He was tired of travelling about, and he was anxious to settle down and become a useful and ornamental member of society. The vague memory of that fatal night, which the thought of appalling death had revived, had vanished once more with safety. He was quite satisfied now that the man to whom, in a moment of superstitious weakness, he had confided his secret had passed to where he could do him no earthly mischief. The threat made by the clergyman, amid such dramatic surroundings, to bring him to justice if possible, had lingered long in his mind; but the impression was weakened as time went on, and now that every fear from that quarter was removed, Ralph’s heir felt that he had undisputed possession of his inheritance, and the best thing he could do was to enjoy it and turn it to some account. From the moment he found himself a rich man by Ralph’s death, he had carefully avoided all intercourse with his old companions. Birnie was the only one he kept up a friendship with, and Birnie’s friendship was a thing he was bound not only to accept but to cultivate. No word had ever passed the doctor’s lips that would even imply that he suspected Garth of the blow from the consequences of which the whole party had been shielded by his presence of mind and fertility of resource. Immediately after the occurrence Gurth, a prey to nervous dread, had rushed away to the sea-coast, leaving his address with Birnie, and he had remained away until a letter from the doctor brought him to town to attend the funeral. They had a short interview then, and Birnie said very little. He simply explained to Gurth that his cousin was dead, that his certificate had been accepted, and that, as the head of the family, it was incumbent upon him to take his position at once and arrange his cousin’s affairs. Nothing in the words, but something in the look and manner plainly showed Gurth Egerton that Birnie must be his friend if he wanted to enjoy himself. He was profuse in his thanks to the doctor for his kindness to poor Ralph, he begged him to remain in the villa where his cousin died, and he asked him as a favour to accept an annuity out of the estate. He framed a neat little falsehood, setting forth that poor Ralph had told him that Birnie had always been a friend of his, and that if anything happened to him he should like Birnie not to be forgotten. The doctor listened placidly, rubbed his hands gently, declared he didn’t desire it, but, as Gurth put it in a sentimental way, out of respect to his dead friend’s memory he would accept the proffered benefits. He had never asked for anything, he had never thrown out a hint that he knew anything and must be paid for secrecy; everything had been spontaneous on Gurth’s part, and therefore Birnie need have no hesitation in sharing in the sudden good fortune of his old comrade.