He bore the burden for three more years, then his wife died.  One night, after screaming herself speechless in fury at Shergold’s refusal to go with her to a music-hall, she had a fit on the stairs, and in falling received fatal injuries.

The man was free, but terribly shattered.  Only after a long sojourn abroad, at his kinsman’s expense, did he begin to recover health.  He came back and entered himself as a student at Guy’s, greatly to Dr. Shergold’s satisfaction.  His fees were paid and a small sum was allowed him to live upon—­a very small sum.  By degrees some old acquaintances began to see him, but it was only quite of late that he had accepted invitations from people of social standing, whom he met at the doctor’s house.  The hints of his story that got about made him an interesting figure, especially to women, and his remarkable gifts were recognised as soon as circumstances began to give him fair play.  All modern things were of interest to him, and his knowledge, acquired with astonishing facility, formed the fund of talk which had singular charm alike for those who did and those who did not understand it.  Undeniably shy, he yet, when warmed to a subject, spoke with nerve and confidence.  In days of jabber, more or less impolite, this appearance of an articulate mortal, with soft manners and totally unaffected, could not but excite curiosity.  Lady Teasdale, eager for the uncommon, chanced to observe him one evening as he conversed with his neighbour at the dinner-table; later, in the drawing-room, she encouraged him with flattery of rapt attention to a display of his powers; she resolved to make him a feature of her evenings.  Fortunately, his kindred with Dr. Shergold made a respectable introduction, and Lady Teasdale whispered it among matrons that he would inherit from the wealthy doctor, who had neither wife nor child.  He might not be fair to look upon, but handsome is that handsome has.

And now the doctor lay sick unto death.  Society was out of town, but Lady Teasdale, with a house full of friends about her down in Hampshire, did not forget her protege; she waited with pleasant expectation for the young man’s release from poverty.

It came in a day or two.  Dr. Shergold was dead, and an enterprising newspaper announced simultaneously that the bulk of his estate would pass to Mr. Henry Shergold, a gentleman at present studying for his uncle’s profession.  This paragraph caught the eye of Harvey Munden, who sent a line to his friend, to ask if it was true.  In reply he received a mere postcard:  ‘Yes.  Will see you before long.’  But Harvey wanted to be off to Como, and as business took him into the city, he crossed the river and sought Maze Pond.  Again the door was opened to him by the landlady’s daughter; she stood looking keenly in his face, her eyes smiling and yet suspicious.

‘Mr. Shergold in?’ he asked carelessly.

‘No, he isn’t.’  There was a strange bluntness about this answer.  The girl stood forward, as if to bar the entrance, and kept searching his face.