Chapter IV: Book THE SECOND: The Heiress of Brackley Hall

I. THE LAST OF THE OLD CHESHIRE SQUIRES.

|A terrible sensation was caused at Brackley Hall when tidings were brought there of the fatal accident that had befallen its owner. Sir Leycester had been an excellent master, and was beloved by all his household, and their regrets for his loss were heartfelt.

Lady Barfleur was completely stunned by the shock. Marple endeavoured to break the sad intelligence to her gradually; but his countenance and accents betrayed him.

Rising from the sofa on which she was seated, she seized him by the arm, and commanded him to tell her the truth.

Thus interrogated, he felt compelled to give a direct reply. But he regretted doing so, when he saw the effect his words produced upon her. She looked aghast, placed her hand on her heart, and, then, with a half-stifled cry, sank upon the sofa.

Marple had taken the precaution to station a female servant at the door; and he now summoned her to her mistress. Lady Barfleur had fainted.

Emmeline did not hear of the direful event till she returned from the lake; and she then instantly bethought her of the death-warning she had received. She managed to restrain her emotions till she reached her own room, whither she was accompanied by Mildred, who was almost equally shocked, and then gave way to a paroxysm of grief.

Mrs. Calverley was likewise much distressed. She could not help reproaching herself as being, in some degree, the cause of the accident; though she had endeavoured to dissuade the unfortunate baronet from pursuing the gipsies.

Feeling certain, under the present afflicting circumstances, that Emmeline would not be willing to part with Mildred, she settled in her own mind that the latter should remain with her friend for a few days. Moreover, she herself would spend the night at Brackley, if she could be of any use to Lady Barfleur. Such were her mental resolves.

Hitherto, she had remained in the garden. She now went into the house. It was all in confusion, the servants appearing quite scared. There was no one to whom she could speak, for Captain Danvers had gone off to the marsh.

The drawing-room was deserted. Nothing was changed there. But how different the noble room looked in her eyes from what it had done in the morning! Its splendour seemed dimmed. The great emblazoned shield over the mantelpiece looked like a hatchment.

After gazing round for a few minutes, she sat down. Melancholy thoughts intruded upon her. Perhaps, even feelings of remorse assailed her. But we shall not search her bosom. She began to feel some disquietude at being left so long alone, and wondered why Mildred did not come down to her. Possibly, she could not leave Emmeline.

Suddenly, her attention was roused by a disturbance in the entrance-hall, that seemed to betoken an arrival.

What it was she could not fail to conjecture.

Trampling of feet, as if caused by men bearing a heavy burden, and muttered voices, were heard. Then followed other sounds, almost equally significant, the opening and shutting of doors, and the congregating of servants in the hall.

She waited for some minutes, in the expectation of being summoned, but as no one came near her, she went forth.

The hall was empty, but the dining-room door stood open, and at it was stationed the butler.

The man had a very sorrowful countenance indeed. He bowed gravely as she approached, and motioned her to enter the room.

A very touching spectacle was presented to her gaze.

On a large carved oak table, covered with a crimson cloth, and placed in the centre of the apartment, was laid the body of the unfortunate baronet.

It was partially covered by a cloak; and the stains from the swamp in which he had been engulfed had been carefully removed from his face and grey locks. Strange to say, his features were not changed, but seemed to wear their customary kindly expression.

Around were grouped the different members of the household, all of whom looked deeply afflicted, and some of the female servants were weeping bitterly.

On one side stood Ned Eushton, with two of his helpers, behind him. Rarely did Ned's manly visage exhibit such grief as it wore on this sad occasion. After gazing steadfastly at his late kind-hearted master for some minutes, he cast down his eyes, and did not raise them again till the moment of departure.

On the other side stood Marple, who, though burly of frame, was as soft-hearted as a woman. He deeply lamented Sir Leycester, and well he might, for the baronet had ever been a good friend to him.

