portmanteau you took charge of is dead; but you did your duty, Mr.
Trent, in the matter, although the recovery of the portmanteau was
unessential to the case."
"Dead," repeated Randolph, scarcely heeding him. "But is it true? Are
they sure?"
Mr. Dingwall elevated his eyebrows. "The large property at stake of
course rendered the most satisfactory proofs of it necessary. His father
had died only a month previous, and of course they were seeking the
presumptive heir, the so-called 'Captain John Dornton'--your man--when
they made the discovery of his death."
Randolph thought of the strange body at the wharf, of the coroner's
vague verdict, and was unconvinced. "But," he said impulsively, "there
was a child." He checked himself as he remembered this was one of Miss
Avondale's confidences to him.
"Ah--Miss Avondale has spoken of a child?" said Mr. Dingwall dryly.
"I saw her with one which she said was Captain Dornton's, which had been
left in her care after the death of his wife," said Randolph in hurried
explanation.
"John Dornton had no WIFE," said Mr. Dingwall severely. "The boy is a
natural son. Captain John lived a wild, rough, and--er--an eccentric
life."
"I thought--I understood from Miss Avondale that he was married,"
stammered the young man.
"In your rather slight acquaintance with that young lady I should
imagine she would have had some delicacy in telling you otherwise,"
returned Mr. Dingwall primly.
Randolph felt the truth of this, and was momentarily embarrassed. Yet he
lingered.
"Has Miss Avondale known of this discovery long?" he asked.
"About two weeks, I should say," returned Mr. Dingwall. "She was of some
service to Sir William in getting up certain proofs he required."
It was three weeks since she had seen Randolph, yet it would have been
easy for her to communicate the news to him. In these three weeks his
romance of their common interest in his benefactor--even his own dream
of ever seeing him again--had been utterly dispelled.
It was in no social humor that he reached Dingwall's house the next
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