her back again to Newbury, while her sister thought she had gone to spend the morning with her cousin. That was where they were married.'

CHAPTER V.

HOW MISS NETHERSOLE SOFTENED HER

HEART.

GILBERT Confided his surprising discoveries to his pocket-book, but made no other confidant. He left Lulworth in the morning with renewed promises that Alison should speedily visit the place of his birth, and made his way across country as speedily as possible to the little town of Hungerford. Here it was not difficult to find the marriage certificate. The entry, which surprised him no longer, corresponded with those of Bournemouth and Lulworth, and finally completed his chain

of evidence. Everything, in fact, was made out at last, and proved beyond the shadow of doubt. Dora's marriage; the birth and baptism of the child; Dora's death and burial at Bournemouth; the removal of the infant by Anthony Hamblin-not a single point was missing.

Then, how to make the best use of his knowledge?

First of all, he would go on to Newbury and see Miss Nethersole herself. Then, the forged receipts-it would be well if he could get those into his own hands. He had now the great advantage of a complete knowledge of the case. He knew what to tell, and what to conceal. He was master of a secret almost as important as that possessed by young Nick himself; and, like him, he was naturally anxious that it should not be fooled away.

The town of Newbury, which has nothing but its two battles, now rather dim and

faded in men's memories, to connect it with the history of this realm of England, is only some nine miles from Hungerford. In that part of the country the towns are all placed about nine miles from each other-which means that four miles and a half is as far as the old-fashioned farmer cared to drive his pack-horses to market. As soon as that distance, as a maximum, was accomplished, he sat down, unloaded his animals, spread out his wares for sale, waited for customers, and so founded a market town. That is the real origin, only history-books will not own it, of all our market towns. Beneficent Nature, when the town was founded and a church built, proceeded to start a river, which should run through the town, and carry barges up and down. Thus the place was completely fitted. At Newbury there is not only a stream, but it contains fish; and there is an inn of the old fash

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50

ioned kind where the landlord will take you to the likeliest places, show you trophies of the rod, tell you stories such as Izaak Walton would have loved to hear, and provide you with a bottle of port to help your listening. Gilbert fortunately lighted on this inn. Olivet Lodge, he

discovered, stands on the high road to Hungerford, about a quarter of a mile from the town. It is a small square house of red brick, standing in its own gardens. These are extensive for so small a house, but formal and stiff of aspect, so that the visitor would probably feel a sense of disappointment if anything about the place were out of order, if there were visible a single blade of grass on the gravel walk, a single stray weed in the flower beds, or a presumptuous daisy, to say nothing of a dandelion, on the lawns. Also, Gilbert would have been disappointed had the drawing-room, into which he was shown by