so he may be
in the scribbling line after all."

"I'll go and see if I can find him," quoth the Doctor.

"Bother you," said Mark, "always running out o' nights after somebody
else's business, instead of having a jolly evening. You stay, Tom,
like a sensible fellow, and tell me and Mary some more travellers'
lies. Had much sporting, boy?"

"Hum! I've shot and hunted every beast, I think, shootable and
huntable, from a humming-bird to an elephant; and I had some splendid
fishing in Canada; but, after all, give me a Whitbury trout, on a
single-handed Chevalier. We'll at them to-morrow, Mr. Armsworth."

"We will, my boy! never so many fish in the river as this year, or in
season so early."

The good Doctor returned; but with no news which could throw light
on the history of the now mysterious Mr. John Briggs. He had locked
himself into the room with his father's corpse, evidently in great
excitement and grief; spent several hours in walking up and down there
alone; and had then gone to an attorney in the town, and settled
everything about the funeral "in the handsomest way," said the man of
law; "and was quite the gentleman in his manner, but not much of a man
of business; ne