Presently Edgar talked a little about the jewels and the chances of their discovery, observing that whoever poked about in the dark or on the quiet, hunting for them, would certainly get shot by the zealous keepers who had laid hands on Alwyn. "There's nothing for it but setting the forest on fire," he said. "No, no," said Alwyn, "the jewels are not worth a tree of it." Edgar gave him one of his keen glances, under which the colour mounted to Alwyn's brow. "My father has given Warren orders to be thorough over it," he said. Edgar said nothing, and returned to the letter. "Are--are you writing to Miss Dallas?" he said presently, with a rather shy intonation. "No; I have not that privilege. To her brother." "Tell me about her. What's her name?" said Edgar. Alwyn was nothing loath. "Corinne is her name," he said; "they use it in America." And then he went on and told Edgar a great deal, for which there is no space in this story, and as he talked his face grew happy and eager, and Edgar listened a little wistfully. "Now it will be all right for you?" he said. "I think so--I hope so. Mr Dallas only wished to be certain that no complications could occur in the future. He does trust me, and is satisfied with my position there. My father has said all that is needful." "And when shall you go back, Val?" said Edgar. The bright eyes were still resolute and clear and the voice steady, though with a little strain in it. Alwyn looked at the white fragile face, and could not find voice for a moment to answer. "You mustn't stay too long and spoil me," said Edgar, "unless you come back again very quickly." Alwyn came nearer and sat down by his side. "My boy," he said, "you know I did not come home only to clear my way for my great hopes. I did come to seek for pardon and to try to undo a little of the past. There's a long time to make up for; there is no hurry. You need not think about parting yet; that is, if my father--" Alwyn broke off, and Edgar lay still, twisting his long weak fingers round the hand he was holding. "I think you might promise to stay--as long as I want you," he said. "I shall let you go--soon." "I promise," said Alwyn gently, and again Edgar was silent, till he said in a different tone: "Well, that's all as it may be. One must take what comes." "What is sent," said Alwyn. "Val," said Edgar after another silence, "it was very curious. Just before you came back I dreamed about you. I saw you. I knew you directly. But I saw that you were changed; your face was like it is now--not as it used to be. You _are_ different." "Yes," said Alwyn, "I am different." "Tell me," said Edgar. Perhaps Alwyn had never found anything so hard as to enter on an account of what some people would call his "experiences" to his brother, but he said quietly: