"(Signed), F."

"F." I recognized easily enough as the initial letter of Monsieur
Foulon's name, the second of Mr. Monkton, who had died of consumption at
Paris.

The discovery and the identification were now complete. Nothing remained
but to break the news to Alfred, and to get permission to remove the
remains in the outhouse. I began almost to doubt the evidence of my own
senses when I reflected that the apparently impracticable object with
which we had left Naples was already, by the merest chance, virtually
accomplished.

"The evidence of the paper is decisive," said I, handing it back. "There
can be no doubt that the remains in the outhouse are the remains of
which we have been in search. May I inquire if any obstacles will be
thrown in our way should the late Mr. Monkton's nephew wish to remove
his uncle's body to the family burial-place in England?"

"Where is this nephew?" asked the father superior.

"He is now awaiting my return at the town of Fondi."

"Is he in a position to prove his relationship?"

"Certainly; he has papers with him which will place it beyond a doubt."

"Let him satisfy the civil authorities of his claim, and he need expect
no obstacle to his wishes from any one here."

I was in no humor for talking a moment longer with my sour-tempered
companion than I could help. The day was wearing on me fast; and,
whether night overtook me or not, I was resolved never to stop on my
return till I got back to Fondi. Accordingly, after telling the father
superior that he might expect to hear from me again immediately, I made
my bow and hastened out of the sacristy.

At the convent gate stood my old friend with the tin snuff-box, waiting
to let me out.

"Bless you, may son," said the venerable recluse, giving me a farewell
pat on the shoulder, "come back soon to your spiritual father who
loves you, and amiably favor him with another tiny, tiny pinch of the
delectable snuff."

CHAPTER VI.

I RETURNED at the top of my speed to the village where I had left the
mules, had the animals saddled immediately, and succeeded in getting
back to Fondi a little before sunset.

While ascending the stairs of our hotel, I suffered under the most
painful uncertainty as to how I should best communicate the news of my
discovery to Alfred. If I could not succeed in preparing him properly
for my tidings, the results, with such an organization as his, might
be fatal. On opening the door of his room, I