"There has been no accident between Launceston and Dawlish, has there?" gasped Bothwell, starting up from his chair; "the train got back all right----" "You foolish boy! If there had been an accident, how do you suppose I could hear of it?" exclaimed his cousin, smiling at his vehemence. "How like a lover to imagine that any ill news must needs be about your betrothed, though you only left her three hours ago! No, Bothwell, my bad news concerns an old friend of yours, General Harborough." "What of General Harborough?" asked Bothwell anxiously. "The announcement of his death is in the county paper." "His death? Impossible! Why, I met him less than ten days ago. He seemed hale and hearty as ever." "He caught a severe cold at the funeral of a friend, and died of bronchitis after a very short illness. Poor Bothwell! I can sympathise with your sorrow for so staunch a friend. I have often heard you say how good he was to you in India." Dora had heard of General Harborough only as an Indian friend of her cousin's. She knew of Lady Valeria's existence, and that was all. No rumour of Bothwell's flirtation with that lady had ever reached her ears. She did not know that Bothwell's frequent journeys to Plymouth had been on Lady Valeria's account; that his mysterious journeys to London had been made in her interests--troublesome journeys to interview Jew money-lenders, to renew bills and tide over difficulties. And now Valeria was a widow, and would have been able to exact the fulfilment of old vows--breathed under tropical stars, far away in that Eastern land which they both loved: she would have been able to claim him as her slave, if he had not boldly broken his fetters in that last interview at Fox Hill. "Thank God I delayed no longer!" he said to himself; "thank God I got my release before this happened!" And then he thought sadly, affectionately, of his old friend; and he remembered with thankfulness that last meeting, that farewell grasp of the good man's hand which he had been able to return as honestly as it was given. "Why did I ever sin against him?" he asked himself. "What an arrant sneak I must have been!" "You will go to General Harborough's funeral, I suppose?" said Dora presently. "Yes, of course I must be at the funeral. When does it take place?" "To-morrow." "Yes, I shall go without doubt. I shall join the procession at the cemetery. As I am not invited, there will be no need for me to go to the house." "I suppose not. The poor widow will feel the blow terribly, no doubt." "Yes, I have no doubt she will be sorry." This was not a lie. Bothwell thought that even Valeria could not fail to feel some touch of sorrow for the loss of that chivalrous friend and benefactor, the man who had given so much, and had received so poor a return for his gifts. There would be the anguish of a guilty conscience; even if there were no other form of sorrow.