ding the way. In descending to the meads the
streams perplexed him a little, some of the old foot-bridges having been
removed; but he ultimately got across the larger water-courses, and
pushed on to the village, avoiding her residence for the moment, lest she
should encounter him, and think he had not respected the time of her
appointment.

He found his way to the churchyard, and first ascertained where lay the
two relations he had left alive at his departure; then he observed the
gravestones of other inhabitants with whom he had been well acquainted,
till by degrees he seemed to be in the society of all the elder Froom-
Everard population, as he had known the place. Side by side as they had
lived in his day here were they now. They had moved house in mass.

But no tomb of Mr. Bellston was visible, though, as he had lived at the
manor-house, it would have been natural to find it here. In truth
Nicholas was more anxious to discover that than anything, being curious
to know how long he had been dead. Seeing from the glimmer of a light in
the church that somebody was there cleaning for Sunday he entered, and
looked round upon the walls as well as he could. But there was no
monument to her husband, though one had been erected to the Squire.

Nicholas addressed the young man who was sweeping. 'I don't see any
monument or tomb to the late Mr. Bellston?'

'O no, sir; you won't see that,' said the young man drily.

'Why, pray?'

'Because he's not buried here. He's not Christian-buried anywhere, as
far as we know. In short, perhaps he's not buried at all; and between
ourselves, perhaps he's alive.'

Nicholas sank an inch shorter. 'Ah,' he answered.

'Then you don't know the peculiar circumstances, sir?'

'I am a stranger here--as to late years.'

'Mr. Bellston was a traveller--an explorer--it was his calling; you may
have heard his name as such?'

'I remember.' Nicholas recalled the fact that this very bent of Mr.
Bellston's was the incentive to his own roaming.

'Well, when he married he came and lived here with his wife and his
wife's father, and said he would travel no more. But after a time he got
weary of biding quiet here, and weary of her--he was not a good husband
to the young lady by any means--and he betook himself again to his old
trick of roving--with her money. Away he went, quite out of the realm of
human foot, into the bowels of Asia, and never was heard of more. He was
murdered, it is