When Rupert came to his senses, the surroundings seemed to be familiar. He had lost consciousness on the banks of the Thames, and during a fierce struggle with a treacherous foe. He opened his eyes to find himself in his own bed in his own room at Royabay. But he felt strangely weak and indisposed to talk. After a glance, he closed his eyes again. Then, after what seemed to him to be a few minutes--it was really half an hour--he opened them again, and this time he saw Olivia bending over him with an anxious face. "Dearest," he murmured weakly. "Oh Rupert, do you know me?" "Yes. Where am I--what are you doing here?" "You are at the Abbey. Don't speak. Take this," and some beef tea was held to his dry lips. Ainsleigh drank a little and then fell asleep again. When he did so there was an artificial light in the room, but when he woke the sun was streaming in through the window. But his wife was still beside his bed, and still looked anxious. However, she gave a little cry of joy when Rupert spoke in a stronger voice. He was beginning to collect his scattered senses. "Have I been ill long?" he asked. "Four days," she replied, "don't talk, darling." "But the packet?" "The Marquis has it safe." "Burgh?" "He has escaped. Don't talk." "Miss Pewsey," said Rupert faintly. "She is dead." "Then Miss Pewsey _did_ strangle your aunt." "Yes--yes--the doctor says you are not to talk." "Just one more question. Those Chinamen?" "Hwei and Tung-yu. They were drowned." Rupert smiled weakly, and turning on his side went off into a deep sleep. The doctor who called later, said it was the best thing he could do. "He has had a severe shock," said he to Olivia, "and his nervous system is shaken. You may be thankful he did not wake with a disordered brain." "Oh, doctor, you don't think--" "No! No! It's all right. He would not have asked those questions if anything was wrong with his mind. In a few weeks he will be quite himself. But I think, Mrs. Ainsleigh, that you should take him abroad for a time." Olivia gladly promised to do this, the more so, as she wanted to escape herself from Marport for a time. The news of Miss Pewsey's death had caused a great sensation, and a still greater one was caused by the publication in the paper of her crime. Everyone, now knew that the bitter little woman had strangled Miss Wharf, and everyone was very severe on her. The funeral had to be conducted quietly, as the mob showed signs of intending to interrupt. However, the police kept back the irate crowd, and Miss Pewsey was buried in a quiet corner of St. Peter's church-yard, where a few weeks before, she had hoped to be married. But her intended bridegroom was in America, and Miss Pewsey's mortal part was in the grave. Where her immortal soul was and what would become of it, was talked over by people, who were less forgiving than they ought to have been.