er's relatives had to tell me.

I may pass over the events of the next few years of my life briefly
enough.

My nautical pursuits filled up all my time, and took me far away from
my country and my friends. But, whatever I did, and wherever I went, the
memory of Uncle George, and the desire to penetrate the mystery of his
disappearance, haunted me like familiar spirits. Often, in the lonely
watches of the night at sea, did I recall the dark evening on the beach,
the strange man's hurried embrace, the startling sensation of feeling
his tears on my cheeks, the disappearance of him before I had breath
or self-possession enough to say a word. Often did I think over the
inexplicable events that followed, when I had returned, after my
sister's funeral, to my father's house; and oftener still did I puzzle
my brains vainly, in the attempt to form some plan for inducing my
mother or my aunt to disclose the secret which they had hitherto kept
from me so perseveringly. My only chance of knowing what had really
happened to Uncle George, my only hope of seeing him again, rested with
those two near and dear relatives. I despaired of ever getting my mother
to speak on the forbidden subject after what had passed between us, but
I felt more sanguine about my prospects of ultimately inducing my aunt
to relax in her discretion. My anticipations, however, in this direction
were not destined to be fulfilled. On my next visit to England I found
my aunt prostrated by a paralytic attack, which deprived her of the
power of speech. She died soon afterward in my arms, leaving me her sole
heir. I searched anxiously among her papers for some reference to the
family mystery, but found no clew to guide me. All my mother's letters
to her sister at the time of Caroline's illness and death had been
destroyed.

CHAPTER III.

MORE years passed; my mother followed my aunt to the grave, and still
I was as far as ever from making any discoveries in relation to Uncle
George. Shortly after the period of this last affliction my health gave
way, and I departed, by my doctor's advice, to try some baths in the
south of France.

I traveled slowly to my destination, turning aside from the direct road,
and stopping wherever I pleased. One evening, when I was not more than
two or three days' journey from the baths to which I was bound, I was
struck by the picturesque situation of a little town placed on the brow
of a hill at some distance from the main road,