"Serious and Supposedly Fatal Accident.—As Mr. Cyril Fanchon was being driven home from his office, the horses became startled, ran away, upsetting the carriage, and throwing him out immediately in front of the convent of St. Marguerite. The injured gentleman was carried into the convent, where he now lies in a critical condition. Mr. Fanchon is of the firm of Litchfield & Fanchon, whom the reader may remember as Litchfield being the defaulter for thirty thousand dollars, and who left the country with that amount. It is supposed Mr. Fanchon, who is well and favorably known, will die."
The paper lies unheeded on the table, the minutes and hours pass unheeded likewise, but the man sitting there in the little rudely constructed cabin never stirs. The clock strikes five and the man springs to his feet.
There is quite a surprise among the miners, when they start to work the next morning, to see their old chum departing with his few worldly goods for parts unknown. He took passage in the next steamer, and his heart rejoiced as each mile brought him nearer the completion of his hopes.
Sir Barry Traleigh has started out for a walk. All day he has been unsettled, anxious, worried; he cannot define the feeling which oppresses him, as he expresses it; he feels as if "something unusual was going to happen." Very tired and often very discouraged was Sir Barry during those two years. He had tried with untiring, unwearied patience to find Mr. Litchfield's whereabouts, no expense of time or money had he spared, and yet not a word of hope could he send to the anxious, waiting family. All he could do was to buoy them up with hopes, and those were almost failing him. He had written a letter to Miss Adeline, telling of his assumption of another name, and pleaded for her to forgive the deception he had practised upon them, but saying she would be sure to forgive, when he could explain personally. All this he had written, and much more to the same effect. Dolores answered the letter for her aunt. A letter full of bitter reproaches, refusing to hear any explanation from him—words which stung Sir Barry's proud spirit to the quick. Any other man would have thrown up the whole business, but not so Sir Barry. He could not understand Dolores' strange actions. He sent a postal card saying he was going to see them, and named the day. But he received a curt note, saying they were not at home to strangers; so Sir Barry would not force himself where he was not wanted. He had certainly done wrong, but then Miss Adeline might have been a little more charitable. He was sure it must be Dolores who influenced Miss Adeline, and what he had ever done to be under the bane of Dolores' displeasure, was more than Sir Barry's keenest discernment could fathom. It entirely disheartened his efforts, this fruitless search, from day to day, week to week, and month to month, seeking among strange faces. The cabs and busses rattled along, up and down, in a ceaseless clatter of wheels and rumbles, that make him wonder if they tried to see how many scurrying foot passengers they could knock down in their progress along. He stands a minute to watch the whirling, pushing mass, then enters the station house, as the train is coming, in to watch who comes. And the first man he meets is the one man whom he would give the best thousand dollars he had to meet, just when and where he does. In spite of the heavy beard and deep sunburn, Sir Barry is not to be deceived; he recognizes immediately his old friend Edward Litchfield. Sir Barry rushes forward, extending his hands, and greeting him joyfully.
"Ah, Jet my boy, the first home face I have seen; it does my heart good to look at your face, lad." Edward Litchfield looks haggard and worried.
"How are things working?" are the first words he utters after the welcome is over, and they have taken a cab for Sir Barry's apartments.
"Of course Fanchon got the money, and used it; you disappeared, and of course he let you carry the blame with you; the business is going on with Fanchon at the head. It is the second rather steep affair for which he will be called to account. Of course I could do nothing, but now you are here, we will have a general sifting up of affairs," Sir Barry says with satisfaction.
"How is Fanchon getting? Poor fellow, I feel so sorry for him, but it is my duty to clear my own and my family's name from dishonor."
"We will go to the convent to-morrow, and see if he can say anything, clearly," Sir Barry says.
He is very anxious that all this miserable affair shall be cleared up as soon as possible.