"I suppose they'll be glad and all that, as I'm something of a hero," he continued. "A chap on the train told me that the story of my capture got into the papers, and was written up for all it was worth. Another smack in the eye for Ormsby, that! Nutt got away, and told you I was dead, I suppose." "Yes," answered the colonel, gloomily; then, leaning across the table: "Dick, my boy, I don't want to be hard on you. We are all liable to err. Don't you think it would have been better if you had remained dead?" Dick looked blankly into his friend's face for some moments. A look of fear came into his eyes. "What's the matter? What's happened? Dora's--alive?" "Yes, of course." "And my father and mother?" "Oh, yes, yes, they're well--as well as can be expected under the circumstances." "Well, what's the matter, then? What's happened?" "Dick, you must know perfectly well what has happened. Your grandfather found out--the--er--what you did before you went away." "What I did before I went away?" "Well, it's no good skirmishing. Let's call it by its proper name--your forgery. Those two checks you cashed at the bank, originally for two and five dollars. I daresay you thought that your grandfather never looked at his pass-book. You were mistaken. And what a confounded fool you must have been to think that two amounts of such magnitude as two thousand and five thousand dollars could be overlooked." Dick's lower jaw had dropped a little, and he looked at the colonel in blank surprise, yet with more listlessness than would a man in rude health when amazed. The colonel misread the signs, and saw only the astonishment of guilt unmasked. "Your mother got the checks for you: but you added to the figures in another ink. The forgery was discovered, and by Ormsby, too, unfortunately, who is no friend of yours. The matter was hushed up, of course. You have to thank Dora for that. A warrant was out for your arrest, but Dora begged Ormsby to stay his hand for the sake of your mother and father. And--er--well, the long and short of it is that Ormsby was prepared to lose seven thousand dollars, rather than ruin your family. The news of your death--your heroic death, as we imagined--came at the opportune moment to help people to forget your folly." Dick sat like a stone, calm, pale, holding his glass and listening intently. For an instant he seemed about to faint. "Of course, we all thought," continued the colonel, "that you had put yourself into a tight corner on purpose, that you might respectably creep out of your difficulties by dying and troubling nobody. And we respected you for that. Everybody knew that you were up to your eyes in debt, and at loggerheads with your grandfather, that the old man had disinherited you, and all that. But surely you didn't owe seven thousand dollars!" "Are you talking about the checks my mother gave me before I went away?" Dick asked, quietly.