The captain nodded gravely. "Yes," he said. "Her father's dead, you know; I don't think I've mentioned that in writing to you. He was found dead in bed one morning. He was a strange man. I only saw him once--let me see, you were with me, Comethup?" Comethup remembered the occasion on which he had seen the strong, hard face of Dr. Vernier in the little circle of light among the books and papers. "Yes, the night you carried 'Linda home; I remember it well. But who looks after her now?" "She lives there, in the care of the woman who has been her governess so long; you remember that the woman came there almost immediately after you found 'Linda in the garden. She seems devoted to the girl. I think 'Linda has a little money, and the house is her own. I expect you'll see her; she has grown into a very beautiful woman." "I felt sure she would do that," said Comethup, and found himself blushing the next moment at having expressed such an opinion. "I think I told you in one of my letters that your Uncle Robert had left here. Did you see anything of him or of Brian while you were in London or after you'd gone abroad?" "Once or twice," said Comethup, carelessly. "You know Brian has published some poems; very good they were, too; some people made an awful fuss about them. Brian is growing quite famous." "Glad to hear it," replied the captain, grimly. "He's the sort of fellow who would write poems; I'm told his father tried his hand at that sort of thing once or twice. You know that your uncle ran through every penny he possessed, don't you?" "But he didn't have very much, did he?" said Comethup. "He did, though; his fortune was very little short of that possessed by your aunt. But he ran through the lot, married more, and settled down here; and now he's got through that too. Oh, he's a bright fellow!"