At the end of the apartment stood Captain Danvers, a quiet but not unmoved spectator of the scene. If his grief made little outward show, it was not the less deep and sincere. He was strongly attached to his uncle, from whom, indeed, he had some expectations, that might never now be realised.

But the principal figures in this touching picture have yet to be described.

Emmeline and Mildred were kneeling down in prayer, at the back, when Lady Barfleur entered the room. She had nerved herself, as she thought, for the ordeal; but on catching sight of the body, she uttered a cry that thrilled all who heard it, rushed up to her dead husband, clasped her arms round his neck, and fell with her head upon his breast.

No one ventured to remove her; and she was still in this attitude when Mrs. Calverley entered the room.

The dark oak ceiling, the dark oak panels, the dim windows, harmonised with the sombre character of the picture, which made an ineffaceable impression upon Mrs. Calverley.

The scene suggested many reflections.

In the room, where for many years he had exercised unbounded hospitality, and where his ancestors had feasted before him, lay the last male representative of the ancient house of Barfleur.

Sir Leycester had had a son, who died when quite young, and the title was now extinct. All the late baronet's estates and possessions would go to his daughter and sole heiress. But Emmeline thought not of the wealth she had thus suddenly acquired. She thought only of the irreparable loss she had sustained in the death of the father who had treated her with constant tenderness and affection, and whom she dearly loved.

But if no selfish thoughts occupied her, reflections somewhat akin to them occurred to one near to her, who well knew how she was circumstanced. Mrs. Calverley knew that Emmeline was her father's sole heiress, and looked upon her as a very important personage, over whom it would be desirable to obtain an influence. Such influence could be easily acquired by Mildred, to whom, it was evident, Emmeline was strongly attached.

Mrs. Calverley knew much, but there was one important matter of which she was totally ignorant. How could she have been aware that Emmeline cherished a secret attachment to Chetwynd?

The picture we have attempted to describe remained undisturbed for a few minutes, when the new-made widow recovered from the swoon into which she had fallen.

As soon as she could, Mrs. Calverley, who had come up, gently raised her, and helped her to quit the room. Emmeline and Mildred arose and followed.

Captain Danvers remained till the household had withdrawn, and then held a consultation with the butler, to whom the entire management of the house had been entrusted for the present by Lady Barfleur.

As Mrs. Calverley had foreseen, Emmeline would not part with Mildred; and she herself remained till the following day, having despatched a messenger to Ousel-croft with a note to her housekeeper, explaining matters, and desiring her to send back some things that she and Mildred required.

Passing over the dreary interval that comprised the inquest, and the examination and committal of the gipsies, we shall come on to the funeral, to which a great number of important personages---relatives, connexions, and friends of the deceased baronet--had been invited.

Sir Gerard Danvers, of Offham Grange and his eldest son Scrope, Charles's brother, arrived at Brackley Hall on the eve of the sad ceremonial.

Up to this time, Lady Barfleur had not quitted her room; but she could not refuse to see her brother and nephew, and she, therefore, dined with them. It was a _triste_ party, as may be imagined, for her ladyship's presence cast a gloom over it. Emmeline looked ill; Mildred was out of spirits; and Mrs. Calverley, who had come over that afternoon, had to supply the conversation. Both Sir Gerard and Scrope thought her very charming.

Scrope was about thirty, tall, thin, dark-complexioned, and by no means so handsome as his brother; but he was exceedingly gentlemanlike, and would be very rich, and that was much in Mrs. Calver-ley's opinion; so she took some trouble to please him.

It was with difficulty that Captain Danvers could maintain a grave exterior. Mr. Carteret, the solicitor, who had acted professionally for Sir Leycester as he had done for Mr. Calverley, had been over that day; and when the will of the deceased baronet was examined, it was found he had left his nephew Charles five thousand pounds. Impossible, after such a windfall as this, that the captain, who was not over-burdened with cash, could look very dull.

Members of some of the oldest and best Cheshire families--Egerton, Cholmondeley, Leigh, Venables, Vernon, Brereton, Mainwaring, Davenport, and others--attended the funeral.

