is nose was visible. Not satisfied, however, with his
disguise, he climbed a fence and struck into a bypath, which enabled him
to avoid the village altogether.

Setting off at a quick pace, he soon regained the highroad beyond the
village, and did not pause until he came to a large iron gate which
opened into the shrubbery in front of a handsome villa. He went
straight up to the front door and rang the bell.

Of course, at such an hour, the family had retired to rest, and it is
probable that in ordinary circumstances Gaff would have had to wait a
considerable time before an answer should have been given to his
summons. But on this night, the only son and heir of the family,
Kenneth by name, knowing that wrecks were likely to occur on the coast,
and being of a bold, romantic, restless disposition, had mounted his
horse and ridden away, accompanied by his groom, in search of adventure.

The housekeeper of the family, usually styled Mrs Niven, being
devotedly attached to this son and heir, had resolved to sit up all
night and await his return. Mrs Niven had prophesied confidently for
the previous ten years, that "Master Kenneth was certain to be drownded
sooner or later, if 'e didn't come to die before;" and being fully
persuaded of the truth of her prophetic powers, she conscientiously
waited for and expected the fulfilment of her own prophecy.

At the moment when Gaff rang the bell she was awaiting it in a chair in
front of a good fire, with her feet on the fender and sound asleep. It
would be more correct to say that Mrs Niven was in a state of mixed
sleep and suffocation, for her head hung over the back of the chair,
and, being very stout, there was only just sufficient opening in the
wind-pipe to permit of her breath passing stertorously through her
wide-open mouth.

The first summons passed unheard; the second caused Mrs Niven to open
her eyes and shut her mouth, but she could not rise by reason of a crick
in her neck. An angry shout, however, of "why don't you answer the
bell?" from the master of the family, caused her to make a violent
struggle, plunge her head into her lap, by way of counteracting the
crick, rush up-stairs, and fling open the door.

"I know'd it," exclaimed Mrs Niven wildly, on beholding a wet sailor
with a bundle in his arms; "I always said he would be--goodness me! it's
only his trunk," she added in horror, on observing that the bundle was a
rough jacket without head or legs!

"Cla