Coristine had survived the thunderstorm and the finding of Rawdon’s remains; and, now that all sympathy in the latter was forfeited, many a one would gladly have gone to the sinking man who fired the shot to tell him, in his own vernacular, that Grinstuns had ceased from troubling.  But few dared intrude upon the stillness of his chamber, from the door of which Marjorie had to be carried bodily away.  The villain dead, the treasure and papers recovered, Matilda Nagle in her right mind, confidence was restored in Bridesdale, and only one absorbing thought filled all minds.  Yet, while the colonel shared his cigar case with Mr. Douglas, and Mr. Terry smoked his dudeen, Mr. Bangs wrote to Toronto an account of the escaped prisoner’s death, Miss Du Plessis resigned her type writership to Messrs. Tylor, Woodruff, and White, Mr. Wilkinson sent in to the Board of School Trustees his resignation of the Sacheverell Street School, and the Squire, on behalf of his niece, signified that her position in the same was vacant, and informed the legal firm of the serious illness of their junior partner.  The clergymen returned to their lodgings and their duties, and the constable, having no living criminal to watch over, relieved Timotheus and Ben Toner of their care of the dead.  Maguffin had summoned Messrs. Newberry, Pawkins, and Johnson for the coroner’s jury in the morning, and no excitement was left at Bridesdale.  When night came, all retired to rest, except the one watcher by the bedside of despair.  Early in the morning, when the sun began to shine upon the night dews and peep through the casements, a tap came to the dominie’s door.  He was awake, he had not even undressed, and, therefore, answered it at once.  He knew the pale figure in the dressing gown.  “Put on your pedestrian suit,” she said with eagerness, “and bring your knapsack with you as quickly as possible.”  He put it on, although the arms of coat and shirt were ripped up for former surgical reasons, and he objected to the blood marks on the sleeves.  Then he took up his knapsack, and went hastily to the sick room.  His friend was lying on his side, and looking very deathly, but he was speaking, and a wan smile flitted over his lips.  “Two knapsacks,” he murmured, and, “Dear old Wilks,” and, “rum start.”  Miss Carmichael said:  “Put yours here on the table above his, where he can see them,” and he obeyed.  “Now, stand beside them, and say ‘Corry,’ gently.”  The dominie could hardly do it for a queer choking in his throat, but at last he succeeded in pronouncing the abbreviation in an interrogative tone.  “Wilks,” wheezed the sick man, “O Wilks, she called them pads!” and his eyes rested on the knapsacks.  “Stay with him,” the nurse whispered, “while I call Fanny.”  Soon Miss Halbert came, and, walking boldly but quietly up to the bedside, asked:  “Who are you calling she, you naughty boy that want to leave us all?” With an effort, he answered:  “I beg your pardon, Miss Halbert, but you know you did call them pads.”  “Well,