He knew which to lift, for through the bare old cloth the human form could plainly be distinguished. It was not much to do to raise that cloth at the end for a brief moment. He could recognise Lionel in an instant; and nerving himself once more, he stooped hastily, raised the covering, and dropped it again, to mutter--nay, to exclaim loudly, with a fervour of tone that bespoke the intensity of the speaker's feelings--"Thank God!" Harry turned hastily away, and forced open the door to admit the light of day, and to confront the bearer of the tidings and his mate; for his glance had been but a momentary one. He had stood at the back, as he raised the sail, and in that moment's glance he had seen no horrors-- none of the distortions left sometimes by a fearful death; he had seen but one thing, and that was-- The man's hair was black! Volume 3, Chapter VI. RIVER-SIDE HOPES. Harry Clayton hurriedly made his way back to the chambers, where he found Sir Francis hastily walking up and down the room. "Ah! you are back!" he said, impatiently. "I fell asleep for quite two hours, and then I should have come after you, only the address the man gave had quite glided from my memory. It seems, Clayton, as if my head were so full of this one trouble that it will hold nothing else. But what news?" "None, sir," said Harry, quietly. "It was, thank Heaven, a mistake." "I don't know, Clayton--I don't know. This suspense is almost more agonising than the knowledge that my poor boy had really been found dead. I feel, at times, that I cannot bear it much longer. You saw this--this--" "Yes, sir; I saw the body of some poor creature lying in a boat-shed; but it was not the one we seek." "Are you sure? You were not mistaken? You really did look to make sure?" Harry smiled faintly, as he thought of his irresolution, and the way in which he had held back; and then he answered, calmly-- "Yes, Sir Francis; I made perfectly sure." It was pitiful to see the old man's trouble--the constant agitation, the anxious gaze, the nervous restless motion of his hands--as he turned over some communication--some letter professing to give information respecting a young man in some far-off part of England or Wales--every despatch exciting hopes that were soon found to be perfectly baseless. At length, after much persuasion, Sir Francis agreed to lie down, on the condition that Clayton would stay, ready to answer any communication that might arrive. "You know, my dear boy, these things always will arrive when we are absent," he said, pitifully. "Trust me, Sir Francis," was the reply. "I am indeed doing everything possible to lead to a discovery." The old man did not trust himself to speak; but wringing Harry's hand, he despairingly left the room.