Then, after a moment’s reflection, John Baker inquired how they were to help it.  “Look here, Colonel,” said he, “a man’s a man, but a woman’s a woman.  It isn’t likely as Master Walter will always be putting his hand round your neck and kissing of you when you’re good, and pick a white hair off your coat if he do but see one when you’re going out, and shine upon you in-doors more than the sun does on you out-of-doors; and ’taint to be supposed as Mr. Walter will never meet me on the stairs without breaking out into a smile to cheer an old fellow’s heart, and showing L2000 worth of ivory all at one time; and if I’ve a cold or a bit of a headache he won’t send his lady’s maid to see after me and tell me what I am to do, and threaten to come and nurse me himself if I don’t mend.”

“Well,” said the Colonel, “there’s something in all this.”

“For all that,” said John Baker, candidly, “I shall make you my confession, sir.  I said to Mr. Walter myself, said I, ’Here’s a pretty business,’ said I; ’I’ve known and loved you from a child, and Mrs. Walter has only been here six months, and now I’m afraid she’ll make me love her more than I do you.’”

“Why, of course she will,” said Mr. Walter.  “Why, I love her better than I do myself, and you’ve got to follow suit, or else I’ll murder you.”

So that question was settled.

* * * * *

The five hundred guineas reward rankled in the minds of those detectives, and, after a few months, with the assistance of the ordinary police in all the northern towns, they got upon a cold scent, and then upon a warm scent, and at last they suspected their bird, under the alias of Carruthers.  So they came to the house to get sight of him, and make sure before applying for a warrant.  They got there just in time for his funeral.  Middleton was there and saw them, and asked them to attend it, and to speak to him after the reading of the will.

“Proceedings are stayed,” said he; “but, perhaps, having acted against me, you might like to see whether it would not pay better to act with me.”

“And no mistake,” said one of them; so they were feasted with the rest, for it was a magnificent funeral, and after that Middleton squared them with L50 apiece to hold their tongues—­and more, to divert all suspicion from the house and the beautiful woman who now held it as only trustee for her son.

Remembering that he had left the estate to another man’s child, Monckton, one fine day, bequeathed his personal estate on half a sheet of note-paper to Lucy.  This and the large allowance Middleton obtained from the Court for her, as trustee and guardian to the heir, made her a rich woman.  She was a German, sober, notable, and provident; she kept her sheep, and became a sort of squire.  She wrote to her husband in the States, and, by the advice of Middleton, told him the exact truth instead of a pack of fibs, which she certainly would have done had she