Alas! Diana had neither the certificate nor the will; both had gone down into the deep, with her hapless husband. She had, however, the letter referring to those documents: but Basset, after a furtive glance at the fire, tossed it hack to her contemptuously, saying-- "I have heard of you before, madam--years ago, too. My brother is drowned, and you are now poor. I dislike death and poverty, and all that sort of thing; but I'll do what I can in the way of Christian charity, and have your hulking boys bound to trades. But you must leave this place at once; the ladies of my family must not come in contact with--such as you." She rose, and left the stately house mechanically, with one hand on Arthur's arm and the other on the neck of Ralf; and she looked at them in agony--the latter her little pet, the other the stately king of the playing fields, and captain of the school eleven, to be tradesmen! Deep in the hearts of both boys sank their mother's grief; but deepest in the heart of Arthur, who felt himself called upon to do something--he knew not what. He spent hours and days upon the solitary rock above where the wreck lay, looking at the spot with haggard eyes. Oh, if that shattered hull had a voice--had the dead that came ashore the power of utterance, the secret of his father's fate might be revealed; but three months had passed, and who could doubt it now? One morning early, as he came to the accustomed spot, under the grim shadow of Trevose Head, he found the puffins scared away, and the solitude invaded by others--one of whom he knew well, Derrick Polkinghorne, a bold and hardy native of the Scilly Isles, where people spend so much of their time on the boisterous ocean that for one who dies abed nine are drowned; and, by order of Lloyd's agent, he was preparing a diving bell to examine the wreck, as much specie was known to be on board of her. "Mornin', Muster Lydiard," said he, for he and Arthur had frequently boated together; "that's a smart yacht outside the Lines. Sir Launcelot Tresilian's she was--Master Basset's now." "What is her name?" "_The Bashful Maid_." "She sails like a duck!" "She does. Ah, there's ne'er a craft out o' Cowes like that 'ere _Bashful Maid_!--'specially when she's got a dandy rigged astarn; then she hugs the wind beautiful! Just goin' down to 'ave a squint at this here wreck." "Take me with you, Derrick; for heaven's sake do!" implored the lad. "What on earth do you want down there?" "Only a scrap of paper, perhaps, Derrick." "Then you ain't like to find it, you ain't." "I should like to see the deck my father stood on last."