Herbert Loring's funeral was conducted in the church to which he had been a contributor for many years. Distant connections of the family, old business friends, and curiosity-seekers made a gathering of average size, and among those seated, toward the back of the audience, was Nicholas Gayne.

The astute lawyer's expectation of a visit from him was not disappointed. Indeed, Luther Wrenn came to his office at an earlier hour than usual the following morning, entirely in honor of that gentleman.

On the drive to the cemetery the day of the funeral, Mr. Wrenn had placed Diana, her mother, and Mrs. Lowell in the motor with himself. There was little said on the way out. The lawyer was well known by reputation to Mrs. Wilbur, and the only drawback to her satisfaction in the arrangement was Diana's preoccupation and the knowledge that interesting information was being kept back from her. Mrs. Wilbur had not only sent lavish gifts of flowers to the church, but, there seeming to be no one but paid workers to attend to the decorations, she had personally supervised them, and, coming back from the cemetery, the lawyer expressed his appreciation of her kindness and her presence in a manner to apply much balm. However, he turned directly from his respectful laudation of Mrs. Wilbur to her daughter.

"How long can you and Mrs. Lowell stay on?" he asked, and the mother became alert. His manner signified previous acquaintance with Diana.

"Just as long as is necessary," was the girl's surprising reply.

"I am certain that Gayne will call on me the first thing to-morrow morning, and I should like you to remain near the telephone if you will."

"Certainly," replied Diana.

"Mr. Wrenn, I don't understand what you are asking of my daughter," said Mrs. Wilbur crisply.

"Ah,"—the lawyer bowed gravely. "Perhaps you have not been told of the surprising turn events have taken. It is a matter which requires secrecy until identities are established and evil-doers circumvented. Let me congratulate you, Mrs. Wilbur, on a remarkably fine and intelligent daughter. She is a credit to your bringing-up. Not many mothers can boast of having instilled such prudence."

The lady leaned back in her corner, not certain whether to accept this disarming, or to insist immediately upon her rights. She decided to compromise and wait until they reached the hotel.

"My daughter tells you she can wait in Boston as long as is necessary," she said at last, "and her mother will have to understand the necessity."

"Certainly, Mrs. Wilbur," responded the lawyer. "We have found ourselves in a totally unexpected situation. Mr. Herbert Loring destroyed his will and died before he could make another."

Mrs. Wilbur exclaimed. Mr. Loring was known to be wealthy and she was interested in fortunes. Her brain began working actively on the probabilities of the heirs.

"The next strange event is that your young daughter has probably found the heir."

Mrs. Wilbur raised her lorgnette and regarded Diana, drooping opposite, as if she were a new discovery.

"I wish to understand," she said with dignity.

"It seems that Mr. Loring's disobedient daughter left a son whose existence has been unsuspected unless Mr. Loring himself knew of it, which he never betrayed. Your daughter and Mrs. Lowell have found the boy."

"Not I," protested Diana. "Mrs. Lowell, in her sweet unselfishness, deserves all the credit. I should have paid no attention to him, but I—it was through your letter, Mamma, that I found the boy's grandfather."

"We all had a hand in it, then, it seems," said Mrs. Wilbur.

"The boy's uncle has possession of him. His father and mother are both dead, and, according to these ladies, the uncle can qualify as the world's meanest man. So we proceed carefully until the proofs which he is supposed to have are in hand. You, Mrs. Wilbur, will aid us in silence on the subject until the right time for speaking."

"How old is he, Diana?" burst forth the lady. "What does he look like? Is he clever and worthy of such a heritage?"

"He is a poor, shabby, ill-treated boy about fourteen years old. He has never had a chance, but I scarcely know him. Mrs. Lowell is the one who discovered him and cared for him."

Mrs. Wilbur glanced at Mrs. Lowell, but she could not bring herself to ask her a question. She felt a vague jealousy and sense of injury at finding this stranger in her child's confidence and aiding and abetting her in so much independence of action.

As soon as possible after the reception of Mrs. Wilbur's enlightening letter at the island, Mrs. Lowell had wired her husband that the search was ended before it had begun, and he returned Diana's check with congratulations.

"What an amazed boy that will be, Mr. Wrenn," remarked Mrs. Wilbur. "What is his name?"

"Herbert Loring Gayne."

"H'm. I suppose his mother had all sorts of hope that with a son of that name she could placate her father."

"Doubtless she did," replied the lawyer, "and I wish it might have proved so. Perhaps they would both have been alive to-day had she succeeded, but my old friend Loring never mentioned her to me and I don't know what efforts she made. There must be a good deal of delay before the young heir can come into his own."

"I suppose so," sighed Mrs. Wilbur. "That tiresome law moves slowly."

Diana looked up with sudden attention. "But we must not be dilatory in rescuing the boy."

Mr. Wrenn nodded. "If he is proved to be the right one."

"There can be no doubt of it," said Mrs. Lowell.

"Not to charming, sympathetic ladies, of course," returned the lawyer with a smile.

"I feel that every day counts," said Mrs. Lowell. "He must be removed from that mental malaria as soon as possible."

"I will—" began Diana, and then she glanced at her mother,—"I mean Mamma will gladly finance him, I'm sure, for the present."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Wilbur with dignity, "when you see fit to tell me the whole story. I'm sure I haven't it yet."

"There is no reason to burden you, Mamma, with disagreeable considerations," said Diana meekly. "I can myself look after the boy's needs."

