“There cannot be a doubt of it,” said Captain Cannonby, alluding to the death.  “I saw him die; I helped to bury him.”

“Then who is it that walks about, dressed up as his ghost?” debated Jan.

“I cannot tell,” said Lionel, a severe expression arising to his lips.  “I begin to think with Captain Cannonby; that there can be no doubt that Frederick Massingbird is dead; therefore, he, it is not.  But that it would be undesirable, for my wife’s sake, to make this doubt public, I would have every house in the place searched.  Whoever it may be, he is concealed in one of them.”

“Little doubt of that,” nodded Jan.  “I’ll pounce upon him, if I get the chance.”

Lionel and Captain Cannonby continued their way to Verner’s Pride.  The revived hope in Lionel’s mind strengthened with every step they took.  It did seem impossible, looking at it from a practical, matter-of-fact point of view, that a man buried deep in the earth, and supposed to be dead before he was placed there, could come to life again.

“What a relief for Sibylla!” he involuntarily cried, drawing a long, relieved breath on his own score.  “This must be just one of those cases, Captain Cannonby, when good Catholics, in the old days, made a vow to the Virgin of so many valuable offerings, should the dread be removed and turn out to have been no legitimate dread at all.”

“Ay.  I should like to be in at the upshot.”

“I hope you will be.  You must not run away from us immediately.  Where’s your luggage?”

Captain Cannonby laughed.  “Talk to a returned gold-digger of his ‘luggage’!  Mine consists of a hand portmanteau, and that is at the Golden Fleece.  I can order it up here if you’d like me to stay with you a few days.  I should enjoy some shooting beyond everything.”

“That is settled, then,” said Lionel.  “I will see that you have your portmanteau.  Did you get rich at the diggings?”

The captain shook his head.  “I might have made something, had I stuck at it.  But I grew sick of it altogether.  My brother, the doctor, makes a sight of money, and I can get what I want from him,” was the candid confession.

Lionel smiled.  “These rich brothers in reserve are a terrible drag upon self-exertion.  Here we are!” he added, as they turned in at the gates.  “This is Verner’s Pride.”

“What a fine place!” exclaimed Captain Cannonby, bringing his steps to a halt as he gazed at it.

“Yes, it is.  Not a pleasant prospect, was it, to contemplate the being turned out of it by a dead man.”

“A dead—­You do not mean to say that Frederick Massingbird—­if in life—­would be the owner of Verner’s Pride?”

“Yes, he would be.  I was its rightful heir, and why my uncle willed it away from me, to one who was no blood relation, has remained a mystery to this day.  Frederick Massingbird succeeded, to my exclusion.  I only came into it at his death.”