orption that would probably have startled
the more conservative Englishman had he known it.

He had not heard from Miss Eversleigh since he left, nor had he received
any response from the captain. Indeed, he had indulged in little hopes
of either. But he kept stolidly at work, perhaps with a larger trust
than he knew. And then, one day, he received a letter addressed in a
handwriting that made his heart leap, though he had seen it but once,
when it conveyed the news of Sir William Dornton's sudden illness. It
was from Miss Eversleigh, but the postmark was Callao! He tore open the
envelope, and for the next few moments forgot everything--his business
devotion, his lofty purpose, even his solemn vow.

It read as follows:--

DEAR MR. TRENT,--I should not be writing to you now if I did not believe
that I NOW understand why you left us so abruptly on the day of the
funeral, and why you were at times so strange. You might have been a
little less hard and cold even if you knew all that you did know. But
I must write now, for I shall be in San Francisco a few days after this
reaches you, and I MUST see you and have YOUR help, for I can have no
other, as you know. You are wondering what this means, and why I am
here. I know ALL and EVERYTHING. I know HE is alive and never was dead.
I know I have no right to what I have, and never had, and I have come
here to seek him and make him take it back. I could do no other. I could
not live and do anything but that, and YOU might have known it. But I
have not found him here as I hoped I should, though perhaps it was a
foolish hope of mine, and I am coming to you to help me seek him, for
he MUST BE FOUND. You know I want to keep his and your secret, and
therefore the only one I can turn to for assistance and counsel is YOU.

You are wondering how I know what I do. Two months ago I GOT A LETTER
FROM HIM--the strangest, quaintest, and yet THE KINDEST LETTER--exactly
like himself and the way he used to talk! He had just heard of his
brother's death, and congratulated me on coming into the property, and
said he was now perfectly happy, and should KEEP DEAD, and never, never
come to life again; that he never thought things would turn out as
splendidly as they had--for Sir William MIGHT have had an heir--and that
now he should REALLY DIE HAPPY. He said something about everything being
legally right, and that I could do what I liked with the property. As
if THAT would satisfy me! Yet it was