e,--and forget me."

She turned away at the last word, and passed into an inner room. Charles
stood for an instant or two irresolute, and then walked slowly away.

CHAPTER IV. FOUND OUT.

Quackinboss and the Laytons came back in due time to England, and
at once hastened to London. They had traced Winthrop and Trover at
Liverpool, and heard of their having left for town, and thither they
followed them in all eagerness. The pursuit had now become a chase, with
all its varying incidents of good or bad fortune. Each took his allotted
part, going out of a morning on his especial beat, and returning late of
an evening to report his success or failure.

Quackinboss frequented all the well-known haunts of his countrymen,
hoping to chance upon some one who had seen Winthrop, or could give
tidings of him. Old Layton--the doctor, as we shall for the remainder
of our brief space call him--was more practical. He made searches for
Hawke's will at Doctors' Commons, and found the transcript of a brief
document irregularly drawn, and disposing of a few thousand pounds, but
not making mention of any American property. He next addressed himself
to that world-known force, so celebrated in all the detection of crime;
he described the men he sought for, and offered rewards for their
discovery, carefully protesting the while that nothing but a vague
suspicion attached to them.

As for Alfred, he tried to take his share in what had such interest
for the others. He made careful notes of the points assigned to him for
investigation; he learned names and addresses, and references to no
end; he labored hard to imbue himself with the zeal of the others,
but it would not do. All his thoughts, hopes, and wishes had another
direction, and he longed impatiently for an opportunity to make his
escape from them, and set out for Italy and discover Clara. His only
clew to her was through Stocmar; but that gentleman was abroad, and not
expected for some days in London. Little did the doctor or Quackinboss
suspect that Alfred's first call on every morning was at the private
entrance of the Regent's Theatre, and his daily question as invariably
the same demand, "When do you expect Mr. Stocmar in town?"

Poor fellow! he was only bored by that tiresome search, and hated every
man, woman, and child concerned in the dismal history; and yet no other
subject was ever discussed, no other theme brought up amongst them.
In vain Alfred tried to turn the conv