The girl’s disappearance had been a source of considerable disquietude to Kester for several days, but as time passed on without bringing any sign of her, or any information as to where she was, his uneasiness gradually wore itself away, till he came at last to persuade himself that from that quarter at least there was no possible danger to be apprehended. But had it not been for another and a much more potent reason, Kester St. George would certainly not have spent the eighth of May at Park Newton, not even though he could not have left it till the seventh, and had been compelled to come back to it on the ninth. He would have gone somewhere—anywhere if only for a dozen hours—if only from sunset till sunrise, had it in anyway been possible for him to do so. But it so happened that it was not possible for him to do so. On the fifth he received a letter from his uncle, which astonished him very much. General St. George was still staying at Salisbury with his sick friend, Major Beauchamp. He wrote as under: “All being well, I shall be back at Park Newton on the eighth instant, but for a few hours only. I don’t know whether your cousin Richard has told you that he is tired of England, and has decided upon going out to New Zealand, and that he has persuaded me to go with him.” “The old fool! To think of going to New Zealand at his time of life!” muttered Kester. “Of course, it’s Master Richard’s dodge to take him with him, so as to make sure of his money when he dies. Well, if I can only get rid of the young one, the old one may go with him, and welcome.” Then he went on with his uncle’s letter. “I shall reach Park Newton on the eighth, about four P.M., when I hope to spend the evening with you. It will be my last evening at the old place, and there are several things I wish to talk to you about. We—that is, Richard and I, leave by the eight o’clock train next morning direct for Gravesend, where the ship will be waiting for us. By this day next week, I shall have bidden a final farewell to dear Old England.” “So deucedly sudden. I hardly know what to make of it,” said Kester, as he folded up the letter. “I would give much if it was any other day than the eighth. I never thought to spend that day here. But there’s no help for it. Well, it will be better to spend it in company than to spend it here alone. Nothing could have persuaded me to do that.” “Yes, if the old boy goes to the other side of the world, there’s no chance of any of his money coming to me,” he said to himself later on. “That scowling cousin of mine will come in for the lot. Poor devil! I don’t suppose he’s got enough of his own to pay his passage out. I wouldn’t mind giving a thousand pounds myself to be rid of him for ever.”