Captain Murpoint had never hit upon a more brilliant device for gaining his end than that which he determined upon as the lever by which his plot should be raised.
"He never reached England, and I never saw him or the locket again," he resumed, in a low voice. "He, my best—ay, dearest friend, lies at the bottom of the sea, and his portrait is buried in the secret drawer of the old bureau."
"Hush!" said Mrs. Mildmay, as a low, suppressed cry of agony came from Violet's corner.
"You say it is—it is like my father?" she said, "and that he placed it there?"
The captain inclined his head.
"Then—then," she breathed, painfully, "the room must be opened. I—I said," she added, with a shudder, "that it never should be! But if the portrait—his portrait—is there, it must be, for I must have it! I must have it!"
"It is an old bureau," said the captain. "For he assured me that his own hands placed it there. But wait until you are stronger."
"No," said Violet, "I am strong enough. I must have it at once—to-morrow!"
Jem Starling had been commanded to refrain from strong drink and to remain sober, and he had kept sober up to the day upon which the captain, with a slight lapse from his usual foresight, discharged him.