ce door.

Both men looked up; Richards with a sigh of relief, Keane with gray face
and flashing eyes.

Enter a tall, good-looking clerk, hat in one hand, a bundle of papers in
the other. He was a stranger to Keane.

"_Re_ the mortgage on estate of General Grant Mackenzie, I've come to
pay it off."

Old Keane grew grayer and grayer in face, and foam appeared on his lips.
He could not speak.

Richards slipped out and away.

He went out, and went down the street, positively laughing aloud, so
that people turned smilingly round to look after him.

And to pay this mortgage off, the honest fellow had put down the bulk
of his fortune, and borrowed thousands besides. The property of Grantley
Hall was now virtually his; but _he_ would not foreclose, and the
Mackenzies should know nothing about it, for a time at all events.

Richards had played his first card, and it was a strong one.

He went straight off now to see "his baby," and to continue the fairy
story which he had commenced at Grantley Hall.

He saw some one else--he saw Mary. Mary was his first lieutenant. It was
she who summoned him that evening at the Hall when he entered the room
just as Sir Digby was about to propose.

A good girl, Mary, and devoted to her "missus." She could keep a secret,
too, and she could keep Richards posted, lest Sir Digby should steal a
march upon them.

But time had rolled on, as we know. There were wars and rumours of wars,
disaffection at home and threatened revolution, and last, but not least,
as far as our story goes, Sir Digby had been ill, and at the point of
death. Keane also had been abroad for his health, and with him his
daughter, so that the evil day was postponed.

Evil days have a disagreeable habit of coming, nevertheless, in spite of
all we can do.

* * * * *

Slowly and sadly, with rent rigging and battered hull, the _Tonneraire_
staggered home. She is in Plymouth Sound at last. Letters and papers
come off to the ship. Jack Mackenzie, sitting alone by his open port,
turns eagerly to a recent copy of the _Times_. Almost the first notice
that attracts his attention runs thus: "Marriage of Sir Digby Auld and
Miss Gertrude"--he sees no more. His head swims. The wind seizes the
paper, as if in pity, and carries it far astern of the ship.

He feels utterly crushed and broken, and head and hands droop helplessly
on the table before him.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"IT'S ALL UP, MR. R