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Medworth. She came to us when she was nineteen—she was married four years later. She was a girl who had no friends or relatives—she had been educated at a school in the North—I engaged her from that school, where, I understood, she had lived since infancy. Now then, as to Brake and Ransford. They were two young men from London, who used to come fishing in Leicestershire. Ransford was a few years the younger—he was either a medical student in his last year, or he was an assistant somewhere in London. Brake was a bank manager in London—of a branch of one of the big banks. They were pleasant young fellows, and I used to ask them to the vicarage. Eventually, Mary Bewery and John Brake became engaged to be married. My wife and I were a good deal surprised—we had believed, somehow, that the favoured man would be Ransford. However, it was Brake—and Brake she married, and, as you say, Ransford was best man. Of course, Brake took his wife off to London—and from the day of her wedding, I never saw her again."

"Did you ever see Brake again?" asked Bryce. The old clergyman shook his head.

"Yes!" he said sadly. "I did see Brake again—under grievous, grievous circumstances!"

"You won't mind telling me what circumstances?" suggested Bryce. "I will keep your confidence, Mr. Gilwaters."

"There is really no secret in it—if it comes to that," answered the old man. "I saw John Brake again just once. In a prison cell!"

"A prison cell!" exclaimed Bryce. "And he—a prisoner?"