Corporal Bracknell glanced at the note, and his eyes were fixed upon the half-erased signature. “Tell me,” he said, “what is Koona Dick’s name?—I mean the second half of his name which he had begun to write apparently from force of habit, and then crossed out?”
“I am afraid it will be something of a surprise to you,” said the girl.
“Perhaps not so great a surprise as you think,” was the reply. “I think I have already guessed.”
“His name is the same as your own, Corporal. It is Bracknell!”
“Ah!” said the corporal in the tone of a man who had found his thoughts confirmed. “Richard Ascham Bracknell, of course.”
“You have the name perfect,” answered Joy quietly.
“Of Harrow Fell, Westmorland, England?” inquired the corporal.
“He was born there,” replied the girl, “and Sir James is his father, as you are his cousin.”
The corporal walked on a few paces without speaking, his eyes staring at a distant hill, and from the vacancy of their gaze it was evident that he was lost in thought. Joy Gargrave watched him curiously, and, after a little time, she spoke again.
“You did not know—you did not guess until you saw that note?”