friends; and so for a moment or two we waited at a deadlock. Indeed,
there is no knowing how long it might have lasted--for Captain
Branscome made no sign of turning again and facing me--but, happening
just then to glance along the terrace, I caught sight of Mrs. Stimcoe
returning with long, masculine strides.

She held an open letter in her hand, and was perusing it as she came.

"It's for you," she announced, coming to a standstill under the
window and speaking up to me after a curt nod towards Captain
Branscome--"from Miss Plinlimmon; and you'd best come down and hear
what it says, for it's serious."

I should here explain that Mr. and Mrs. Stimcoe made a practice of
reading all letters received or despatched by us. It was a part of
the system.

"I picked it up at the post-office on my way," she explained, as I
presented myself at the front door and put out a hand for the letter.
"Look here, Harry: I know you to be a brave boy. You must pull
yourself together, and be as brave as ever you can. Your father--"

"What about my father?" I asked, taking the letter and staring into
her face. "Has anything happened? is he--is he dead?"

Mrs. Stimcoe lifted her hand and lowered it again, at the same moment
bowing her head with a meaning I could not mistake. I gazed dizzily
at Captain Branscome, and the look on his face told me--I cannot tell
you how--that he knew what the letter had to tell, and had been
expecting it. The handwriting was indeed Miss Plinlimmon's, although