"I'll come back--yes I'll come back here--if I can. Good-bye, Hovey."

In the library Sir William and Lady Belward sat silent for a time.
Presently Sir William rose, and walked up and down. He paused at last,
and said, in a strange, hesitating voice, his hands chafing each other:

"I forgot myself, my dear. I fear I was violent. I would like to ask
his pardon. Ah, yes, yes!"

Then he sat down and took her hand, and held it long in the silence.

"It all feels so empty--so empty," she said at last, as the tower-clock
struck hollow on the air.

The old man could not reply, but he drew her close to him, and Hovey,
from the door, saw his tears dropping on her white hair.

Gaston went to Manchester Square. He half dreaded a meeting with Alice,
and yet he wished it. He did not find her. She had gone to Paris with
her uncle, the servant said. He got their address. There was little
left to do but to avoid reporters, two of whom almost forced themselves
in upon him. He was to go back to Douarnenez by the little boat that
brought him, and at seven o'clock in the morning he watched the mists of
England recede.

He chanced to put his hand into a light overcoat which he had got at his
chambers before he started. He drew out a paper, the one discovered in
the solicitor's office in London. It was an ancient deed of entail of
the property, drawn by Sir Gaston Belward, which, through being lost,
was never put into force. He was not sure that it had value. If it had,