a muffled voice; his demeanor might always be relied on for
perfection--he would not once unmuffle his voice till his master was
buried.

"The landau is waiting, sir. The omnibus for Miss Driver's maid and the
luggage has gone on." Wonderful man! He spoke of "Miss Driver" as if she
had lived for years in the house.

Cartmell gave him a queer look and emitted a low chuckle as we got into
the landau, behind the big grays. Mr. Driver always drove grays, and he
liked them big, so that he could rattle up the hill to his house.

"Maid! Luggage!" muttered Cartmell. "The bus'll hold 'em, I think, with
a bit to spare! By his orders I sent her twenty pounds on Tuesday;
that's all she's had as yet. I only had time to telegraph about--the
rest."

"Interesting wire to get! But about your seeing her, Cartmell?"

In honor of the occasion Cartmell, like myself, had put on a black frock
coat and a silk hat, properly equipped with a mourning band of
respectful width. But he wore the coat with a jaunty air, and the hat
slightly but effectively cocked on one side, so that the quiet yet
ingrained horsiness of his aspect suffered little from the unwonted
attire. The confidential wink with which he now turned his plump
rubicund face toward me preserved his general harmony. With the mournful
atmosphere of Breysgate Priory, however, I could not help feeling that
my own lank jaws and more precisely poised head-gear consorted better.

"You can hold your tongue, Austin?"

"A very shrewd man has paid me four hundred a year for four years past
on that understanding."

"Then what happened at the Smalls, at Cheltenham?"

"Isn't that beginning the story at the wrong end?" I asked.

"That was where she was"--he searched for a word--"where she was
planted. She lived at three or four different places altogether, you
know."

"And the mother?"

"Mother died--vanished anyhow--early in the proceedings. Well, word came
of trouble at Cheltenham. Small, though of my own profession, was an
ass. He wrote a bleating letter--yes, he was more like a sheep,
really--to old Nick. Nick told me I must go and put it to rights. So I
went."

"Why didn't he go himself?"

"I think," said Cartmell cautiously, "that he had some kind of a feeling
against seeing the girl. Really that's the only thing that accounts for
his behavior all through."

"Did he never see her?"

"Never--since she was quite a child. So he told me. But let me finish
the story--if you