“Well,” pursued Mr. Bradfield, “there’s only one thing for you to do now; you must make your way to Melbourne--I will supply the funds--and prosecute your inquiries there. In the meantime, I will draw up a will, which you shall see, making you all the reparation in my power.” “Thank you,” said the young man, still coldly. “I want justice, not benevolence. I can earn enough for myself.” “But you might marry,” suggested John. A softer look came over the young man’s face. After a pause of some minutes’ duration, he said: “I will consider what you have said, Mr. Bradfield. In the meantime, I will not intrude upon you any longer. But I should like, before I go, to see Miss Abercarne for a few minutes if,” he added in a gentle tone, “she will see me.” “Unluckily,” said John, “she’s still in London, where she has been staying with some friends of her mother’s for the last three months. But if you’ll give me your address, I will get Mrs. Abercarne’s permission to send you her daughter’s.” The young man moved at once towards the door. “Thank you,” said he. “I will send you my address then. And I will let you hear from me again.” “You won’t stay--to dinner?” asked Mr. Bradfield, feeling tolerably secure of his answer. “No, thank you. There is a train back to town in about an hour. Good afternoon.” And he left the room without another word. Mr. Bradfield followed him out, and saw him go through the iron gate at the end of the drive, then he went back into the study, and passed his hand with a gesture of relief across his forehead. “Saved!” muttered he. “Safe for a few hours. What must be the next move?” CHAPTER XXXIII. A LOVE SCENE. Although Mr. Bradfield kept close watch from the study window, and saw Gilbert Wryde’s son safely out of the grounds, he was no more a match than other astute middle-aged persons have been for the wiles of a pair of lovers. Richard Wryde, although he had let himself be “talked over” by Mr. Bradfield, was not quite so simple as his guardian supposed. Before he was out of the house, therefore, it had occurred to him to doubt whether Mr. Bradfield’s information about Chris were correct. It was, at any rate, worth while, he thought, to make the tour of the eastern end of the grounds, on the outer side of the wall, and then to saunter past the sea-front of the mansion, keeping a careful eye on the windows. And when he was within sight of the window of the Chinese room, he was rewarded for his perspicacity by the sight of Chris, engaged in her favourite occupation of looking out at the sea. She saw him in a moment, without his having to exert himself to attract her attention. He saw her spring up, clasping her hands. And he knew that all he had to do was to wait for her to come to him.