Part 77 (2/2)

He stood watching them till they disappeared up the narrow path leading to the old granite house, and a sense of misery such as he had never before felt swelled in the young man's breast, for, as he watched the bent forms of the two brothers, he saw in imagination what must follow, and his brow grew heavy, as he seemed to see Louise sobbing on her father's neck, heart-broken at her loss.

”And yet I could not help clinging to the hope that he had swum ash.o.r.e,”

muttered Leslie, as he walked back to the inn, where he found Dr Knatchbull in conversation with the officer.

”I wish I had never seen Cornwall, sir,” said the latter warmly, ”poor lad! poor lad!”

”Then there is no doubt whatever?” said Leslie hurriedly.

”Identification after all these days in the water is impossible,” said the doctor; ”I mean personal identification.”

”Then it may not be after all,” said Leslie excitedly.

The detective shrugged his shoulders, and took a packet from a little black bag. This he opened carefully, and placed before Leslie a morocco pocket-book and a card-case, both stamped with a gold coronet and the motto _Roy et Foy_, while, when the card-case was drawn open and its water-soaked contents were taken out, the cards separated easily, and there, plainly enough, was the inscription, the result of Aunt Marguerite's inciting--

”_Henri Comte des Vignes_.”

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

POLL PERROW GOES A-BEGGING.

Dark days of clouds with gloomy days of rain, such as washes the fertile soil from the tops of the granite hills, leaving all bare and desolate, with nothing to break the savage desolation of the Cornish prospect but a few projecting blocks, and here and there a grim-looking, desolate engine-house standing up like a rough mausoleum erected to the memory of so much dead coin.

There were several of these in the neighbourhood of Hakemouth, records of mining adventures where blasting and piercing had gone on for years in search of that rich vein of copper or tin, which experts said existed so many feet below gra.s.s, but which always proved to be a few feet lower than was ever reached, and instead of the working leading to the resurrection of capital, it only became its grave.

The rain fell, and on the third day the wind beat, and much soil was washed down into the verdant ferny gullies, and out to sea. The waves beat and eddied and churned up the viscous sea-wrack till the foam was fixed, and sent flying in b.a.l.l.s and flakes up the rocks and over the fields, where it lay like dirty snow.

In and out of the caverns the sea rushed and bellowed and roared, driving the air in before it, till the earth seemed to quiver, and the confined air escaped with a report like that of some explosion. Then the gale pa.s.sed over, the stars came out, and in the morning, save that the sea looked muddy instead of crystal clear and pure, all was suns.h.i.+ne and joy.

During the storm there had been an inquest, and with rain pouring down till there were inches of water in the grave, the body of the unfortunate man was laid to rest.

Duncan Leslie had been busy for a couple of hours in a restless, excited way, till, happening to look down from up by his engine-house, he caught sight of a grey-looking figure seated upon a stone by the cliff path.

Giving a few orders, he hurried along the track.

Uncle Luke saw him coming, out of the corner of one eye, but he did not move, only sat with his hands resting upon his stick gazing out at the fis.h.i.+ng-boats, which seemed to be revelling in the calm and suns.h.i.+ne, and gliding out to sea.

”Good morning.”

”Bah! nothing of the kind,” said Uncle Luke, viciously. ”There isn't such a thing.”

”No?” said Leslie, smiling sadly.

”Nothing of the kind. Life's all a mistake. The world's a round ball of brambles with a trouble on every thorn. Young Harry has the best of it, after all. Get wet?”

”Yesterday, at the funeral? Yes, very.”

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