"Those papers," said Durgo, pointing to the white hand which still clutched feebly at the breast-pocket, "say that the girl is not Captain Huxham's daughter. I want to know whose daughter she is." "You are talking rubbish. I have no papers." "I am making a guess, and I believe my guess is a true one. Will you give up those papers, or must I wring your neck?" With widely-open eyes, the preacher flung himself against the mantel-piece and clutched at a handbell. Just as he managed to ring this feebly, for his hands were shaking, and he was utterly unnerved, Durgo, seeing that there was no time to be lost, sprang forward and laid a heavy grasp on the miserable man's throat, ripping open his jacket with the other hand. In less than a minute he had the papers in his hand. "No! no! no!" shouted Silas, and made a clutch at them. Durgo thrust the papers into his pocket, and raising Pence up shoulder high, dashed him down furiously. His head struck the edge of the fender, and he lay unconscious. But Durgo did not wait to see further. He glided out of the window like a snake--swift, silent, stealthy, and dangerous. CHAPTER XVI THE PAPERS Next morning the news was all over the village, that Silas Pence had been seized with epilepsy, and in falling had cut his head open against the old-fashioned fender. He had just time--said the gossips--to ring the bell before the catastrophe, and the landlady being, fortunately, awake, had rushed into the room to his assistance. In an hour he had become conscious, and had been put to bed, after giving the explanation of how he came by the wound in his head. As Silas was fairly popular, everyone was more or less sorry, and many were the callers at the cottage on the common. Dora heard the news from one of her scholars, and retailed it to her friend when she came home to luncheon. Bella turned pale when she heard of the affair. She guessed that this was the work of Durgo, and reproached herself for having enlisted his services. But then, she argued, that if Durgo really was responsible for the preacher's sickness, he would have appeared in Miss Ankers' cottage in the morning, to explain what had taken place, and possibly--supposing he had been successful--to show the papers. Then again, if this was Durgo's work, Bella wondered why the preacher had not denounced him. It seemed to her, on this assumption, that Pence feared to say too much, lest he should be questioned too closely. Dora certainly had no more suspicions than had anyone else, but what the story of the young man was absolutely true. "He never _did_ look healthy," said Dora, when the meal was ended, "so I am not surprised to hear that he has these epileptic fits." "Perhaps he'll get over them," hinted Bella feebly, and not looking at her friend, lest she should betray herself.