He came into the library where Rupert Ravenspur and Marion were talking earnestly. He dropped in upon them as if he had fallen from the clouds. Marion started and laughed. "I declare you frighten me," she said. "You are like a shadow--the shadow of one's conscience." "There can be no shadow on yours," Ralph replied. "You are too pure and good for that. Never, never will you have cause to fear me." "All the same, I wish you were less like a cat," Ravenspur exclaimed petulantly, as Marion walked smilingly away. "Anybody would imagine that you were part of the family mystery. Ralph, do you know anything?" "I am blind," Ralph replied doggedly. "Of what use is a blind man?" "I don't know; they say that when one sense is lost the others are sharpened. And you came home so mysteriously, you arrived at a critical moment for me, you were at my door at the time when help was sorely needed. Again, when you burst my door open you did the only thing that could have saved me." "Common sense, sir. You were stifling and I gave you air." Ravenspur shook his head. He was by no means satisfied. "It was the common sense that is based upon practical experience. And you prowl about in dark corners; you wander about the house in the dead of the night. You hint at a strange past, but as to that past you are dumb. For Heaven's sake, if you know anything tell me. The suspense is maddening." "I know nothing and I am blind," Ralph repeated. "As to my past, that is between me and my Maker. I dare not speak of it. Let me go my own way and do not interfere with me. And whatever you do or say, tell nobody--nobody, mind--that you suspect me of knowledge of the family trouble." Ralph turned away abruptly and refused to say more. He passed from the castle across the park slowly, but with the confidence of a man who is assured of every step. The recollection of his boyhood's days stood him in good stead. He could not see, but he knew where he was and even the grim cliffs held no terrors for him. He came at length to a certain spot where he paused. It was here years ago that he had scaled the cliffs at the peril of his neck and found the raven's nest. He caught the perfume of the heather and the crushed fragrance of the wild thyme, but their scents were as nothing to his nostrils. For he had caught another scent that had brought him up all standing with his head in the air. The odor was almost exhausted; there was merely a faint suspicion of it, but at the same time it spoke to Ralph as plainly as words. He was standing near the hollow where Geoffrey had been two days ago. In his mind's eye Ralph could see into this hollow. Years before he had been used to lie there winter evenings when the brent and ducks were coming in from the sea. He scrambled down, sure-footed as a goat.