the watch to-morrow morning, and I'll promise you we'll find
out every pocket he has about him."

"And my father--you won't tell my father?" I said, dolefully.

Mr. Cobbe replied by a mute but expressive piece of pantomime and took
me back to the bar, where the good landlady ratified all that her
husband had promised in her name.

The stars shone brightly as I went home, and there was no moon. The town
was intensely silent, and the road intensely solitary. I met no one on
my way; let myself quietly in, and stole up to my bed-room in the dark.

It was already late; but I was restless and weary--too restless to
sleep, and too weary to read. I could not detach myself from the
impressions of the day; and I longed for the morning, that I might learn
the fate of my watch, and the condition of the Chevalier.

At length, after some hours of wakefulness, I dropped into a profound
and dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHEVALIER MAKES HIS LAST EXIT.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances.
_As You Like It._

I was waked by my father's voice calling to me from the garden, and so
started up with that strange and sudden sense of trouble which most of
us have experienced at some time or other in our lives.

"Nine o'clock, Basil," cried my father. "Nine o'clock--come down
directly, sir!"

I sprang out of bed, and for some seconds could remember nothing of what
had happened; but when I looked out of the window and saw my father in
his dressing-gown and slippers walking up and down the sunny path with
his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the ground, it all
flashed suddenly upon me. To plunge into my bath, dress, run down, and
join him in the garden, was the work of but a few minutes.

"Good-morning, sir," I said, breathlessly.

He stopped short in his walk, and looked at me from head to foot.

"Humph!" said he, "you have dressed quickly...."

"Yes, sir; I was startled to find myself so late."

"So quickly," he continued, "that you have forgotten your watch."

I felt my face burn. I had not a word to answer.

"I suppose," said he, "you thought I should not find it out?"

"I had hoped to recover it first," I replied, falteringly; "but...."

"But you may make up your mind to the loss of it, sir; and serve you
rightly, too," interposed my father. "I can tell you, for