Sir Bridgnorth Charlton, who had been an old friend of the deceased baronet, was likewise invited, and came.

Before the funeral _cortège_ set out, Sir Bridgnorth took an opportunity of speaking to Mildred, and said he would call upon her in a few days, as he had something to tell her respecting Chetwynd.

Sir Leycester was not interred in the little chapel in the court of the old Hall, where some of his earlier ancestors reposed, but in his family vault in the neighbouring church of Brackley, and was borne thither, according to custom, on the shoulders of the tenantry. Sir Gerald Danvers and his two sons followed on foot, with a long train of mourners composed entirely of the deceased baronet's retainers. The carriages of the important personages we have mentioned closed the procession.

A word respecting Sir Leycester ere we lose sight of him for ever.

Not inappropriately, he might be termed the last of the Cheshire squires, since he left none behind who so completely answered to the description of that traditional character.

He seemed to belong to another age--a ruder but manlier age than our own. Yet Sir Leycester, though sometimes coarse and careless of speech, could be most courteous.

His ancestors had always been loyal--always true to the Stuarts. Brackley Hall had held out against the Parliamentarians in the time of Charles the First, and Sir Chandos Barfleur was killed at the siege. His son Delves was just as faithful to the king's fortunes, and lost part of his property; but it was restored by Charles the Second, and again jeopardised in 1715. Circumstances prevented Sir Wilbraham Barfleur from joining the Rebellion of '45. From this date the Barfleurs became loyal to the reigning family.

Born in the latter part of the last century, Sir Leycester belonged to that epoch rather than to the present. He retained the manners of his sire and grandsire, and thus became a type of the old school--a type that has now completely disappeared.

In look, bearing, physiognomy, costume, manner, he differed from the present generation. But there was no better gentleman, no cheerier companion, no stauncher friend, no better rider to hounds, than Sir Leycester Barfleur, the last of the old Cheshire squires.

II. A CONSULTATION.

|About a week after the funeral, Sir Bridgnorth Charlton rode over to Brackley Hall, in fulfilment of his promise to call on Mildred.

Lady Barfleur was not well enough to appear; but Emmeline and Mildred, who had been impatiently expecting his visit, received him in the drawing-room.

They were attired in deep mourning; and, though there was no personal resemblance between them, they looked like sisters.

After some inquiries respecting Lady Barfleur, and messages of condolence to her, Sir Bridgnorth looked at Mildred, who interpreted his glance correctly, and said:

“You may speak freely of Chetwynd before Miss Barfleur, Sir Bridgnorth. She takes great interest in him.”

“A very great interest,” added Emmeline. “I hope you bring us some news of him?”

“Very little,” replied Sir Bridgnorth. “And what I do bring is not satisfactory. You desire me to speak plainly about your brother, Miss Calverley?”

“Most certainly!” she replied.

“Well, then, you may remember, when I accidentally met him at Ouselcroft, I gave him a pocket-book, containing a certain sum of money?”

“I am not likely to forget your kindness,” replied Mildred.

“It appears there was rather more in the pocket-book than I thought,” pursued Sir Bridgnorth--“bank notes to the amount of three hundred pounds. I mention this, because your brother has most scrupulously repaid me the exact sum, of which he kept a memorandum.”

“He behaved like a man of honour!” cried Emmeline.

“Undoubtedly. But I did not want the money back. I want to assist him. I want him to come to me--to talk to me.”

“Will he not do so?” said Mildred.

“I fear not. I suspect he is still in difficulties.”

“If so, he must be got out of them, and you must manage it, Sir Bridgnorth,” said Mildred.

“But I can't manage it, my dear young lady. I don't know where to find him.”

“But he _must_ be found!” cried Emmeline.

“Easily said; but not so easily accomplished,” rejoined Sir Bridgnorth, smiling at her vivacity. “I have used every endeavour, but can obtain no clue to him.”

“Is he in London?” asked Mildred.

“I believe so,” he replied.

