He passed his hand across his forehead on which a light sweat stood,
though he was not a man easily affected, for he had seen and endured
many things.

His mind was very full of strange and troubled thoughts as at last
he came back to Bittermeads, where, leaning with his elbows on the
garden gate, he stood for a long time, watching the dark and silent
house and thinking of that scene of which he had been a spectator
when John Clive and the girl had stood together on the veranda in
the light of the gas from the hall and had bidden each other good
night.

"It seems," he mused, "as though the last that was seen of poor
Charley must have been just like that. It was just such a dark
night as this when Simpson saw him. He was standing on that
veranda when Simpson recognized him by the light of the gas behind,
and a girl was bidding him good night--a very pretty girl, too,
Simpson said."

Silent and immobile he stood there a long time, not so much now as
one who watched, but rather as if deep in thought, for his head was
bent and supported on his hands and his eyes were fixed on the
ground.

"As for this John Clive," he muttered presently, rousing himself.
"I suppose that must be a coincidence, but it's queer, and queer
the father should have died--like that."

He broke off, shuddering slightly, as though at thoughts too awful