‘And what about the gentleman who called twice to see Mrs Walcheren to-day?’ inquired the landlord. ‘Is he a relation of hers?’ ‘No, curse him!’ said Frederick unthinkingly. The doctor and the landlord glanced at one another. ‘I have _his_ name and address on his card,’ whispered Mr Cameron significantly to his companion. ‘I fancy he will be subpœnaed. He may have seen the poor lady after she left the hotel.’ ‘What are you whispering about?’ said Frederick irritably. ‘Nothing, sir. I will speak to the people of the house. I know them well, and they will see you have everything you may want.’ ‘And I will communicate with you directly I return to Dover,’ added the doctor. And so they left him to his vigil, with his hand clasping the hand of his dead wife, and his face bowed down till it was lost in the folds of her dress. CHAPTER IX. The next morning Henry Hindes received a scrawl, in a hand which he could not recognise as that of Mr Crampton’s, containing but three words, ‘Come to me.’ He guessed at once what they meant. He had just returned from church with his wife and elder children. He had not dared to refuse to go, for he was a regular attendant there, and the omission would have looked peculiar. So he had stood and knelt and sat through a service of two mortal hours, whilst his eyes gazed into space and his mind was a blank, and he only followed mechanically what the others said or did. He walked home with Hannah on his arm and Elsie and Laurie trotting before them, for the Hindes were far too strict a family to have out their horses on a Sunday, but all the while that acquaintances were bowing and smiling and exchanging civilities with himself and his wife, he was wondering how soon the news would reach Hampstead, and if it would come by telegraph or post, or if Walcheren would send a special messenger to break it to the old people at ‘The Cedars.’ And as soon as he re-entered his own house, the note was handed to him with the fatal words ‘Come to me!’ He knew then that the worst was known--that the poor parents had been told of their bereavement, and that it was his mission to fly to comfort them. ‘What can be the matter?’ questioned Hannah. ‘Can they have already heard from Jenny, or do you think it possible she can be in Hampstead? Oh, Henry! if they meet, surely Mr Crampton cannot refuse to speak to her!’ ‘I know no more than you do,’ he answered, ‘but I suppose I must go! The old man may have been taken ill. He looked bad enough for anything yesterday evening.’ ‘Oh! certainly, Henry dear, you must go at once, and you can take your luncheon with them. But I shall be impatient to hear what he wants you for. If Jenny should be there--oh, Henry, you _will_ let me know, won’t you? for I should love to give the dear girl a kiss, and assure her of my faithful friendship. You will send someone over to tell me, in that case, won’t you, dearest?’