“Surely then he can be discovered?” she remarked.

“I have not succeeded in discovering him, that is all I can say,” rejoined Sir Bridgnorth. “And I have really taken a great deal of trouble in the business. He has been remarkably successful in hiding himself.”

“Do not keep anything back from me, I pray you, dear Sir Bridgnorth!” said Mildred. “Is he without resources?”

“I cannot imagine so,” he replied. “He must have had some funds to enable him to repay me, unless--” and he paused.

“Unless what?” said Mildred.

“You enjoin me to speak the truth,” replied Sir Bridgnorth; “and I will do so at the hazard of giving you and Miss Barfleur pain. My idea is that he has lost money at play. Mind, I have no proof of what I assert. It is simply conjecture.”

“I fear you are right, Sir Bridgnorth,” said Mildred, heaving a deep sigh.

“In your opinion, Sir Bridgnorth,” said Emmeline, who had listened anxiously to the discourse--“in your opinion, I say, has Chetwynd lost a considerable sum of money at play?”

“I fear so.”

“Has he paid it?”

“I fear not.”

There was a pause, during which the two young ladies regarded each other wistfully.

At length, Mildred spoke.

“Sir Bridgnorth,” she said, “Chetwynd's debts of 'honour'”--and she emphasised the word--“must be paid, and shall be paid, at any sacrifice, by me! You will do me the greatest kindness by finding out exactly how he is circumstanced, what he owes, and, especially, what are his debts of honour.”

Emmeline looked earnestly at Sir Bridgnorth, as if she felt equally interested in the inquiry.

Sir Bridgnorth was evidently troubled, and for some moments made no answer.

“Excuse me, my dear Miss Calverley,” he said; “if your brother is in a scrape, I think he should be allowed to get out of it--as he best can.”

“No!” exclaimed Mildred, decidedly. “It is not like me, Sir Bridgnorth, to give such advice.”

“No!” added Emmeline, equally decidedly. “He must be freed!”

“Upon my word,” said Sir Bridgnorth, surprised, “whatever may have happened to him, this young man cannot be called unfortunate.”

“Then act as a true friend to him, dear Sir Bridgnorth!” said Mildred. “Make immediate arrangements to get him out of all difficulties. You will incur no personal responsibility.”

“None whatever,” said Emmeline.

Sir Bridgnorth was much touched.

“I think you had better leave him to himself,” he said. “But, since you won't, I must needs help you I'll do all I can. But I cannot proceed as expeditiously as I could desire. I have reason to believe Chetwynd is living in London under a feigned name. Since all private inquiries have proved unsuccessful, I will cause some carefully-worded advertisements to be inserted in the newspapers, that may catch his eye and bring him forward. Could he be made aware that a beautiful young lady takes an interest in him, I am sure he would speedily reappear. But fear no indiscretion on my part. Nothing shall be disclosed till the proper moment arrives.” Then, addressing Mildred, he added: “As soon as I can ascertain the amount of his debts, I will let you know.”

“Pay them, dear Sir Bridgnorth--pay them!” she rejoined.

“But they may be very large?”

“Never mind; pay them!” cried Emmeline. “Mr. Carteret shall repay you.”

“No man ever had such a chance,” exclaimed Sir Bridgnorth. “If he does not reform now, he is incorrigible.”

“I have no misgivings as to the future,” said Mildred.

“Well, I sincerely trust all will come right,” observed Sir Bridgnorth. “There seems every probability of it, I must own.”

Just then Mrs. Calverley was announced.

“I must take my leave,” said Sir Bridgnorth, rising hastily. “You shall hear from me soon, or see me.”

“Let us see you, please!” said both young ladies.

Before he could depart, Mrs. Calverley entered, and stopped him.

“Ah, Sir Bridgnorth!” she exclaimed; “I'm delighted to meet you! I want to have a word with you.”

Sir Bridgnorth evidently wished to get away. But she begged him to remain for a few minutes; and he could not very well refuse.

