For the Captain had been sent for, sure enough, about a little business so far below his thoughts. And when he came into our garden, to thank us for all we had done towards discovery of the thief, and especially to thank me for my valiant services to his daughter, it is no exaggeration at all to say that I wished the earth would hide me from his great grey eyes. Under their kindly and yet distant gaze, I felt what a wretched little trickster I had been; and if he had looked at me for another moment, I must have told him everything, for the sake of his forgiveness. But he, unhappily for himself, if he could be unhappy about little things, measured his fellow-men by his own nature, and suspected nothing until it had been proved. And at that very moment, he caught sight of something, which absorbed him in a scientific zeal we could not follow. “A young tree dead!” he exclaimed; “and with all its foliage hanging! Three other young trees round it injured on the sides towards it. When did you observe this? Had you that storm on Saturday?” “Yes, sir, it did rain cats and dogs,” my Uncle answered after thinking. “We said that it might break the long bad weather; and it seems to have done it at last, thank the Lord. There was a lot of lightning, but not so very nigh.” “Then no trees were struck from above, not even that old oak, which seems to have been struck some years ago? May I cross the border, and examine that young tree? Thank you; have you ever known a case like this before?” They passed very dangerously near the old oak; and I trembled, as that villain of a Regulus showed his base want of gratitude by a long howl; but luckily neither of them heard it. I went to the door, and threatened him with instant death, and then followed to hear the discussion about the tree. “You have known it before,” Captain Fairthorn was saying; “but not for some years, and if you remember right, not when the storms were particularly near. I have heard of several similar cases, but never had the fortune to see one till now. You perceive that the life is entirely gone. The leaves are quite black, but have a narrow yellow margin. Forgive me for troubling you, Mr. Orchardson, but when did you notice this condition of the tree?” “Well, sir, it kept on raining up till dark on Saturday; and I did not chance to come by here on Sunday. But on Monday morning it was as you see it now—gone off all of a heap, and no cause for it. As healthy a young tree as you would wish to look at—a kind of pear we call Beurré Diel. Dead as a door-nail, you can see. Kit, get a spade, and dig it up for Professor.”