They landed at Ventnor under the burning heat of the midday sun. As the
two young men came from the steamer, the people on the pier stared at
George's white face and untrimmed beard.

"What are we to do, George?" Robert Audley asked. "We have no clew to
finding the people you want to see."

The young man looked at him with a pitiful, bewildered expression. The
big dragoon was as helpless as a baby; and Robert Audley, the most
vacillating and unenergetic of men, found himself called upon to act for
another. He rose superior to himself, and equal to the occasion.

"Had we not better ask at one of the hotels about a Mrs. Talboys,
George?" he said.

"Her father's name was Maldon," George muttered; "he could never have
sent her here to die alone."

They said nothing more; but Robert walked straight to a hotel where he
inquired for a Mr. Maldon.

Yes, they told him, there was a gentleman of that name stopping at
Ventnor, a Captain Maldon; his daughter was lately dead. The waiter
would go and inquire for the address.

The hotel was a busy place at this season; people hurrying in and out,
and a great bustle of grooms and waiters about the halls.

George Talboys leaned against the doorpost, with much the same look in
his face, as that which had frightened his friend in the Westminister