Mrs. Calverley then went on to the young ladies. After the usual greetings had passed, she said to Mildred, “I have a letter for you; or, rather, a packet. It arrived this morning.”

Having given her the letter, she moved to a little distance.

Glancing at the superscription, Mildred turned pale.

“What is it that disturbs you?” inquired Emmeline.

“A letter from Chetwynd,” replied Mildred, in a low voice. “Come to my room, that we may read it together.”

Emmeline signified her assent by a look.

Mrs. Calverley took no notice of what was passing, though she must have perceived it.

Before leaving the room, Mildred went up to Sir Bridgnorth, and, addressing him in a low voice, said:

“You must not go, Sir Bridgnorth. I may have something important to tell you about Chetwynd.”

“In that case, I will stay as long as you please,” he rejoined.

Meanwhile Emmeline prepared to follow her friend.

“Will you mind my leaving you for a few minutes, dear Mrs. Calverley?” she said.

“Don't stand on the slightest ceremony with me, my love,” replied the other. “Besides, I want to have a little talk with Sir Bridgnorth.”

The two young ladies then went out.

“I am now quite at your service, madam,” said Sir Bridgnorth, as soon as he and Mrs. Calverley were alone.

“Then sit down, that we may have a confidential chat,” replied the lady.

III. CHETWYND'S LETTER.

|In such haste were the two girls to open the packet that they almost ran up the spiral-staircase to Mildred's bedroom, in which was a deep bay window.

In this recess they sat down.

Mildred's hand trembled as she tore open the packet.

It contained a long, closely-written letter, inside which was a folded sheet of paper that looked like a document of some kind.

This document dropped on the table, and was not examined at the moment.

The letter was dated on the previous day, but bore no address.

Ere she had read many lines, a mist seemed to gather over Mildred's vision. Unable to proceed, she laid the letter down.

“You terrify me,” cried Emmeline. “What has happened?”

“He meditates self-destruction,” replied Mildred. “But read the letter, dearest--I cannot.”

Mustering up all her courage, Emmeline read aloud as follows:

“This is the last letter you will ever receive from me, dearest sister, and, in bidding you an eternal farewell, I implore you to think kindly of me.

“With one exception you are the only person in the world whom I love, and my latest thoughts will be of her and you.

“You know her, and will easily guess her name, but I shall not confide it to this sheet of paper. In all respects she is superior to the artful and treacherous woman by whom I allowed myself to be deceived--superior in beauty and accomplishments, and amiable as beautiful. Had I been fortunate enough to wed her, I should have been a different man. Now it is too late, I see my folly, and comprehend my loss.”

“You see that he dearly loved you, Emmeline, for it is to you that he refers,” observed Mildred. “But proceed, I entreat you!”

“I have met with the basest ingratitude. Men who have received from me favours innumerable--hangers-on who have sponged upon me, and professed the greatest regard for me, have shrunk from me, and avoided me in my misfortunes--men who have fleeced me, who have ruined me, and driven me to desperation! My funds are almost exhausted, but they will last me out. I owe nothing, for I have paid that kind-hearted Sir Bridgnorth Charlton the exact sum he lent me. Had I not obtained it from him, I should have been called a defaulter. Fortune favoured me for the moment, for I won sufficient to discharge my debt to him. He would lend me more, I doubt not, but I will never borrow again. As to the woman who has robbed me of my inheritance, I have sworn I will accept nothing from her, and I will keep my oath. She will be responsible for her conduct before Heaven.”

Again there was a pause, but neither made a remark and Emmeline went on:

“Fear nothing, dearest sister. I have changed my name, and have taken such precautions that my retreat cannot be discovered. Nothing will be found upon me that can establish my identity. A body will be found; that will be all!”

“Gracious Heaven!” ejaculated Mildred. “Grant that this dreadful catastrophe may be averted!”

