"My poor dear, you ar'nt strong enough for all this worrying and wearing," she observed, sympathetically. "I wish for your sake, deary, the colonel had lain quiet in his grave." Margaret drew back with a sudden storm of grief, and shut the door, Mrs. Chetwode went down stairs, sorrowfully vowing to herself that Miss Margaret would pine to death before she wore the colonel's wedding-ring. "He lies quiet enough in his shallow grave," moaned Margaret; "noble, proud St. Udo! Oh my heart; why was I doomed to be the Marplot of his life? He was so haughty in his abhorrence of low scheming--so constant in his love--so tender with his dying Vermont boys--so heroic, and so reckless of his own grand life that I love him. _I love him!_ And he is dead!" She wrung her hands and wept such tears as make the heart grow old, and the life wane early; such tears as are only rendered by a nature generous and effulgent in its love as tropical sunshine, whose revenge is self-immolating as the suttee of the Hindoo's widow. Toward ten o'clock the next morning the executors made their appearance in a gig, and betook themselves to the library. They found their troublesome ward already waiting them, with an expression of nervous defiance on her face, as if she fully expected a sound berating from each of them. Dr. Gay looked at her anxiously, and shook his head over his own thoughts. Mr. Davenport coughed sarcastically, and frowned to hide the effect which her blanched cheeks made upon him. "I'm sorry to have called you out too early to begin the search," said Margaret, bitterly. "Too early? by no means, my dear," cried the doctor, seating himself cozily near her; "it's never to early to do what's right. Now we're all ready to hear what you have got to say." "I have told you surely enough in my letter for you to act upon," she answered, "without having to say any more. What do you say of the declaration I have made as to the man's identity?" "Most startling!" said the physician, in a quiet tone, as if it was really not startling at all. "What have you to say of it?" she demanded of the lawyer, with an anxious look at his impenetrable countenance. "Consider the absurdity of your suspicions," broke in Davenport, "the childishness and impossibility of your premises. How could an imposter act out St. Udo Brand's history? How could he know Colonel Brand's most private affairs, and his friends, and write with his hand, and have the same appearance, and cheat everybody--we among the rest, who saw him when he was a boy as often as I have fingers and toes? Oh, Miss Walsingham!" "You wish me to marry Mortlake, do you?" she asked, with scorn. "For Heaven's sake don't call him that!" ejaculated Davenport. "If you call him that and he hears it, the Brand spirit will be very quiet for the first time if he doesn't end the slander in murder."