ery police-station in London?"

"I object to nothing which may help to find him. Do you think the police
have got him anywhere?"

"You forget, sir, that the police have no orders to take him. What I'm
speculating on is the chance that he has got the money about him--say in
small banknotes, for convenience of changing them, you know."

"Well?"

"Well, sir, the people he lives among--the squint-eyed man, for
instance!--don't stick at trifles. If any of them have found out that
Jervy's purse is worth having--"

"You mean they would rob him?"

"And murder him too, sir, if he tried to resist."

Amelius started to his feet. "Send round to the police-stations without
losing another minute," he said. "And let me hear what the answer is,
the instant you receive it."

"Suppose I get the answer late at night, sir?"

"I don't care when you get it, night or day. Dead or living, I will
undertake to identify him. Here's a duplicate key of the garden gate.
Come this way, and I'll show you where my bedroom is. If we are all
in bed, tap at the window--and I will be ready for you at a moment's
notice."

On that understanding Morcross left the cottage.

The day when the mortal remains of Mrs. Farnaby were laid at rest was a
day of heavy rain. Mr. Melton, and two or three other old friends, were
the attendants at the funeral. When the coffin was borne into the
damp and reeking burial ground, a young man and a woman were the only
persons, beside the sexton and his assistants, who stood by the open
grave. Mr. Melton, recognizing Amelius, was at a loss to understand
who his companion could be. It was impossible to suppose that he would
profane that solemn ceremony by bringing to it the lost woman at the
cottage. The thick black veil of the person with him hid her face from
view. No visible expressions of grief escaped her. When the last sublime
words of the burial service had been read, those two mourners were left,
after the others had all departed, still standing together by the grave.
Mr. Melton decided on mentioning the circumstance confidentially when
he wrote to his friend in Paris. Telegrams from Regina, in reply to his
telegrams from London, had informed him that Mr. Farnaby had felt the
benefit of the remedies employed, and was slowly on the way to recovery.
It seemed likely that he would, in no long time, take the right course
for the protection of his niece. For the enlightenment which might, or
might not, come with th