nds of Woodbury Manor
was due to the fact that the Prince happened to be staying there. In a
state of irresponsibility, partly to be explained by intoxication, partly
by the impulse of his fixed idea, he must have gone rambling in the dark
round the Manor, and there, by accident, have fallen into the water. No
clearer hypothesis resulted from the legal inquiry, and with this all
concerned had perforce to be satisfied. Mr. Fouracres was buried, and, on
the day after the funeral, his sister returned to London. She showed no
interest whatever in her niece, who, equally independent, asked neither
counsel nor help.

Mr. Ruddiman and his hostess were alone together at the Pig and Whistle.
The situation had a certain awkwardness. Familiars of the inn--country-folk
of the immediate neighbourhood--of course began to comment on the state of
things, joking among themselves about Mr. Ruddiman's activity behind the
bar. The under-master himself was in an uneasy frame of mind. When Miss
Fouracres' aunt had gone, he paced for an hour or two about the garden; the
hostess was serving cyclists. At length the familiar voice called to him.

'Will you have your dinner, Mr. Ruddiman?'

He went in, and, before entering the parlour, stood looking at a cask of
ale which had been tilted forward.

'We must tap the new cask,' he remarked.

'Yes, sir, I suppose we must,' replied his hostess, half absently.

'I'll do it at once. Some more cyclists might come.'

For the rest of the day they saw very little of each other. Mr. Ruddiman
rambled musing. When he came at the usual hour to supper, guests were
occupying the hostess. Having eaten, he went out to smoke his pipe in the
garden, and lingered there--it being a fine, warm night--till after ten
o'clock. Miss Fouracres' voice aroused him from a fit of abstraction.

'I've just locked up, sir.'

'Ah! Yes. It's late.'

They stood a few paces apart. Mr. Ruddiman had one hand in his waistcoat
pocket, the other behind his back; Miss Fouracres was fingering her chin.

'I've been wondering,' said the under-master in a diffident voice, 'how
you'll manage all alone, Miss Fouracres.'

'Well, sir,' was the equally diffident reply, 'I've been wondering too.'

'It won't be easy to manage the Pig and Whistle all alone.'

'I'm afraid not, sir.'

'Besides, you couldn't live here in absolute solitude. It wouldn't be
safe.'

'I shouldn't quite like it, sir.'

'But I'm sure you wouldn't like to leave