"Not Carson's wife, man? I married them myself" said the vicar, with a searching glance, not unmixed with uneasiness. "True enough, Mr. Brock. But I am sorry to tell you that Carson has proved a scamp and a bigamist. At the time he married Olive he was already the husband of Clara Trall, the maid. They have left for England, and Olive has returned here as Miss Bellairs. She is shortly to be married to me." "Angus already married?" gasped Brock, when he took in the full import of it. "Angus, the son of an upright man, act so basely? Surely, surely there must be some mistake." "I--am--afraid--not. Lord Aldean followed the runaways to Florence, and saw them together. They confessed their marriage." "But why did Angus so deceive Olive?" Mallow shrugged. "To get her money, no doubt," he said carelessly. "It will come to you now, Mr. Brock, since the marriage has not taken place." "Alas! I fear I have done with all use for worldly goods, Mr. Mallow. I am not so strong as I thought I was. My heart has been weakened by my accident, and any sudden shock would probably be fatal to me. If this money does come to me now, it will not remain with me long, for my days are numbered." "Nil desperandum," said Mallow, not very originally. "You have years of clean living behind you, sir, and may mend sooner than you think. After all, you are better off than Drabble; he has met with a violent death in common with many others of his kidney." "Drabble dead? Well, I am not surprised. I have been wondering if he was in that Soho explosion of which we have read lately. As that was his town address, it struck me that he might possibly have been. Ah!" sighed Mr. Brock, "a terrible end to a mistaken life. But I thought that Drabble was more of a Socialist than an Anarchist?" "He was everything that's bad," said Laurence, shortly. "Olive is now comforting Mrs. Drabble, poor soul! By the way, Mr. Brock, Margery told me about that wrist-button." "Dear, dear; the poor child must not worry about that. I forgave her taking it; children will finger things, and Margery's mind was quite perverted by her father's peculiar views.--Still," he added, with a smile, "Margery really had more right to it than I. It originally belonged to Drabble." "What! did you get it from him, then?" "As a gift--yes. I saw it lying on his desk one day, and took it up to examine it. As it was of Indian workmanship, I asked him to give it to me as a curiosity. I was a missionary in India once, you know." "Yes, I know. Did Drabble give it to you willingly?" "Certainly. I should not have taken it otherwise. It is a pretty thing; Margery tells me that she gave it to Olive." "Olive wears it as a brooch," replied Mallow, gloomily. He was distinctly puzzled. He noticed, too, that the vicar was half dozing, and felt that perhaps he was overtaxing his strength. "Well, I must be going now. Mr. Brock," said he, producing Dr. Carson's letter, "my principal reason for coming was to hand you this."