“The girl remained for a long time in a state of mental torpor, as though her brain had been affected by disease, but the journey here had a beneficial effect on her, and during her stay she has steadily improved. About a week ago Langhetti ventured to ask her all about herself. “What will you say when I tell you that she is the daughter of poor Ralph Brandon, of Brandon Hall, your father’s friend, whose wretched fate has made us all so miserable. You know nothing of this, of course; but where was Thornton? Why did not he do something to prevent this horror, this unutterable calamity? Good God! what suffering there is in this world! “Now, Courtenay, I come to the point. This poor Edith Brandon, still half-dead from her grief, has been able to tell us that she has still a relative living. Her eldest brother Louis went to Australia many years ago. A few weeks before her father’s death he wrote to his son telling him everything, and imploring him to come home. She thinks that her brother must be in England by this time. “I want you to hunt up Louis Brandon. Spare no trouble. In the name of God, and by the memory of your father, whose most intimate friend was this poor old Brandon, I entreat you to search after Louis Brandon till you find him, and let him know the fate of his friends. I think if she could see him the joy of meeting one relative would restore her to health. “My boy, I know I have said enough. Your own heart will impel you to do all that can be done for the sake of this poor young girl. You can find out the best ways of learning information. You had better go up at once to London and make arrangements for finding Brandon. Write me soon, and let me know. “Your affectionate uncle, “HENRY DESPARD.” Despard read this letter over and over. Then he put it in his pocket, and walked up and down the room in deep thought. Then he took out Mrs. Thornton’s note and studied it for a long time. So the hours passed away, until at length two o’clock came and he set out for Thornton Grange. On entering the drawing-room, Mrs. Thornton was there. “So you have come at last,” said she, as they shook hands. “As if I would not come ten times a day if I could,” was the answer, in an impetuous voice. “Still there is no reason why you should persistently avoid the Grange.” “What would you say if I followed my own impulse, and came here every day?” “I would say, Good-morning, Sir. Still, now that you are here, you must stay.” “I will stay, whether I must or not.” “Have you recovered from the effect of my prayer-book yet?” “No, nor ever will I. You brought the same one last Sunday.” “That was in order to weaken the effect. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know.” “Then all I can say is, that contempt has very extraordinary manifestations. Among other strange things, it makes me cover my paper with that pattern when I ought to be writing on the Mosaic Economy.” “Cosmogony, you mean.” “Well, then, Cosmogony.”