“Mr. Carvel thought me dead, then.”

“And most mercifully.  Your black Hugo, when he was somewhat recovered, swore he had seen you killed and carried off.  Sooth, they say there was blood enough on the place.  But we spared no pains to obtain a clew of you.  I went north to Boston, and Lloyd’s factor south to Charleston.  But no trace of the messenger who came to the Coffee House after you could we find.  Hell had opened and swallowed him.  And mark this for consummate villany:  Grafton himself spent no less than five hundred pounds in advertising and the like.”

“And he is not suspected?” I asked.  This was the same question I had put to Mrs. Manners.  It caused the captain to flare up again.

“’Tis incredible how a rogue may impose upon men of worth and integrity if he but know how to smirk piously, and never miss a service.  And then he is an exceeding rich man.  Riches cover a multitude of sins in the most virtuous community in the world.  Your Aunt Caroline brought him a pretty fortune, you know.  We had ominous times this spring, with the associations forming, and the ‘Good Intent’ and the rest being sent back to England.  His Excellency was at his wits’ end for support.  It was Grafton Carvel who helped him most, and spent money like tobacco for the King’s cause, which, being interpreted, was for his own advancement.  But I believe Colonel Lloyd suspects him, tho’ he has never said as much to me.  I have told Mr. Swain, under secrecy, what I think.  He is one of the ablest lawyers that the colony owns, Richard, and a stanch friend of yours.  He took your case of his own accord.  But he says we have no foothold as yet.”

When I asked if there was a will the captain rapped out an oath.

“’Sdeath! yes,” he cried, “a will in favour of Grafton and his heirs, witnessed by Dr. Drake, they say, and another scoundrel.  Your name does not occur throughout the length and breadth of it.  You were dead.  But you will have to ask Mr. Swain for those particulars.  My dear old friend was sadly gone when he wrote it, I fear.  For he never lacked shrewdness in his best days.  Nor,” added Captain Daniel, with force, “nor did he want for a proper estimation of Grafton.”

“He has never been the same since that first sickness,” I answered sadly.

When the captain came to speak of Mr. Carvel’s death, the son and daughter he loved, and the child of his old age in the grave before him, he proceeded brokenly, and the tears blinded him.  Mr. Carvel’s last words will never be known, my dears.  They sounded in the unfeeling ears of the serpent Grafton.  ’Twas said that he was seen coming out of his father’s house an hour after the demise, a smile on his face which he strove to hide with a pucker of sorrow.  But by God’s grace Mr. Allen had not read the prayers.  The rector was at last removed from Annapolis, and had obtained the fat living of Frederick which he coveted.