dead friend was in no hazard from Vendale's
lips; but just as his friend had died of its weight, so did he in his
lighter succession feel the burden of the trust, and the obligation to
follow any clue, however obscure. He rapidly asked himself, would he
like this man to be the real Wilding? No. Argue down his mistrust as he
might, he was unwilling to put such a substitute in the place of his late
guileless, outspoken childlike partner. He rapidly asked himself, would
he like this man to be rich? No. He had more power than enough over
Marguerite as it was, and wealth might invest him with more. Would he
like this man to be Marguerite's Guardian, and yet proved to stand in no
degree of relationship towards her, however disconnected and distant? No.
But these were not considerations to come between him and fidelity to the
dead. Let him see to it that they passed him with no other notice than
the knowledge that they _had_ passed him, and left him bent on the
discharge of a solemn duty. And he did see to it, so soon that he
followed his companion with ungrudging eyes, while he still paced the
room; that companion, whom he supposed to be moodily reflecting on his
own birth, and not on another man's--least of all what man's--violent
Death.

The road in advance from Basle to Neuchatel was better than had been
represented. The latest weather had done it good. Drivers, both of
horses and mules, had come in that evening after dark, and had reported
nothing more difficult to be overcome than trials of patience, harness,
wheels, axles, and whipcord. A bargain was soon struck for a carriage
and horses, to take them on in the morning, and to start before daylight.

"Do you lock your door at night when travelling?" asked Obenreizer,
standing warming his hands by the wood fire in Vendale's chamber, before
going to his own.

"Not I. I sleep too soundly."

"You are so sound a sleeper?" he retorted, with an admiring look. "What
a blessing!"

"Anything but a blessing to the rest of the house," rejoined Vendale, "if
I had to be knocked up in the morning from the outside of my bedroom
door."

"I, too," said Obenreizer, "leave open my room. But let me advise you,
as a Swiss who knows: always, when you travel in my country, put your
papers--and, of course, your money--under your pillow. Always the same
place."

"You are not complimentary to your countrymen," laughed Vendale.

"My countrymen," said Obenreizer, with th