He again rose to fetch Louisa's desk, and placing it on the table before him, eagerly examined its contents. Letters from friends, a banker's book, a cheque for seventy-four pounds which he had given her at the time of the transfer of her ready cash to his name, about fifty pounds in ready money, and at last a little packet of his own letters written before their marriage, carefully and neatly tied together, several little articles of jewellery, and others of no importance, but no will. Arthur Franklyn as he made this discovery knew that all hope of his late wife's fortune was lost to him, unless she had left a will with her lawyers in Melbourne, and this appeared another urgent reason why he should return thither. The money he had found, with the balance of a few hundreds still lying at the Australian bank in London, would pay his passage, and help him to carry out his plans. He replaced the various articles in the desk excepting the jewels and the money; her watch and chain he had left at his father-in-law's for Clara. But as he placed his hand on the packet of his own letters a pang of remorse shot through his heart, which almost threatened him with another attack of conscience. He hastily drew the flask from his pocket, and seizing a wineglass which stood on the sideboard filled it nearly to the brim with the so often fatal stimulant, and drank it off. For a time it produced a false courage which enabled him to finish his search of the desk; and after closing and locking it he remained at the table and proceeded to sketch out his future movements, made a list of the boxes to be sent next day to Kilburn, and also of the articles he wished to take with him on his voyage. By this time the twilight of a June evening was fading into night; Arthur looked at his watch and rang the bell, it was nearly half-past nine. The landlady herself appeared with what she termed a nice little supper, to tempt Mr. Franklyn's appetite. She lighted the gas and uncovered the tray for his inspection, but the supper failed to produce the result she expected. Mr. Franklyn could eat nothing but a biscuit, and she left the room in great distress of mind to expatiate in the kitchen on the dreadful event which had "so altered the gentleman upstairs and quite took away his appetite."