"Yes, she can," said Mrs. Wilbur in an offended tone. "What do you think, Mr. Wrenn, of a father who insists on giving a young girl an unlimited check-book, not requiring her to give any account of what she does with money?"

The lawyer smiled at the embarrassed culprit. "I think that your husband has proved himself a very good reader of character all through his career."

Mrs. Wilbur bounced back into her corner. She didn't intend to bounce; she intended to lean back gracefully, with an air of renouncing all interest in this matter which had proceeded so far without her coÖperation, but just at that moment the car went over a "thank-you-ma'am."

As has already been said, Luther Wrenn, the following morning, sought his office at an earlier hour than was customary, and Nicholas Gayne was there before him.

He did not keep him waiting long, and the stocky figure and dark face soon appeared in the private office.

The lawyer regarded the stranger over his eye-glasses.

"I didn't have any card," said the visitor. "My name is Gayne, Nicholas Gayne."

"Be seated, sir. What is your errand?"

"I would like to be present at the reading of the Herbert Loring will." The speaker's manner was confident, and he seemed endeavoring to repress excitement.

"Indeed? Are you a relative?"

"No, but my nephew is. I have a great surprise for you, Mr. Wrenn. My nephew is Herbert Loring's grandson and namesake." Nicholas Gayne marveled at the self-control of a lawyer, for Luther Wrenn's expression did not change. "I visited Mr. Loring before he went abroad the last time, but he would not listen to me or look at my proofs. So I suppose he has not mentioned his grandson in his will, and, if that is the fact, I wish to retain you to break the will." This declaration was made with great energy and a flash of the speaker's dark eyes.

"You have proofs, then," said Mr. Wrenn, after a short hesitation, perhaps to make sure of the retention of that self-control.

"Yes, right here." Gayne caught up from the floor a small black leather bag, and opened it. "Here are the letters Bert's mother wrote her father to try for a reconciliation. Returned unopened, you see. Here is her picture. Perhaps you knew her."

Luther Wrenn took the small card photograph and gazed at it long.

"My brother was an irresponsible sort of chap. At the time he met Miss Loring, he had put through a good deal and was riding on top of the wave. She was artistic in her tastes, and he met her through the artist set at Gloucester, where she was that summer, and she took a fancy to him that her father couldn't break off. Unfortunate, you'll say, but Lambert was a stunning-looking chap and she decided firmly on her course. So now here is this boy and the law should protect his rights. Here's the record of his birth fourteen years ago, in her own writing; perhaps you know her writing." Gayne was talking fast and excitedly, and Wrenn took from his hand one after another of the proofs he offered and laid them on his desk with no change of countenance.

"What sort of a boy is your nephew?" he asked. "A bright boy?"

Gayne's face changed. He looked away. "Well, no. I can't say he is. Bert is delicate. He needs all sorts of care, care that takes heaps of money to pay for. I haven't been able to do for him what I'd like to. As soon as you get his money for him, I shall engage professional care and see that he has the best. I'm a good business man, if I do say it, and I'll see that his funds multiply until he is able to look after his fortune himself."

Luther Wrenn nodded. "I see," he said; and he did, very plainly. "Now, there will be no reading of the will, Mr. Gayne. That is all attended to. So you may leave this matter with me."

"Was the boy mentioned?" asked Gayne eagerly.

"No; no mention of him."

"You think you can get some money, though, don't you?"

"Possibly. I'll see you again."

"There ain't any kind of doubt that he's the genuine grandson," said Gayne, rising reluctantly, as the lawyer got to his feet.

"Your proofs seem to be convincing," was the grave reply.

"Well, could you—couldn't you advance me something now for Bert's care? He needs a lot of things, that boy does."

"You go too swiftly, Mr. Gayne. Come back here at three o'clock day after to-morrow."

Gayne looked at the papers and picture strewn on the lawyer's desk. "I don't know about leaving the only proofs of our rights that I've got."

Luther Wrenn turned to the desk and gathered them up. "Certainly. Take them to some lawyer in whom you have confidence."

"Oh, pshaw, no," said Gayne sheepishly. "I didn't mean that. You were Mr. Loring's lawyer. You're the one to handle the case."

"Good-day, then, Mr. Gayne."

"Good-day," and Nicholas took his departure.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Wrenn seated himself at the desk and called up the Copley-Plaza. Diana was waiting.

"Miss Wilbur?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Wrenn speaking. Mr. Gayne has been here. Please wire at once to the island and get some one to bring the boy to your hotel as soon as possible."

"Yes, Mr. Wrenn."

"I think Mr. Barrison is the one to ask," said Diana to Mrs. Lowell, who was waiting near.

So it was that an hour later Philip Barrison was called to the telephone at the island store to receive a telegram.

"I know what it is!" exclaimed Barney Kelly. "'All Saints' is going to outbid 'The Apostles' for you. You're the rising young beggar."

He wandered down with Philip to the store and loitered about outside talking to Matt Blake. When Philip reappeared, it was with a hurried air.

"Want anything in Boston?" he asked.

"Of course, we do—the Brahms, but what's up?"

"I've got to go. Wire from Miss Wilbur."

"Aha," said Kelly, following Philip's long strides to the express wagon which Blake was just mounting.

"No, no, no," returned Philip. "Naught personal. No such luck. Hello, Matt, going up-along?"

"Yes."

"See you later, Kelly, I have to go up to Miss Burridge's." And Philip jumped into the seat beside the driver.

"No, you guessed wrong. You're going to see me right along," returned Barney, hopping up on the tail of the wagon and letting his feet hang over, while he whistled cheerily.