To-day this reckless genius was something less than his accustomed self. The fierce black eyes were shadowed by a settled sadness of expression, and the rollicking swagger of the Bohemian was changed to an unwonted quietness of gait and gesture. He stood for a few moments near the doorway, contemplating his nephew. The young man looked up suddenly and stretched out his hands. “Dear Uncle Dan!” he cried, grasping the outstretched hands of his visitor. The fierce grip of his uncle’s muscular fingers was the only direct expression of sympathy which he received from that gentleman. The men understood each other too well for there to be need of many words between them. Daniel looked at the open desk. “You have been examining your mother’s papers,” he said, in a low voice. “Have you discovered anything?” “More than enough, and yet not half what I must know, sooner or later. I have never asked you any questions, Uncle Dan. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But now--now that she is gone----” “I understand you, dear boy. I know little enough myself (for I never could find it in my heart to question her, God bless her!), but you have a right to know that little; and if you can put the story together out of anything you have found there--” said Daniel, pointing to the desk. “I understand the story--I want to know the name of the man!” cried Eustace, passionately. “I have wanted to know that for the last twenty years,” answered Daniel. “Then you can tell me nothing?” “I can tell you very little. When I left home to be articled to a brace of London lawyers, I left the brightest and loveliest creature that ever a man was proud to call his sister. We were the two only children of comfortable tradespeople in a quiet little watering-place, you know, Eustace. We lived in a square, brick-built house, facing the sea. My father kept a circulating-library and reading-room, and my mother did something in the millinery line. Between them both they made a very comfortable income. Bayham was a sleepy, out-of-the-world place, in which a tradesman who once manages to establish himself generally enjoys a snug monopoly. I know that we were very well off, and that we were people of importance in our way. My sister was the prettiest girl in Bayham. She faded so early, became so complete a wreck, that you can scarcely imagine what a lovely creature she was in those days. She was ashamed of the notice her beauty drew upon her, and she had a pretty, childish shyness of manner which made her all the more charming. A great, hulking hobbledehoy of eighteen seldom knows what beauty is; but I knew that my sister was lovely, and I admired and loved her. I used to boast of her to my fellow-clerks, I remember, and made myself obnoxious by turning up my uncultivated nose at their sisters. I was so proud of our little Cely.” He stopped and shaded his eyes with his hands for some minutes, while Eustace waited impatiently.