"For," wrote Helmsley, "when you read this, I shall be dead and in
my quiet grave at Weircombe. Let me rest there in peace,--for though
my eyes will no more see the sun,--or the kindness in the eyes of
the woman whose unselfish goodness has been more than the sunshine
to me, I shall--or so I think and hope--be spiritually conscious
that my mortal remains are buried where humble and simple folk think
well of me. This last letter from my hand to you is one not of
business so much as friendship--for I have learned that what we call
'business' counts for very little, while the ties of sympathy,
confidence, and love between human beings are the only forces that
assist in the betterment of the world. And so farewell! Let the
beloved angel who brings you these last messages from me have all
honour from you for my sake.--Yours,

David Helmsley."

* * * * *

And now, to Sir Francis Vesey's deep concern, the "beloved angel" thus
spoken of sat opposite to him, moved by evident alarm,--her blue eyes
full of tears, and her face pale and scared. How was he to begin telling
her what she was bound to know?

"Yes--I will--I must endeavour to explain," he repeated, bending his
brows upon her and regaining something of his self-control. "You, of
course, were not aware--I mean my old friend never told you who he
really was?"

Her anxious look grew more wistful.

"No, and indeed I never asked," she said. "He was so feeble when I took
him to my home out of the storm, and for weeks afterwards he was so
dangerously ill, that I thought questions might worry him. Besides it
was not my business to bother about where he came from. He was just old
and poor and friendless--that was enough for me."

"I hope--I do very much hope," said Sir Francis gently, "that you will
not allow yourself to be too much startled--or--or overcome by what I
have to tell you. David--he said his name was David, did he not?"

She made a sign of assent. A strange terror was creeping upon her, and
she could not speak.

"David--yes!--that was quite right--David was his name," proceeded Sir
Francis cautiously. "But he had another name--a surname which perhaps
you may, or may not have heard. That name was Helmsley----"

She sprang up with a cry, remembering Angus Reay's story about his first
love, Lucy Sorrel, and her millionaire.