The man retired without a word; for he saw by Captain Bradshaw’s face that anything he could say would only make matters worse. He went down-stairs in a state of great despondency, for he was much attached to his master. Late in the evening he was taken up to bed in a state of maudlin intoxication—for the first time since he had been in Captain Bradshaw’s service—and with many entreaties that they would only bring that little beggar here, and see what he’d give him. There was a silence after he had left the room. “The whole mystery is cleared up, you see,” Prescott said. “Don’t talk about it,” Alice Heathcote remarked; “it is too shocking and unnatural.” “I must go out,” Captain Bradshaw said. “If I stop here and can’t thrash some one, I shall have a fit. I must walk it off. Mr. Prescott, please amuse my niece, I shall be back by dinner time.” And so he went out; and anyone who saw him as he paced up and down the esplanade with the most rapid steps, striking with his cane viciously at every post he passed, must have come to the conclusion that he was a terribly excitable old gentleman indeed. There was a little silence after Captain Bradshaw had left, and then Alice Heathcote said, “Now, Mr. Prescott, I want you to tell me all about Frank and his wife; you are aware I know nothing whatever of their life for the last three years. I only know the Bank failed, and poor Frank lost all his money, and that they went down into Yorkshire on a railroad. Please tell me all about them.” Prescott told all the story; how happy they had been together, and how well they had borne the loss of their fortune; and how brave and hopeful and true Frank’s wife had been. “Dear Katie; I shall love her so much,” Alice said. “How happy Frank has been in having such a brave heart to stand by his side in his misfortune. How proud he must be of her.” “Yes,” Prescott said; “his wife is indeed one in a thousand, Miss Heathcote. Frank has been a very lucky man, in spite of his troubles.” “This quite reminds me of old times, Mr. Prescott, when you were a boy at Westminster; Frank’s faithful Achates, as he used to call you.” “Yes; that’s a long time back now, Miss Heathcote; you used to call me Prescott in those days.” “Ah, I was a little girl in those days, Mr. Prescott, with short frocks, and a small development of respect. There is six o’clock striking; I must go up and dress for dinner.” Prescott sat quiet for some time. It was a long time back. Twelve years; and he had loved her ever since; might he yet hope to win this great prize some day? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XV RECONCILED.