I fink!"

An agitated nurse swooped down at this crucial moment and recovered that
which she had lost, leaving the man laughing aloud to the astonishment of
all near him.

_Laugh_! Why he had not laughed since he had left Mortehoe Church,
neither had he smiled at any time upon the boat, or upon anybody except
the children; and now he laughed, all on account of an atrocious scrawl
on many sheets of thin paper which he started once more to read.

"I hope," ran the scrawl of the man for whom Cuxson had fagged at Harrow,
"that this catches you at Port Said, because"--followed a badly expressed
bit of business. "London's had the shock of many seasons, by the way.
You know that old brute, Pickled Walnuts, well I won't say anything about
the old scallawag because he's dead. Well! he married the other day,
you'd sailed I think, I didn't go to the wedding. Did you know Susan,
old Hetth, V.C.'s sister by marriage--up to her eyes in debt--sold her
niece to pay them, I suppose, to the old millionaire--wonder what hold
she had on the girl.

"Anyway they went off somewhere in Devon for the honeymoon, God help her.
It seems that she had had an accident the night before, or something, and
fainted, or something, directly after dinner--the wedding dinner, I mean.
Did you ever learn composition on the Hill? I _didn't_!

"The woman who looks after the cottage put Lady Hickle to bed and tucked
her up; placed a bottle of port in--all came out at the inquest--old
Hickle's room, and left the house. Next thing, about two o'clock in the
morning, a shepherd or something saw a blaze and went to look. Cottage
on fire, old Hickle burnt to a cinder, and the girl hauled out of bed
just in time, gibbering in French or something in panic I suppose.

"The charwoman thinks the curtains caught fire in the candle, and that
the port had made the old man sleep heavily and that he was suffocated by
the smoke.

"Full moon, too. What a sight it must have been! Place burned to the
ground.

"I believe Lady Hickle is quite a girl and very beautiful--and is
starting on a tour round the world or something--she'll get most of his
millions, I believe. By the way, who _do_ you think have fixed it up.
Dear old Bumble and Diana Lytham. Heaven be good to him. Your turn
next, old boy! Well she'll be darned lucky who gets you, see how well I
trained you, d'you remember, etc., etc."

The man sat still for some long time, then suddenly sprang to his