"For some time past his letters have been most unsatisfactory. He has seemed depressed and discouraged. What word I have received from him during the past few months has been of such a character as to lead one to form the gravest suspicions. His letters have been short and hurried--written, evidently, under great mental strain. And latterly they have ceased altogether. For the last two months, ever since you have been ill, I have heard literally nothing from him. His plan was to leave Bombay in September. That he kept to his original purpose I have no reason to doubt. He was on the steamer, or, at least, his name was on its passenger list. Of course while you were so ill I could say nothing to you of this--besides I had only my suspicions then. But as time passed, and no communication from him reached me I grew apprehensive. Within the last two weeks I have sent numberless dispatches to him to his London address, but not one of them has received a reply--in fact, no one of them has been delivered to him. The people there do not know where he is. I have cabled to Bombay, thinking he might have been detained there unexpectedly, but that, too, has proved of no avail. The Bombay house know nothing of his whereabouts. He left them as he intended to do in September, and since then they have heard from him as little as I." Miss Blake's eager eyes seemed to search the lawyer through and through. He shifted uneasily in his place. "It is very difficult to go on," he said, with a nervous, constrained cough. "Quick! Quick!" whispered the governess. "Tell me everything now--this minute. Tell me! Tell me!" "There is little more to tell," said Mr. Turner sadly. "This afternoon I received a wire from his London banker, and it seems--that--he, William Cutler, is--is--dead." There was a low cry. Miss Blake had leaped to her feet at his words, and now she was swaying forward as though too faint to stand. The lawyer sprang forward to save her from falling, but she pushed him away with both hands almost savagely. "No, no!" she gasped. "I am strong. I am strong. But--God pity us! My poor little Nan--and--oh, my poor little Nan!" She sank back upon the divan and buried her face in her outstretched arms. The lawyer rose and went to the window. Outside the wind blew drearily. The bare trees showed but dimly through the gathering dusk. It was a bleak, cold outlook. Presently down the street came a man with a lighted torch and set the gas-flames to flickering in every lamp along his way. Mr. Turner watched him until he had passed out of sight--then he turned about and came back to the sofa once more. Miss Blake had raised her head and sat staring blankly before her, dry-eyed, but with an expression far sadder than tears; the dull, lifeless look of helpless misery that has not yet been touched with submission.