"Where?" asks Doatie, eagerly.
"In Sydney. In Paul Rodney's employ. In his very house."
"Ah!" says Doatie, clasping her hands. "And——"
"He says he knows nothing about any will."
Another pause, longer than the last.
"He denies all knowledge of it. I suppose he has been bought up by the other side. And now what remains for us to do? That was our last chance, and a splendid one, as there are many reasons for believing that old Elspeth either burned or hid the will drawn up by my grandfather on the night of his death; but it has failed us. Yet I cannot but think this man Warden must know something of it. How did he discover Paul Rodney's home? It has been proved, that old Elspeth was always in communication with my uncle up to the hour of her death; she must have sent Warden to Australia then, probably with this very will she had been so carefully hiding for years. If so, it is beyond all doubt burned or otherwise destroyed by this time. Parkins writes to me in despair."
"This is dreadful!" says Doatie. "But"—brightening—"surely it is not so bad as death or disgrace, is it?"
"It means death to me," replies he, in a low tone. "It means that I shall lose you."
"Nicholas," cries she, a little sharply, "what is it you would say?"
"Nay, hear me," exclaims he, turning for the first time to comfort her; and, as he does, she notices the ravages that the last hour of anxiety and trouble have wrought upon his face. He is looking thin and haggard, and rather tired. All her heart goes out to him, and it is with difficulty she restrains her desire to run to him and encircle him with her soft arms. But something in his expression prevents her.