“Hush! even papa shall not make me suffer injustice!” cried the excited girl. But when the little book was opened it gave but the scantiest information. There was one entry since the landing in England, and no more; and this was all it contained:-- “Same name in directory, at old address; to go first thing and inquire.” Grace gave a little cry when she read this; it seemed to her to tell all she wanted--and yet it told nothing. “It is quite clear,” she cried in her mistaken little triumph. Milly looked at it too with all the feeling that it was an important revelation. Then they cried a little over the foolish little events of the voyage, all set down there, with that strange unconsciousness of what was coming, which makes death so doubly terrible to the survivors. If he had but known, surely he would have put something in that little record to console, to elevate, to calm the survivors, to whom his every word was so soon to be sacred! But he did not know, and put down nothing except “Wind so-and-so; a little fog in the morning. Captain’s birthday; champagne at dinner,” and such other trifles. They folded it carefully away in paper and sealed it, with an ache at their hearts. Oh, if he had but known! and so told them something, left them some information, if it had only been a task to do! “But there is something to do!” Grace cried; “this that he began; and I will never, never give it up till Lenny has his rights! He is papa’s heir.” CHAPTER IX These vague gropings after an unknown fact were very different from the discussions which took place in Grove Road when the girls were gone. Mrs Underwood and her son lingered together for a moment in the hall. She took hold of Geoffrey’s arm with both her hands, and leaned for a moment upon his shoulder and shed a few tears of agitation and distress. “You must not be frightened, mother. We can get on together, whatever happens,” he said in her ear. “Oh, Geoff, how can I help being frightened? I would not wrong anybody--not by the value of a straw.” “I am sure you would not, mother. I know you would not.” “But what a difference it will make--oh, what a difference!” cried poor Mrs Underwood. She cried for a moment on her son’s shoulder. Was it to be expected that she could give up the greater part of her living without a sigh? “And then Anna,” she said, “Anna!” in a tone of mingled fright and pain. It would seem almost as if her sister had divined, for she could not hear, this reference to herself; for she called sharply in a keen voice which penetrated through the closed door. Mrs Underwood started immediately, dropping her son’s arm. “Must you always fly the moment she calls, as if you were her maid?” said Geoff indignantly. His mother put up her hand to his mouth. “I have always done it: and could I stop it now when perhaps she is going to lose everything? Oh, hush! hush! I am coming, I am coming, Anna,” she cried.