From his sister Winny, the old nurse of Sybil, he had heard, with honest indignation, the details of that futile and remarkable visit paid to Rhoscadzhel, and how Downie Trevelyan had treated their now dead mistress. He was told, too, of her hapless lawsuit, marred, as it was believed, by the low practitioner, who, to gain some notoriety, had thrust himself unasked into the case. But he could only further learn "that Master Denzil was somewhere far away in the Ingies," and that Miss Sybil, the sweet-voiced and gentle-eyed Sybil, who had slept in her bosom in infancy, and whom she had seen develope into a lovely young woman, had, after seeking in vain to sell her drawings, gone penniless to London, after which she could hear of her no more. "Gone to London?" repeated Braddon, with a groan; "and penniless, too!" He knew that amid the human tide of that mighty Babylon she might be lost as surely as if she were among the waves of the ocean; and then, as the old soldier thought of his proud dead master, and how he had loved that little daughter, he sighed again bitterly. From the breast-pocket of his well-worn pea-jacket (Derrick was attired somewhat like a sailor) he drew forth a rusted and battered tin case. It was thin and flat in form, and he surveyed it long and silently. Then he opened the lid, as if he was often in the habit of doing so, mechanically and as if to assure himself that the contents were safe; and he was, perhaps, about to draw them forth for inspection, when a sound startled him, and he hastily consigned the case to its keeping-place, just as the landlord ushered in a man, who was dripping with rain, and whose personal appearance, the soaking of his somewhat seedy habiliments had by no means improved. Derrick courteously made way for the stranger, who ordered some "gin and water hot," and after desiring the landlord to let him know when the "first return fly," by which he meant a brougham, passed for some town that he named, he proceeded to drink Braddon's health, and to dry his shabby black garments by the rotary process of turning, as if in a roasting-jack before the fire, raising the limp tails of his coat from time to time over his long and awkward-looking arms and lean bony hands. "A wet night, sir," said he. "Yes; but I have seen a wetter," replied Braddon. "The dooce you have!" "Aye, at sea; on a night when I was precious near having a cold water cure for all my sufferings." "How?" "By being drowned." "Your fate is perhaps a drier one. You are, I suppose, a seafaring man?" "I am an old soldier, and have served in the Cornish Light Infantry, as boy and man, for one-and-twenty years, and have earned my shilling a day from the Queen, God bless her! so don't crack your stale joke on me," said Derrick grimly and emphatically, as he surveyed the new-comer, whose face, somehow, seemed not unfamiliar to him.