Sweetwater; looking at this morsel of paper with greedy eyes, dipped his oars and began pulling softly toward that portion of the beach where a small and twinkling light defined the boat-house. He hoped Mr. Grey would speak, hoped that in some way, by some means, he might obtain a clue to his patron’s thoughts. But the English gentleman sat like an image and did not move till a slight but sudden breeze, blowing in-shore, seized the paper in his hand and carried it away, past Sweetwater, who vainly sought to catch it as it went fluttering by, into the water ahead, where it shone for a moment, then softly disappeared. Sweetwater uttered a cry, so did Mr. Grey. “Is it anything you wanted?” called out the former, leaning over the bow of the boat and making a dive at the paper with his oar. “Yes; but if it’s gone, it’s gone,” returned the other with some feeling. “Careless of me, very careless,—but I was thinking of—” He stopped; he was greatly agitated, but he did not encourage Sweetwater in any further attempts to recover the lost memorandum. Indeed, such an effort would have been fruitless; the paper was gone, and there was nothing left for them but to continue their way. As they did so it would have been hard to tell in which breast chagrin mounted higher. Sweetwater had lost a clue in a thousand, and Mr. Grey—well, no one knew what he had lost. He said nothing and plainly showed by his changed manner that he was in haste to land now and be done with this doubtful adventure. When they reached the boat-house Mr. Grey left Sweetwater to pay for the boat and started at once for the hotel. The man in charge had the bow of the boat in hand, preparatory to pulling it up on the boards. As Sweetwater turned toward him he caught sight of the side of the boat, shining brightly in the moonlight. He gave a start and, with a muttered ejaculation, darted forward and picked off a small piece of paper from the dripping keel. It separated in his hand and a part of it escaped him, but the rest he managed to keep by secreting it in his palm, where it still clung, wet and possibly illegible, when he came upon Mr. Grey again in the hotel office. “Here’s your pay,” said that gentleman, giving him a bill. “I am very glad I met you. You have served me remarkably well.” There was an anxiety in his face and a hurry in his movements which struck Sweetwater. “Does this mean that you are through with me?” asked Sweetwater. “That you have no further call for my services?” “Quite so,” said the gentleman. “I’m going to take the train to-night. I find that I still have time.” Sweetwater began to look alive. Uttering hasty thanks, he rushed away to his own room and, turning on the gas, peeled off the morsel of paper which had begun to dry on his hand. If it should prove to be the blank end! If the written part were the one which had floated off! Such disappointments had fallen to his lot! He was not unused to them.