Thereupon I told how I had met with Captain Antonius Merrydew.  Nay, more, for my heart ached for confidence, I recounted the whole story of my meeting with John Railton, and the struggle upon Dead Man’s Rock.  Every word I told, down to the dead man’s legacy—­the packet and letter which I hid in the cow-house.  As the tale proceeded my uncle’s eyes grew wider and wider with astonishment.  But I held on calmly and resolutely to the end, nor after the first shock of wonderment did he doubt my sanity or truthfulness, but grew more and more gravely interested.

When I had finished my narrative there was a long silence.  Finally Uncle Loveday spoke—­

“It’s a remarkable story—­a very remarkable story,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully.  “In all my life I have never heard so strange a tale.  But the man must be caught.  He cannot have gone far, if, as you say, he was here at Lantrig only the night before last.  I expect they are on the look-out for him down at Polkimbra since they have heard the captain’s statement; but all the same I will send off Joe Roscorla, who is below, to make sure.  I must have a pipe, Jasper, to think this over.  As a general rule I am not a smoker:  your aunt does not—­ahem!—­exactly like the smell.  But it collects the thoughts, and this wants thinking over.  Meanwhile, you might dress if you feel well enough.  Run to the shed and get the packet; we will read it over together when I have finished my pipe.  It is a remarkable story,” he repeated, as he slowly opened the door, “a most marvellous story.  I must have a pipe.  A most—­remarkable—­tale.”

With this he went downstairs and left me to dress.

I did so, and ran downstairs to the cow-shed.  No one had been there.  With eager fingers I tore away the bricks from the crumbling mortar, and drew out my prize.  The buckle glittered in the light that stole through the gaping door.  All was safe, and as I left it.

Clutching my treasure, I ran back to the house and found Mrs. Busvargus spreading the midday meal.  Until that was over, I knew that Uncle Loveday would not attack the mystery.  He was sitting outside in the front garden smoking solemnly, and the wreaths of his pipe, curling in through the open door, filled the house with fragrance.

I crept upstairs to my mother’s door, and reverently entered the dim-lit room.  They had laid the two dead lovers side by side upon the bed.  Very peacefully they slept the sleep that was their meeting—­peacefully as though no wickedness had marred their lives or wrought their death.  I could look upon them calmly now.  My father had left his heritage—­a heritage far different from that which he went forth to win; but I accepted it nevertheless.  Had they known, in heaven, the full extent of that inheritance, would they not, as I kissed their dead lips in token of my acceptance, have given some sign to stay me?  Had I known, as I bent over them, to what the oath in my heart would bring me, would I even then have renounced it?  I cannot say.  The dead lips were silent, and only the dead know what will be.