and then a mist swam before his eyes, the room reeled round, and he felt himself grasped by the strong arms of the inspector and A 56. When he recovered he was lying upon a bed, and the inspector and policeman were standing by him. His shirt was open and wet, and a glass of brandy was upon a table near. As soon as they saw that he was reviving they raised him up, and held the spirits to his lips. In a few minutes he was able to sit up. “Do you feel better now, sir?” “Yes,” he said, “I am better now.” In a short time he was able to walk. “Before you go, sir,” the inspector said, “I must ask you if you identify the body you have seen as being that of your daughter?” “I do not,” Stephen Walker said firmly. “It may be; I do not know; God alone can answer. Her hair is of the same colour, but that is not sufficient for me to say. Please put down that I do not identify the body.” This denial upon Stephen Walkers part was in obedience to a suggestion which A 56 had thrown out upon their way down. This, although he had at the time made no reply, and had not apparently even heard it, now recurred to him. The Policeman had said,— “Unless you are sure, Mr. Walker, quite sure, don't swear to it, else the name might get into the paper, and be put into the registries, and come out at the coroner's inquest, and all sorts of painful inquiries would be made. Don't you identify, Mr. Walker, unless you are quite certain.” “At the same time,” Stephen Walker continued to the inspector, “although I do not recognise the body, it is possible that it may be hers, and I should wish to pay the funeral expenses. I should not like her to lie in a parish grave.” “The coroner and jury will see it this afternoon,” the inspector said, quite understanding Stephen Walker's feelings, “and I will tell them that the body is not identified. Of course an open verdict will be found, and I will speak to the parish people; they will offer no objection to the expenses being saved. I shall go off duty this afternoon myself, and if you like, sir, will make all the necessary arrangements for you. The funeral must take place to-morrow morning.” “Thank you very much,” Stephen Walker said, “you are very good. I will be down here at ten o'clock.” CHAPTER XI. STEPHEN WALKER DOES HIS WORST.