In due time the executors were put in possession of Calembour's story, and, made wiser by former mistakes, they gave no signs of incredulity to the florid narrator's wildest flight by which to enhance the value of his services, but treated him as a gentleman; and even agreed in the readiest manner to reward his kindness by the gift of a thousand pounds, as soon as they should obtain St. Udo Brand's consent. As this involved the speedy unearthing of that heroic treasure, the chevalier became proportionally eager for them to start on their journey of recovery. Mr. Emersham, with almost a hideous knowledge of how deceitful and desperately wicked the human heart can be, refused to give up his case against Roland Mortlake for the murder of St. Udo Brand, until it was proved beyond all doubt that the latter still lived. One part of the chevalier's story was found to be quite true, namely, the fact of Roland Mortlake's arrest as a runaway convict, at Canterbury; and presently the rest of his story began to crop out in the general press, and became the theme of conversation at every fireside throughout the country; and the glad _furor_ that got up among the tenants of Seven-Oak Waaste, and the farmers, and the resident gentry, and the houses of rank, sounded in the ears of Margaret Walsingham, and became to her sweet as music. A fortnight after the chevalier's first appearance at the castle, Miss Walsingham, accompanied by Davenport and the Frenchman, took passage at Liverpool for New York. CHAPTER XXVI. UNEXPECTED MEETING. Margaret Walsingham kept her own state-room so exclusively that the passengers, many of whom had heard of the heroine of Castle Brand, had no opportunity of meeting her; and to all their overtures she responded with the same timid reserve, until it became a sort of ambition with the ladies to become the friends of so retiring a creature. Her state-room became a morning resort of such of the fair dames as were impervious to sea-sickness; all kind, officious, and eager to be considered her intimates. They found nothing very singular, however, in the quiet, sweet-faced girl to furnish an index of that bravery of which she had become celebrated, but they all agreed that they felt more charmed by her modesty and gentleness of demeanor than if she had the dash of an Amazonian queen. There was one young lady who came in frequently with a talkative old dowager, and was wont to regard Margaret with keen but silent interest. This young person, who was called "Dora dear," by old Mrs. de Courcy, and "Lady Dora," by the other ladies, was a peculiarly blooming, black-haired young damsel, whose eyes black as sloes, examined Margaret for several interviews with an eager and scarcely friendly scrutiny. But in the fourth visit Lady Dora threw off her reserve, and constituted herself Margaret's chosen friend.