The Count arose and shook his head. "We must not talk on these subjects, as I am no priest," he said with a smile; "all I tell you is, that you must obey the Great Law, or suffer according to your breaking of it. Now go and give the will to Mr. Dane."
Pentreddle did so, and when questioned as to how it came into his possession, related all that he knew, and how he had brought back the will to its rightful owner. Patricia was present when he explained, and both she and her lover were horrified to hear that Theodore had murdered the poor woman. They questioned and cross-questioned him until he was weary and excused himself so that he might get a little sleep. But there was none for the young couple.
"If Theodore is indeed dead, it is a mercy," said Basil thankfully.
"Oh, dearest! dead in his sin?"
"Oh!" said the young man rather cynically; "if one had to wait until Theodore, from what I knew of him, was fit to die, he would have become immortal. No, darling," he added quickly, catching sight of Patricia's pained face, "I don't mean to be flippant. God have mercy on his soul! I say, with all my heart. But he was a thoroughly bad man."
"Well, he is dead, so let us think no more about him."
So they said and so they felt, but throughout that weary night they continued to talk of the scamp. Also they referred regretfully to the death of the Squire, and Patricia wept for the old man who had been so kind to her. In the end, grief and anxiety wore her out, and she fell asleep on Basil's breast. They sat in a sheltered corner of the deck, for Miss Carrol refused to be parted from her lover.
In the grey, grim light they finally saw the ruin which had been wrought by the fall of the mighty cliff. There were vast rents in its breast, and it was by no means so high as it had been. Below was a tumbled mass of red rock, beneath which, not only the Hall but the greater part of the grounds were buried. That which had been Beckleigh was now a thing of the past, for in no way could that enormous quantity of rubble and rock, and sand and stone, be lifted. The whole formed a gigantic tumulus, such as of yore had been heaped over the body of some barbarous chief. Squire Colpster and his wicked nephew certainly had a magnificent monument to mark the place where they reposed. Amidst all that fallen rock it was impossible to rebuild the Hall, or to reconstruct the grounds.
"We have the income," said Basil, while he stood on deck with his arm round Patricia's waist, looking at the ruin, "but our home is gone for ever."
Patricia shuddered. "I am sorry, of course, for it is such a lovely place."