The Squire must be dead; she saw that: but why were they concealing it? Watching and prying about after this, Dorothy, without seeming to see anything, saw enough to convince her that, after the death was really announced to the world, it was no other than her own husband who personated the dead Squire. She stole into the garden the night the musicians were playing, and distinguished Aaron's features in his master's clothes. The day Mr. Charles Plackett was expected from London, Dorothy watched and saw her husband turn back privately, and go stealing into the Squire's rooms, instead of proceeding on his pretended walk to Nullington. All this was confessed to the gipsy woman, who in her turn related it to Miss Winter and Mr. Conroy. CHAPTER XI. CONVERGING THREADS. Events now began to follow quickly on the steps of each other. Philip Cleeve had not yet engaged in any active business. After his return home he had had a slight relapse, and Dr. Spreckley said business must wait. Old Mr. Marjoram, hearing of this in London, for Maria often wrote to him, sent a peremptory mandate for Philip to go back to his house to be nursed. But Philip was getting better now. Matters were arranged with Mr. Tiplady: and that gentleman had already ordered a new brass plate for his office-door--"Messrs. Tiplady and Cleeve; Architects and Surveyors." The necessary money had been paid by Maria: and the Vicar did not withhold his sanction. Philip would take a fair income for a year or two, then become full partner, and succeed to the whole whenever it should please Mr. Tiplady to retire. It was a very fair prospect, and the Reverend Mr. Kettle saw no cause to grumble at it. One little clause, known only to Mr. Daventry, who drew it up, to Mr. Tiplady, and to Philip, was inserted in the deed of partnership. It was to the effect that Philip could not come upon the firm for any money whatever beyond his salary; if he contracted debts, Mr. Tiplady was secured from the fear of having to pay them. "It is only a matter of precaution, Cleeve, inserted as much for your own sake as for mine," Mr. Tiplady said to him in private. "I have not much fear that you will be playing cards for high stakes again, or betting at billiards. Or," added the architect, with a grim smile, "investing your spare cash in silver mines." "Never again; never again," whispered Philip, tears of emotion filling his eyes, as he clasped the hand of his good friend.