do all sorts of foolish
things. I mean it, Captain Luscombe; I think it's just--just awful of
you to be so careless.'

Again there was general laughter, and yet the girl's words made me feel
uneasy. Although I could not explain it, it seemed to me that some
Power higher than our own had drawn us together, that in some way this
man's life would be linked with mine, and that I should have to take my
part in the unravelling of a mystery.

All this time, George St. Mabyn had not spoken. He sat staring into
vacancy, and what he was thinking about it was impossible to tell. Of
course the thoughts which, in spite of myself, haunted my mind, were
absurd. If I had not seen that ashen pallor come to his face, and
caught the haunted look in his eyes, when earlier in the evening Sir
Roger Granville had almost jokingly associated the unknown man with
Maurice St. Mabyn, I do not suppose such foolish fancies would have
entered-my mind. But now, although I told myself that I was
entertaining an absurd suspicion, that suspicion would not leave me.

I looked for a resemblance between him and Paul Edgecumbe, but could
find none. Was he, I wondered, in doubt about his brother's death?
Had he entered into possession on insufficient proof? Many strange
things happened in the East; soldiers had more than once been reported
to be dead, and then turned up in a most remarkable way. Had George
St. Mabyn, in his desire to become owner of the beautiful old house I
had seen, taken his brother's death for granted, on insufficient
grounds, and had not troubled about it since?

'Promise me,' said Lorna Bolivick, in her impetuous way, 'that you will
never rest until you find this man again! Promise me that you will
befriend him!' and she looked eagerly into my eyes as she spoke.

'Of course I will,' I said laughingly.

'No, but that won't do. Promise me that you will look for him as if he
were your own brother!'

'That's a pretty large order. But why should you be so interested in
this stranger?'

'I never give reasons,' she laughed, 'they are so stupid. But you
_will_ promise me, won't you?'

'Of course I will,' I replied.

'That's a bargain, then.'

'When are you leaving this neighbourhood?' asked George St. Mabyn, when
presently he was leaving the house.

'To-morrow afternoon,' I replied. 'They are working me pretty hard, I
can tell you.'

'Won't you look me up to-morrow morning?' he asked. 'There's a man
staying wit