Marcia Cleveland and Leslie Noble were buried in a quiet, country graveyard. By Lady Vera's care a plain gray stone was raised above their graves recording their names and nationality, with a brief line commending them to the mercy of Heaven. The remnant of Leslie Noble's once princely fortune reverted to the Countess of Fairvale. She devoted it to the maintenance of poor Ivy Cleveland in the best insane asylum in England. She hoped that with time and care her reason might return to her, but the poor creature remained a confirmed maniac to the end her long life, never very dangerous or troublesome, but always fancying herself some royal personage, and always planning new costumes for some imaginary ball. The splendid jewels, for whose sake she dyed her hands in human blood, were kindly spared to her as playthings. They constituted all the happiness of her life. For Countess Vera, after that night of storm and death and merciful rescue, there dawned a brighter day. Only one cloud dimmed the horizon of her life-sky. It was Raleigh Gilmore's suit at law. Even her best friends, those who believed in her the most loyally, secretly feared that it would go against her. When Lady Vera met Sir Harry Clive again she went to him with a smile, the open memorandum-book in her white hand. "You see," she said to him with that triumphant I-told-you-so smile, which women are wont to wear on such occasions, "it was no dream, Sir Harry. Here are the precious lines in my father's writing, word for word, as I repeated them to you that day." Sir Harry humbly begged her pardon for his doubts. "You wrote to this Joel McPherson, did you not?" he asks, anxiously. "Yes," she answers. "Has no word come from him yet?" "No," Sir Harry replies, "not a word. Perhaps he is dead; perhaps he has gone away." "We must send someone over to America to look for him," Lady Vera replies decisively. "I think you are right. It is the best thing that can be done," he agrees. Her lawyer is of the same opinion. They decide to send Mr. Sharpe, the efficient detective, to Washington to find the missing sexton of Glenwood. When Lady Vera has repeated to them Leslie Noble's assertion, that he had written to a friend to keep the sexton out of the way, they strongly suspect that McPherson has been made away with. Mr. Sharpe is sent on his errand to America, Lady Vera's keen-witted lawyer staves off the impending trial from day to day pending the arrival of her important witness, and all wait in suspense for news from the detective. Meanwhile, Raleigh Gilmore's case has weakened daily. The witnesses upon whom he had relied so confidently, Mrs. Cleveland and her daughter, and possibly Leslie Noble, were all unavailable, two being dead, one the incurable inmate of a madhouse. The tide of fortune was setting against him. Lady Vera's friends began to desert his banner.