plainly impossible. And yet there was the incomprehensible fact
staring me in the face that the death of Caroline and the
disappearance of Uncle George had taken plac e in the same week!
Never did I feel more daunted and bewildered by the family secret
than after I had heard all the particulars in connection with it
that my father'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