'Well?' said Alfred absently, still gazing out of window. 'I have got a theory,' went on Granville--'no matter what; only it has nothing to say to death or drowning. It is a hopeful theory. I intend to practise it at once: in a day or two it ought to lead me to absolute certainty of one thing, one way or the other. No matter what that one thing is; I have told you what it is not. Now, I shall have to follow out my idea in town; and if I find the truth at all, I shall most likely come across it suddenly, round a corner as it were. So I have been thinking that you may as well be in town too, to be near at hand in case I am successful. If you still have a club, you might hang about there, and talk to men, and read the papers; if not---- Why do you shake your head?' 'I am not going to town any more,' said Alfred, in low, decided tones. 'If you are right, and she is not dead, she may come back--she may come back! Then I shall be here to meet her--and--and---- But you understand me, Gran?' 'Not very well,' said Granville, dryly, and with a shrug of his shoulders that was meant to shift from them all responsibility for Alfred's possible insanity. 'In your case I should prefer to be in town rather than here. However, a man judges for himself. There is one thing, however; if you stay here all day----' 'What's that?' 'The question whether you should tell the Judge and the _mater_.' 'No,' said Alfred, resolutely; 'I shall not tell them--not, that is, until the worst is known for certain. They think she is at the Barringtons'. I shall say I have heard from her. I would tell a million lies to save them the tortures of uncertainty that I am suffering, and shall suffer, till--till we know the worst. Oh, Granville!--for God's sake, find it out quickly!' 'I'll do my best--I've already told you I would,' said Granville almost savagely; and he left the room.