All these matters, with the various speculations they brought in their train, were swaying Mr. North's mind, as he worked on this evening by moonlight. The occurrence had certainly spurred up his intention to discover Anthony's fate, rendering him more earnest in the pursuit. It could not be said that he was not earnest in it before; but there was nothing he could lay hold of, nothing tangible. In point of fact, there was not anything now. "Do you belong to me?" he apostrophised, casting his eyes towards the distant chimneys of Greylands' Rest, his thoughts having turned on the Master of Greylands. "Failing poor Anthony to inherit, is the property mine? I would give much to know. My Uncle James seems too honourable a man to keep what is not his own: and yet--why did he not show to Anthony the tenure by which he holds the estate?--why does he not show it now?--for he must know how people talk, and the doubts that are cast on him. I cannot tell what to think. Personally, I like him very much; and he is so like----" A sudden shade fell on Mr. North's book, and made him look up abruptly. It was caused by a cloud passing over the face of the moon. A succession of light clouds, this cloud the vanguard of them, came sailing quickly up from beyond the sea, obscuring, until they should have dispersed, the silvery brightness of the Queen of night. Mr. North's sketch was, however, nearly done; and a few quick strokes completed it. Putting it into his portfolio, he rose, took a look out over the sea, and passed into the Friar's Keep. Many a time, by night or by day, since his first arrival at Greylands, had he gone stealthily into that place; but never had found aught to reward him by sight or sound. Thrice he had explored it with a light: but he had seen only the monotonous space of pillared cloisters that all the world might explore at will. Silent and deserted as ever, were they now: and George North was on the point of turning out again, when the sound of light footsteps smote on his ear, and he drew back between the wall and the first pillar near the entrance. He had left the door wide open--which was, perhaps, an incautious thing to do--and some rays of moonlight came streaming in. He was in the dark: all the darker, perhaps, the nook where he stood, from the contrast presented by these shining rays of light. George North held his breath while he looked and listened.