room while she could; but she found the floor
heaving under her feet, and fell heavily to the
ground.

At the sound of the fall, old Isott bounced
into the room, and was quickly followed by Mr.
and Mrs. Carter. Mr. Smith had promptly
raised Mrs. Denbigh in his arms, and stretched
her, insensible, on the sofa.

"What have you been a doing of to her?"
asked the old servant, looking fiercely at him,
as she turned her mistress's head to meet the
cold air from the window, which the vicar had
hastily opened; "another telegraph clerk you
be, I war'nt," she went on muttering. "Drat
they nasty telegraphs. I can't think how
gentlefolks can encourage such things, as if
bad news didn't travel quick enough bv post."

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Carter; but Isott
inconsistently interrupted her.

"Don't ye ask 'un, ma'am, for goodness sake,
or we'll never bring her to. Get out of the way
now, sir, do'ey; we can't bring her round not
till we've a got her to ourselves, Mrs. Carter
and me."

"Stay," said the vicar, "I had better carry
her at once upstairs. She has had a heavy fall,"
he said to his wife, "and the sooner you can get
her into her bed, the better."

"Can I be of any use?" asked the unlucky
Smith.

The vicar declined his help, and, lifting poor
Elsie, carried her up the stairs, his wife running
before them with a candle, to prepare her room.
Isott was following, but stopped, bethinking
herself that she must not leave the lower part
of the house and the vicarage children, to the
mercy of this evil-disposed unknown.

"I had better go, I think," said the visitor.
"I will call to inquire for Mrs. Denbigh
tomorrow. Perhaps Mr. Denbigh may be back
by that time."

"You can please yourself," said Isott, rudely,
for she was very angry, though she hardly
knew at what. " Master'll be here to-morrow,
please the powers, and you might a' waited,
whatever your business may be, not coming a
frightening my poor missus out of her senses,
enough to give her her death."

"But I do assure you, my good woman, I
haven't the least idea what made your mistress
faint," said the tormented man, goaded into self-
defence. "I do assure you I never said a word
that could annoy her. I only came to ask for
the address of an old friend of mine, who is a
friend of Mr. Denbigh too—Captain Clavering."

Isott had bustled to the window, and was
closing the sash, but at these words she turned
on the speaker like a tigress:

"And who be you, I'd like to know, coming
a tormenting my poor dear, master not here to
see after her, wi' talking about her dead
husband."

"Her dead husband!" cried Mr. Smith,
aghast.

"What, don't ye see it yet? Bless ye,
can't ye see even yet what 'tis you've gone
and done? I tell ye, Cap'n Clavering be dead,
poor gentleman—drownded, and Mr.
Denbigh's wife were Cap'n Clavering's widder.
Now you know."

The vicar came hastily down-stairs, and
desired Isott to go to her mistress, adding that
she was recovering her consciousness, though
she was deadly cold.

"Anything wrong with Denbigh?" he asked
anxiously of the stranger; but Mr. Smith
did not hear, and stood staring straight before
him. He started when Mr. Carter repeated
his question, and said, in a rapid, bewildered
manner: "I know I am in the way here, but I
can't help it. You are the clergyman of the
parish, are you not?"

"I am," said the vicar, surprised.

"And a magistrate? Then can I speak to
you. I am sorry, but it is business of frightful
importance."

Mr. Carter went into the drawing-room, where
the children were clustered together, vaguely
excited and alarmed. Hastily directing one
of the servants to escort them to the vicarage,
he returned to the parlour, where the unknown
still stood in the same fixed attitude. The
vicar could not help feeling rather nervous,
especially as the man's first act was to close
the door carefully, shutting them in together
in the dismal little room, where the fire had
nearly burnt out, and the candle had guttered
away into a deplorable mass of half melted
tallow. But the first word he spoke
enchained the vicar's attention, and the two
sat on in earnest conversation for a length of
time, until the last spark of fire had died away,
and the cold moonlight filled the room. It was
nearly midnight when their conference was
brought to an end by the stealthy opening of
the door, at the sound of which both started
like guilty creatures. It was Mrs. Carter who
came in, her face white and scared by the dim
light of the candle which she carried. She
looked with marked surprise at the stranger,
and then at her husband. To the latter she
said: "Can you come and speak to me one
minute?" And, when they were in the passage,
she went on in a low voice:

"Can't you get rid of that man? I had no
idea he had been closeted with you all this
time. What can you have been talking
about? Oh, John, has anything dreadful
happened?"

"I will tell you by-and-by."

"Shall we telegraph for Mr. Denbigh?"

"We must wait till the morning. The
telegraph office does not open till seven o'clock."

His wife hurried back to the room where
poor Elsie lay.

"I had better go now," said Mr. Smith; "I
will call at your house in the course of the day;
and meanwhile I had best do nothing—take
no steps; don't you think so?"

"By all means do nothing until we see our
way more clearly. If, on making inquiries, we
should discover that the poor fellow never
did land in England, but died on the voyage—