"Well," said Alan slowly, "there was that West Indian letter which agitated him so much. It might have been a warning. However, it is no use theorizing. I'll go to the Occidental Bank, and find out Herbert Beauchamp." "You won't find that he is my own father, Alan; I am sure of that. He may be a relative. No, no! He is not a murderer! He is dead--quite dead! I don't believe a word of the story." Alan sighed. "Time alone can prove its truth or falsehood, Sophy," he said. CHAPTER XIV. THE ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE That same evening the Rector was coming in to dine with Alan. The young man was glad that he had asked him, for he was anxious to consult his old friend about the strange tale he had heard, and about the steps which should be taken to prove its truth or falsity. He stayed with Sophy till it was nearly six o'clock. Miss Parsh had not been called into counsel. She was too timid, they thought, and too likely to lose her head. Moreover, Alan felt that she would give the girl overmuch sympathy and make her nervous. So he did all the bracing he could, advised her not to take the old lady into her confidence, and rode home to the Abbey Farm in the cool twilight. As he passed the Good Samaritan, Mrs. Timber came flying out in a flutter of excitement. "Sir! sir! Mr. Thorold!" she called. And then, as he checked his horse: "Is the gentleman all right? He's a furriner, and I never did hold as they could pay honest." "What are you talking about, Mrs. Timber?" asked the young man, utterly bewildered. "Why, of the gentleman you sent to me, sir." "I sent no gentleman. Stay! Do you mean Captain Lestrange?" "Yes, sir, that's his name--a nasty French name. He said you recommended my house. I'm sure I'm very much obliged, Mr. Thorold." Here Mrs. Timber dropped her best curtsy and smiled a sour smile. "But I arsk again, sir, is he good pay?" Alan was amazed at the Captain's impudence in making him stand sponsor for his respectability. "I don't know anything about the gentleman, Mrs. Timber," he said, giving his horse the spur. "He is a stranger to me." "Oh, is he?" muttered the landlady to herself as Alan galloped off. "Well, he don't get nothing out of me till I sees the color of his money. The idea of giving Mr. Thorold's name when he had no right to! Ah! I doubt he's a robber of the widder and the orphan. But I'll show him!" And Mrs. Timber, full of wrath, went into her hotel to have it out with her new lodger.