en said (I forget if in my hearing),
that the days of chivalry were past. Here was an opportunity to
disprove it and declare that the spirit of their ancestors survived
and animated the Cornishmen of to-day. (A Voice--"How about the
Millennium?") He would pass over that interruption with the contempt
it deserved. They were not met to bandy personalities, but as
citizens united in the face of calamity by affection for their common
borough. As stars upon the night, as the gold coins on their Duchy's
sable shield, so might their free-will offerings spell hope upon the
dark ground of present desolation. He, for his part, was ready to
subscribe one guinea--yes, and more if necessary.

Although the Chairman had deprecated cheering, the audience broke
into loud applause as the Vicar resumed his seat. The town had taken
fire. Resolving itself into Committee, the meeting then and there
nominated fifty collectors, all volunteers. Nor did the movement end
here. Under the leadership of Miss Pescod the ladies of Troy devoted
each a favourite article of personal adornment to be coined at need
into money for the Major's redemption. (I myself possess a brooch
which, left by my great-grandmother to her daughter upon this
condition, to this day is known in the family as the Major's Cameo.)
In six days the guarantee fund ran up to eleven hundred pounds, of
which at least one-third might be accounted good money. In Troy we
allow, by habit, some margin for enthusiasm.

A new placard was issued at once, and the reward increased to one
hundred and fifty pounds.

For ten days this handsome offer evoked no more response than the
previous one. For ten days yet all trace of the Major vanished at
the edge of Mr. Basket's fish-pond.

"It would almost seem," said Miss Sally Tregentil, discussing the
mystery for the hundredth time with Miss Pescod, "as if from that
fatal brink he had soared into the regions of the unknown and scaled,
as the expression goes, the empyrean."

"If that's the case," remarked Miss Pescod practically, "twice the
money won't bring him back."

On the 2nd of July the Chief Constable wrote to Dr. Hansombody that
he had discovered a clue. A doorkeeper of the Theatre Royal reported
(and was corroborated by the man in charge of the ticket-office) that
on the night of May 2nd, at about 10.30, a rough-looking fellow had
presented himself, dripping-wet, at the doors and demanded, in a
state of agitation, apparen