Emmeline's voice had been suffocated by emotion, but after a pause she proceeded:

“Mildred, I have been reckless and extravagant, and have led a most foolish and most useless life. I have been a gambler and have squandered large sums upon persons who profited by my follies; but I have done nothing dishonourable--nothing to tarnish my name as a gentleman. I think I could have retrieved my position, but it is not worth the trouble. I am weary of life; sick of the hollowness, the ingratitude, the perfidy of the world! Timon of Athens did not hate mankind more bitterly than I do. I would consent to live if I felt certain of revenge on some of those who have wronged me; but on no other condition. This is not likely to happen; so it is best I should go!”

“Alas, poor Chetwynd!” exclaimed Mildred. “His fancied wrongs have driven him to the verge of madness!”

“He seems extraordinarily sensitive, and to feel most acutely the slights shown him by his ungrateful associates,” said Emmeline.

“Is the letter finished?” asked Mildred.

“No,” replied Emmeline. “There is a farewell to you. But I cannot read it. My voice fails me!”

Mildred then took the letter, and went on with it:

“You know exactly how I am circumstanced, Mildred. I have nothing, that I am aware of, to leave; but I have made my will, and in your favour, and shall enclose it in this letter. I may have some rights of which I am ignorant; and if it should prove so, I desire that you may benefit by them.”

“Here is the will,” she remarked, taking up the little document and examining it. “I see he has observed all necessary formalities. Strange he should be able to do this at such a time!”

Though deeply affected, she resumed the perusal of the letter:

“And now farewell, dearest sister! Again I implore you to think of me kindly! My faults are inexcusable; yet do not judge me harshly. The world has done that, and with sufficient severity. Do not suppose these lines are written to move your compassion. Long before they meet your eye, I shall be indifferent to scorn, neglect, and treachery!

“Should an opportunity ever occur of breathing my name to her I have loved, say that my chief regret was that I threw away the happiness that might have been mine!”

Emmeline uttered an exclamation of despair, but it did not interrupt Mildred:

“Trouble yourself no more about me. Search will be in vain. Nothing can arrest my purpose. Ere tomorrow morn I shall have ceased to breathe, and have quitted a world I hate. Neglect not my last request! Farewell, my sister! May you be happier than your unfortunate brother!”

“Heaven have mercy on his soul!” exclaimed Mildred, dropping on her knees, and praying fervently.

Emmeline, likewise, knelt down and prayed.

After awhile, they arose.

“Sit down for a moment, dearest Emmeline,” said Mildred; “I have something to tell you. I believe the fatal act was committed at one o'clock this morning.”

“Why at that precise hour?” inquired Emmeline.

“You shall hear. I was sleeping on yonder couch, and was awakened by the striking of the clock. The moon was shining brightly through the window, and I thought I saw a figure standing just where you are seated. I should have felt much more frightened than I did, if I had not been convinced it was Chetwynd; though how he came here at that time I could not imagine. I called out, but no answer was made, and I then became seriously alarmed. Suddenly, the figure, which had hitherto been looking down, raised its head, and fixed its mournful gaze upon me. I then saw that the features were those of Chetwynd, but pale as death! The phantom did not move from its position, but seemed to wave a farewell to me, and then melted away in the moonbeams.”

“And this phantom you beheld?” said Emmeline, who had listened with intense interest in the narrative.

“I saw it as plainly as I now see you,” replied the other. “Why it appeared to me, I now understand.”

The silence that ensued was broken by Mildred.

After carefully replacing the letter and the will in the envelope, she said: “Let us go down-stairs and communicate the sad news to Sir Bridgnorth. It is right he should know it.”

“True,” replied Emmeline. “But oh! dearest Mildred, I can never like Mrs. Calverley again. I look upon her as the cause of this dreadful event.”

“You do her an injustice, dear Emmeline,” said

Mildred, who, however, began to regard her stepmother with altered feelings.

“We shall see how she bears the intelligence,” said Emmeline; “and from that, some judgment may be formed.”

