The path which he followed was a neglected carriage-drive, strewn with stones, overgrown with weeds, and bordered on either side by the thick trees of the forest. Presently the trees parted, and he came in view of the house. A large gloomy-looking building, as neglected as the woodland in the centre of which it stood. It seemed as if only part of it was inhabited, and the large garden at its back was unprotected by any wall, and full of overgrown fruit trees. The door was opened by a grim elderly woman. He inquired for Mr. Monk, and was informed that he was at home. The next minute he was standing in a lonely library, where the owner of the house was busy writing. Monk rose, and the two stood face to face. CHAPTER XI.--BURIED! It is not my purpose to describe the interview which took place between my hero and Mr. Monk. Suffice it to say that when the young man again emerged from the gloomy shadows of the dwelling there was a curious smile upon his face, while Mr. Monk, who had followed him to the door, and watched his retreating figure, wore a horrible expression of hatred and fear. No sooner had he disappeared than Monk left the house also, and, following a footpath, through the woods, made straight for William Jones’s cottage. Entering unceremoniously, he found that worthy seated beside the hearth. Without a word he rushed upon him, seized him by the throat, and began pummelling his head upon the wall. The attack was so sudden that for several minutes William Jones offered no resistance whatever. Indeed, so passive was he, and so violent was the rage of his opponent, that there was every prospect of his head being beaten to a jelly. Presently, however; Monk’s fury abating, his unfortunate victim was allowed to pick himself up. He sat and stared before him, while Monk, looking like the Evil One himself, glared savagely in his face. “You villain! You accursed, treacherous scoundrel!” he said. “Tell me what you’ve done, or I’ll kill you!” But William Jones was unconscious of having done anything, and he said as much, whereupon Monk’s fury seemed about to rise again. “Mr. Monk,” cried William Jones, in terror, “look ye now, tell me what’s the matter?” “I mean you to tell _me_ what you have been hiding from me all these years. Something came ashore with that child--something that might lead to her identity, and you have kept it, thinking to realize money upon it, or to have me in your power. What means it? Speak, or I’ll strangle you!” But William Jones was evidently unable to speak, being perfectly paralyzed with fear. Monk stretched forth his hands to seize him again, when the old man, who had been a horrified spectator of all this, suddenly broke in with-- “Look ye, now, I know there was summat. It were a leetle book, stuffed in the front of her frock!” “A book!” returned Monk, eagerly; “and what did you do with it? Tell me that, you old fool! Did you burn it?”