"No. And when you get it next, nothing may be left of me here but the memory. Good-bye, Ethel." She made her way homewards as swiftly as the wind would allow. Mr. North, somewhat sheltered under the lee of the Grey Nunnery, once he had passed the open chapel ruins, gave his mind up to thought. The little school-children, protected by the walls of the high building, were playing on the waste ground at "You can't catch me." His position had begun to cause him very serious reflection: in fact, to worry him. Nothing could be more uncertain than it was, nothing more unsatisfactory. Should it turn out that Mr. Castlemaine had had any hand in injuring Anthony--in killing him, in short--why, then George North must give up all hope of Ethel. Ethel was to Mr. Castlemaine as a daughter, and that would be a sufficient bar to George North's making her his wife. Long and long ago would he have declared himself to the Master of Greylands but for Charlotte Guise; he would go to him that very day, but for her, and say, "I am your nephew, sir, George Castlemaine:" and ask him candidly what he had done with Anthony. But only the bare mention of this presupposed line of conduct would upset poor Madame Guise utterly: she had implored, entreated, commanded him to be silent. He might go away from Greylands, she said, and leave all the investigation to her; she did not want him to stay; but to spoil every chance of tracing out Anthony's fate--and, as she believed, that would spoil it--was not to be heard of. This chafed Mr. North's spirit somewhat: but he felt that he could not act in defiance of his brother's widow. The morning's interview on the cliff with Ethel had not tended to lessen the uneasiness and embarrassments of his position, but rather to bring them more clearly before him. "It would be something gained if I could only ascertain how the estate was really left," he said to himself as he glanced mechanically at the shouting children; just as so many others, including his unfortunate brother, had said before him. "If it be, de facto, my Uncle James's, why he could have had no motive for wishing Anthony out of the way: if it was left to my father, why then it was absolutely Anthony's, and the Uncle James was but a usurper. In that case--but it is very hard to think so ill of him. I wonder whether--" Mr. North made a pause to revolve the question--"whether I could get anything out of Knivett?" Deep in, thought, the Nunnery passed, he unguardedly approached the open part by the beach. Whirr!--whew! His hat went one way, the skirts of his coat another. The latter, not being detached, had to return to their places; but the hat was nowhere.