IV. HOW THE DIREFUL NEWS WAS RECEIVED BY MRS. CALVERLEY; AND HOW SIR BRIDGNORTH VOLUNTEERED TO MAKE INQUIRIES AS TO ITS TRUTH.

|As the two girls entered the drawing-room, their changed appearance and mournful looks struck both Sir Bridgnorth and Mrs. Calverley, who were still seated on the sofa, conversing together earnestly.

Sir Bridgnorth immediately arose, and, advancing to meet them, said to Mildred:

“I am afraid you have not received very good news of Chetwynd?”

“Alas! no, Sir Bridgnorth,” she replied, in a sorrowful voice. “You need give yourself no further concern about my unfortunate brother!”

“Why not?” he interrupted, anxiously.

“He is gone!” she replied, sadly.

“You shock me greatly!” he ejaculated. “Mrs. Calverley and myself have been considering what could be done for him, and have just devised a scheme that we hoped might be successful.”

“All schemes for his benefit are now useless,” said Emmeline. “He no longer needs our aid.”

“Did I hear aright?” said Mrs. Calverley, starting up, and coming towards them. “It cannot be that Chetwynd is dead?”

“It is so,” said Emmeline.

“But how did he die?” asked Mrs. Calverley.

“By his own hand!” replied Emmeline, regarding her fixedly.

Mrs. Calverley looked aghast, and as if ready to drop.

“I did not understand he had destroyed himself,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “When did this sad event occur? Can you give me any particulars?”

“I can only state that he contemplated suicide,” replied Mildred. “This letter is a last farewell to me.”

“Ah! then we need not despair of beholding him again,” said Sir Bridgnorth, with a sensation of relief. “Many a man, now alive, has threatened to put an end to his existence. I hope it may turn out to be so in Chetwynd's case.”

“I sincerely hope so!” said Mrs. Calverley.

“I have no such belief,” observed Mildred, sadly.

“If you had read his most affecting letter, you would entertain no doubt as to his determination,” added Emmeline, with difficulty refraining from tears.

“We shall soon be able to ascertain the truth,” said Sir Bridgnorth.

“Not so,” replied Mildred. “He has taken such precautions that his fate will remain a mystery.”

Sir Bridgnorth shook his head.

“I can't believe that possible,” he said. “It will be important, on several accounts, to have proof of his death. He may have made a will.”

“He _has_ made a will, and has sent it me in this letter,” replied Mildred.

“Indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Calverley, surprised. “But he had nothing to leave.”

“He seems to have thought otherwise,” said Mildred. “He fancied he had certain rights and claims, and those he has left to me.”

The slight shade that passed over Mrs. Calverley's countenance was not unnoticed by Emmeline.

“This shows it will be absolutely necessary to establish the fact of his death,” observed Sir Bridgnorth. “What is the date of the letter you have received?”

“It was written yesterday,” replied Mildred. “But he is not alive now,” she added, solemnly.

“You believe he destroyed himself last night?” asked Mrs. Calverley.

“I firmly believe so,” she rejoined.

Mrs. Calverley then turned to Sir Bridgnorth, and with a coldness that appeared revolting to Mildred and Emmeline, said:

“Is any case of suicide reported in the papers this morning?”

“I have seen none,” he replied. “But it might have escaped me. I seldom read such cases.”

Emmeline rang the bell, and desired the butler to bring the newspapers.

The order was promptly obeyed, and search made, but no “mysterious death” or “supposed suicide” could be discovered.

“It is needless to ask if any address is given with your letter,” remarked Sir Bridgnorth to Mildred.

“It is not likely there would be.”

“And nothing mentioned that could serve as a guide?”

“Nothing.”

Sir Bridgnorth then bade them all a formal adieu, and made a final attempt to give them comfort.

“I hope Chetwynd may have changed his mind at the last moment,” he said. “I believe it will turn out so. To-morrow I shall set out on my melancholy errand, and institute inquiries. You shall hear from me as soon as I have anything to communicate; and I promise you one thing--I will not remain idle. It shall not be my fault if the facts of this painful affair are not discovered.”

END OF THE SECOND BOOK