Mrs. Craven was placed in a difficult position. At the special request of Frank, as conveyed in his letter, she had agreed to keep secret her knowledge of his safety. Of course, she could no longer indulge in her sorrow, which at first overwhelmed her. Her only course was to affirm her belief in his deliverance, though she was not at liberty to name the grounds upon which her belief was based. This must necessarily seem strange, as a "presentiment" was a very slender reason for the change in her manner. Had she been willing to play a part, Mrs. Craven might still have counterfeited grief, but this, again, was not in accordance with her nature. She preferred to be misunderstood, and to excite surprise in those who were ignorant of the facts.

But this was not her only perplexity. There was the haunting suspicion that the man whom, unhappily for herself, she called husband, had instigated the wicked plot against the life of her only son. Frank believed it. It might not be true; yet, while there was a possibility of its truth, how could she continue to treat him with her usual courtesy? She sought to do it, but she could not. Though studiously polite, her manner became very cold—almost repellent. When Mr. Craven approached her she could hardly avoid shuddering.

Of course, this change became perceptible to him, and he was puzzled and disturbed. It upset all his calculations. He thought she would accept the fact of Frank's death—of which, by the way, he had no doubt himself—and would be so overcome by sorrow that he could readily obtain her consent to those business steps which would place the entire control of Frank's fortune in his hands. Yet here she was, declining to believe that he was dead, and evidently her confidence in him was, for some reason, chilled and impaired.

Mr. Craven was impatient to broach the subject, and finding his wife's manner still the same, and with no prospect of alteration, he devised a plausible mode of approaching the subject which was so near his heart.

One evening, after the supper dishes were removed, just as Mrs. Craven was leaving the room, he called her back.

"My dear," he said, "will you sit down a few minutes? I have a few words to say to you."

She complied with his request.

"Ahem!" he commenced. "I have taken a step to-day of which I wish to apprize you."

"Indeed."

"Yes, my dear. Sensible of the uncertainty of life, I have to-day made my will."

"Indeed!" she said again, exhibiting no particular interest in Mr. Craven's communication.

"You do not ask me in what way I have left my money!"

"I do not suppose it concerns me."

"But it does, materially. I have no near relatives—at least, none that I care for. I have bequeathed all my property to you."

As Mr. Craven possessed nothing whatever apart from the money which his wife permitted him to control, this magnanimous liberality did not require any great self-denial or evince any special affection on his part. However, his wife did not know that, and upon her ignorance he relied. He expected her to thank him, but her manner continued cold.

"I am obliged to you for your intention," she said, "but I am not likely to survive you."

"We cannot tell, my dear. Should you live to be my widow, I should wish you to inherit all I left behind me."

"Thank you, but I should prefer that you would leave all you possess to the relatives you refer to."

"I have none that I care for."

"I suppose we must sometimes leave property to those we do not particularly like."

Mr. Craven was very much disappointed by the coldness with which his liberality was received. He wanted to suggest that his wife should follow his example and leave him her fortune, increased as it was by Frank's, of which she was the legal heir. But this proposal was not so easy to make. Nevertheless, he determined, at any rate, to try for the control of Frank's estate.

"There's but one thing more I want to mention," he said. "But first let me say, that my will must stand without alteration. Of course, you can make such disposition of my property as you like when it falls to you, but to you it must go. Now, for the other matter. I beg you will excuse me from saying anything to grieve you, but it must be said. It is necessary for us to take some measures about poor Frank's property."

"Why is it necessary?"

"Since he is dead—"

"But he is not dead," said Mrs. Craven, quickly.

"Not dead? Have we not Colonel Sharpley's testimony? He saw the poor boy fall over the cliff."

Mr. Craven drew out his handkerchief and pressed it to his eyes, but his wife displayed no emotion.

"Then I don't believe Colonel Sharpley," said Mrs. Craven.

"Don't believe him!" exclaimed Mr. Craven. "What possible motive can he have for stating what is not true?"

"It may be that Frank fell, but that would not necessarily kill him."

Still she shuddered, as fancy conjured up the terrible scene.

Mr. Craven shook his head.

"My dear," he said, "I regret to destroy your hopes. If such a fancy could be indulged without interfering with what ought to be done, I would say nothing to disturb your dream, wild and improbable as it is. But Frank left property. The law requires that it should be legally administered."

"Let it accumulate till my boy returns."

"That would be foolish and idle. The poor boy will never need it more;" and again Mr. Craven buried his emotion in the depth of his handkerchief. "His bright and promising career is over for this world. He has gone where worldly riches will never benefit him more."

But for her private knowledge of Frank's safety, Mrs. Craven would have been moved by his pathetic reference; but, as it was, she stood it without manifesting any emotion, thus plunging her husband into deeper and more angry bewilderment.

"As I said before," returned his wife, "I firmly believe that Frank is still alive."

"What proof—what reason can you offer?" demanded Mr. Craven, impatiently.

"None, except my fixed conviction."

"Based upon nothing at all, and contradicted by the most convincing testimony of eye-witnesses."

"That is your view."

"It is the view of common sense."

"There is no need of doing anything about the property at present, is there? I am the legal heir, am I not?"

"Ahem! Yes."

"Then it is for me to say what shall be done. I am in no hurry to assume possession of my boy's fortune."

Mr. Craven bit his lip. Here was an impracticable woman. Apparently, nothing could be done with her—at least as long as she shared this delusion.

"I shall soon be able to convince you," he said, "that you are laboring under a happy but an untenable delusion. I expect Colonel Sharpley in the next steamer."

Mrs. Craven looked up now.

"Is he coming here?" she asked.

"Yes; so he writes. He wishes to tell you all about the accident—how it happened, and some details of poor Frank's last experiences in Europe. He felt that it would be a satisfaction to you to hear them from his own lips. He has, therefore, made this journey expressly on your account."

Mrs. Craven looked upon Sharpley as the murderer of her boy. It was his hand, she believed, that thrust him from the cliff and meant to compass his death. Could she receive such a man as a guest?

"Mr. Craven," she said, abruptly, "if Colonel Sharpley comes here, I have one request to make."

"What is it, my dear?"

"That you do not invite him to stay in this house."

"Why, my dear? I thought you would like to see the last companion of poor Frank," returned Mr. Craven, surprised.

"I cannot bear the sight of that man. But for him, Frank would not have incurred such peril."

"But Sharpley is not to blame for an accident. He could not help it. I regret that you should be so unreasonably prejudiced."

"Call it prejudice if you will. I could not endure the thought of entertaining him as a guest."

"This is very strange, my dear. What will he think?"

"I cannot say, but you must not invite him here."

Mrs. Craven left the room, leaving her husband angry and perplexed.

"Surely she can't suspect anything!" he thought, startled at the suggestion. "But no, it is impossible. We have covered our tracks too carefully for that. On my soul, I don't know what to do. This obstinate woman threatens to upset all my plans. I will consult Sharpley when he comes."