The puny Dick of Trevellian Castle was dead, and Hal was master there.  Only one life now between Jack and wealth and Bessie; but as once before he called himself a murderer, so he had done again when he heard of Dick’s death, and pulling the wild thought from him he wrote to Hal just as he had written to Dick, and told him he supposed he would be marrying now and settling down in the old home, and then there came over him so intense a longing for Bessie that he resolved upon the visit, feeling glad for the storm and the cold which would keep him in the house where he could have her all to himself.  How then was he surprised to find both Neil and Grey Jerrold, the latter of whom he had met many times and between whom and himself there was a strong liking.  But Jack was one who could easily cover up his feelings, and he greeted the young men warmly, and held Bessie’s hand in his while he explained rapidly, as if anxious to get it off his mind, that he had gone to the “George” intending to take a room there as he had done before, but had found it quite shut up, and so he added, laughingly: 

“I have come here bag and baggage, and if I spend the night, as I should like to, I shall have to ask for a bed, or cot, or crib, or cradle; anything will do.”

Bessie could not help glancing at Grey, who detected the troubled look in her eyes as she assured the new arrival of her readiness to grant the hospitality he craved.  In Grey’s mind there could be no doubt now as to what Neil would do.  “He will offer to share his room with Jack, of course,” he thought, and so, perhaps, thought Bessie; but into Neil’s mind no such alternative entered; first come first served was his motto, and besides, what business had Jack to come there anyway, uninvited and unannounced?  For his part, he thought it rather cheeky, and there was a cloud on his face all through the breakfast, nor was it at all dispelled when, after the meal was over, Jack brought out a lovely seal-skin cap and pair of seal-skin gloves which he had bought as a Christmas gift for Bessie, and a handsomely bound edition of Shakespeare for Archie, who he knew was very fond of the poet.

Now was Grey’s time, and the work-box was produced, and Bessie’s face was a study in its surprise and delight, for Christmas presents of any value were rare with her, and the cap and the gloves were just what she wanted, and the box was so beautiful that there were tears in her eyes as she thanked the donors for their kindness, and asked Neil if the gifts were not pretty.

“Yes, very,” he said, inwardly cursing himself for an idiot that he, too, had not thought to bring anything.  “I never do think till it is too late,” he said to himself; “but then, I never have any spare money, while Grey is rich and Jack is his own master;” and entrenching himself behind these excuses he tried to seem at his ease, though he was very far from being so.

In the course of the morning Grey managed to see Jack alone for a few moments, and immediately broached the subject of the bed, or cot, or crib which the latter had bespoken.