Well-regulated people will be pleased to hear that Nemesis, which is always supposed to await such evil-doers, came down upon them at last. One autumn night, as they were crossing the lake after dining at the Beau Rivage with an American gentleman and his family, a sudden storm swept down and overset their little boat. Nugent came to the surface at once, and, being a splendid swimmer, struck out, swimming round and round in search of Julie. The night was very dark, and it is probable, encumbered by the weight of her clothing, she never rose; it is certain that Nugent never saw her again, and that his own life was only saved by his being dragged on to the bottom of the boat, when half-dead with exhaustion, by the servant, who had already found a refuge there. When Nugent Uffington recovered from the illness consequent upon the cold and exhaustion, he broke up the little establishment at the châlet and disappeared, no one knew where. Letters were occasionally read from men who thought they had seen him, but they were from such diverse latitudes that no reliance could be placed upon them; and when his nephew Sir Mark Uffington died, the lawyers did not know where to write to Nugent to tell him of his succession. That was the key-note struck by Tom Lydyeard in their conversation. 'Heard you were lost, my dear boy, and scarcely a possible chance of ever seeing you again; private detectives, and all that kind of thing, hunting for you all over the globe--been to Australia after you, some one said, and didn't find you there.' 'No,' said Uffington, with a slight smile. 'I had been in Australia, but when the agent went out there to search for me I was living in a little place in Brittany, where there was wonderful sport, but where I never saw an English newspaper, not even _Galignani_; and even if I had seen the announcement of poor young Mark's death, I doubt whether I should have felt any impulse to hurry over here and claim his place.' 'Do you act upon impulse?' asked Tom Lydyeard. 'Always,' said Langton quickly. 'Three weeks ago the impulse seized me, and I came over here; and,' he added, shrugging his shoulders drearily, 'it looks as if in a very short time it would seize me again, and send me off to the uttermost ends of the earth.' 'You don't know many people here?' said Tom Lydyeard, observing his friend's eyes wandering round the house. 'Beyond yourself not a soul,' said Uffington; 'tell me who they are.' 'Gad,' said Tom Lydyeard, 'you have given me a pretty difficult task, though I have scarcely missed a London season since--since you went away. I haven't much acquaintance with the Jews, Turks, and infidels of whom this audience seems to be composed.' 'There seems to be an undue proportion of the tribes scattered about the house,' said Uffington, after another look round, 'and, as you say, of foreigners generally. Who are these people, and how do they get here?'