Paris convent, from dissolute father to criminal guardian. And yet
Providence had already that morning intervened on her behalf--two
minutes later and there would have been no guardian to take the
trust. Providence clearly held the same views as John Locke on
charitable institutions.

He thought of Locke as he had known him years ago, in Paris, a man
twenty years his senior--penniless and intemperate but with an
irresistible charm, rolling stone and waster but proud as a
Spaniard; a man of the world with the heart of a boy, the enemy of
nobody but himself, weak but lovable; a ragged coat and the
manners of a prince; idealist and failure.

Craven read the letter through again. Locke had forced his
hand--he had no option but to take up the charge entrusted to
him. What a legacy! Surely if John Locke had known he would
have rather committed his daughter to the tender mercies even of
the "institution." But he had not known and he had trusted him.
The thought was a sudden spur, urging him as nothing else could
have done, bringing out all that was best and strongest in his
nature. In a few hours he had crashed from the pinnacle on which
he had soared in the blindness of egoism down into depths of
self-realisation that seemed bottomless, and at the darkest moment
when his world was lying in pieces under his feet--this had come.
Another chance had been given to him. Craven's jaw set squarely as
he thrust Locke's dying appeal into his pocket.

He ripped open the second letter. It was, as he guessed, from the
lawyer and merely confirmed Locke's letter, with the additional
information that his client had died a few hours after writing the