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out of the old clergyman, he rose to take his leave.

"You will regard this interview as having been of a strictly private nature, Mr. Gilwaters?" he said.

"Certainly!" responded the old man. "But—you mentioned that you wished to marry the daughter? Now that you know about her father's past—for I am sure she must be John Brake's child—you won't allow that to—eh?"

"Not for a moment!" answered Bryce, with a fair show of magnanimity. "I am not a man of that complexion, sir. No!—I only wished to clear up certain things, you understand."

"And—since she is apparently—from what you say—in ignorance of her real father's past—what then?" asked Mr. Gilwaters anxiously. "Shall you—"

"I shall do nothing whatever in any haste," replied Bryce. "Rely upon me to consider her feelings in everything. As you have been so kind, I will let you know, later, how matters go."

This was one of Pemberton Bryce's ready inventions. He had not the least intention of ever seeing or communicating with the late vicar of Braden Medworth again; Mr. Gilwaters had served his purpose for the time being. He went away from Bayswater, and, an hour later, from London, highly satisfied. In his opinion, Mark Ransford, seventeen years before, had taken advantage of his friend's misfortunes to run away with his wife, and when Brake, alias Braden, had unexpectedly turned up at Wrychester, he had added to his former wrong by the commission of a far greater one.