own ear, and gently
but peremptorily declined telling, at least until some future time, the
substance of his father's communication.

Charles now felt it necessary to see his father, for the purpose of
letting him know the substance of the letter respecting "mademoiselle"
and the late Sir Wynston which had reached him. Accordingly, he
proceeded, accompanied by Doctor Danvers, on the next morning, to the
hotel where Marston had intimated his intention of passing the night.

On their inquiring for him in the hall, the porter appeared much
perplexed and disturbed, and as they pressed him with questions, his
answers became conflicting and mysterious. Mr. Marston was there--he had
slept there last night; he could not say whether or not he was then in
the house; but he knew that no one could be admitted to see him. He
would, if the gentlemen wished it, send their cards to (not Mr. Marston,
but) the proprietor. And, finally, he concluded by begging that they
would themselves see "the proprietor," and dispatched a waiter to apprise
him of the circumstances of the visit. There was something odd and even
sinister in all this, which, along with the whispering and the curious
glances of the waiters, who happened to hear the errand on which they
came, inspired the two companions with vague misgivings, which they did
not care mutually to disclose.

In a few moments they were shown into a small sitting room up stairs,
where the proprietor, a fussy little gentleman, and apparently very
uneasy and frightened, received them.

"We have called here to see Mr. Marston," said Doctor Danvers, "and the
porter has referred us to you."

"Yes, sir, exactly--precisely so," answered the little man, fidgeting
excessively, and as it seemed, growing paler every instant; "but--but, in
fact, sir, there is, there has been--in short, have you not heard of
the--the accident?"

He wound up with a prodigious effort, and wiped his forehead when
he had done.

"Pray, sir, be explicit: we are near friends of Mr. Marston; in fact,
sir, this is his son," said Doctor Danvers, pointing to Charles Marston;
"and we are both uneasy at the reserve with which our inquiries have been
met. Do, I entreat of you, say what has happened?"

"Why--why," hesitated the man, "I really--I would not for five
hundred pounds it had happened in my house. The--the unhappy
gentleman has, in short--"

He glanced at Charles, as if afraid of the effect of the disclosure he
was on