While riding back to Hanley Hall, Mr. Stafford imparted to Martin some information which changed the aspect of the trip for the latter, from dismal recklessness to hopeful anxiety—his anxiety being to get to Hanley Hall as soon as possible.

They had the compartment to themselves, and Mr. Stafford remarked the dismal, down-hearted expression of Martin's countenance.

"I'm afraid, my boy," he said, quizzically, "you need some of the same tonic as is helping Fred."

"What is that?"

"A good, jolly, pretty girl!"

Martin's gloom became intensified, and more to keep the conversation going than anything else, his companion continued:

"I don't suppose you are aware Fred has become engaged to be married since his return. Lucky dog! He's got one of the best, jolliest and sweetest girls in Lancashire! It was all Kate's work though, for we knew nothing about it until she arrived." (Here Martin became deeply interested, and beamed on the speaker something after the manner of the sun bursting from behind a cloud.) "It seems they were a good deal to each other for some time before he went to Australia, but they quarrelled and that sent him off. She was inclined to flirt a bit, and he was inclined to be jealous. But you should see them now! I'll be hanged if it don't make me feel young again just to see it! Of course, I don't pretend to see anything, and you must not pretend to know anything until you are told."

Martin readily agreed to the restriction placed upon him, and for the balance of their journey Mr. Stafford had no reason to complain of his companionship. Indeed, the old gentleman could not understand the sudden transformation which had taken place, and on their arrival at Hanley Hall both were in high spirits.

They found Carden in the drawing-room, surrounded by a half dozen ladies, to whom he had evidently been narrating some deeply interesting tale, for their entrance was not noticed until they had almost reached the group sitting in a half circle about his chair. He, sitting facing the door, had of course seen them, but went on for a minute or two. Stopping suddenly he said, pointing at Martin:

"And there, ladies, stands the hero of the occasion!"

There was a general turning of heads instantly. Mr. Stafford roared with laughter, while Martin actually blushed—which caused the old gentleman renewed merriment as he exclaimed:

"Come, come, Fred! This is really too bad! Spare the hero's blushes!"

Everybody joined in the laugh this time—even Martin himself—which put all on a more friendly footing than an hours ordinary conversation would have done.

Among the ladies to whom Martin was introduced was a Miss Fleming—the "tonic." Where he had seen her before he could not recall, but that he had seen her Martin felt positive. At length his curiosity got the better of him and as he was seated beside her at the table that evening he asked,

"Miss Fleming, I have been puzzling myself all the afternoon about you. I seem to recall your face, but cannot recall where I last saw it. Do you remember ever meeting me?"

Miss Fleming, looked at him in surprise, looked at him reflectively, tried to look wise, and finally shook her pretty head negatively. No, she had not seen him before—that is, she could not remember it if she had—"But then, one meets so many during season, you know, Mr. Martin."

Mr. Martin did not know anything much about "the season," but he did know Miss Fleming's face was in some way familiar.

On her part, Miss Fleming was delighted to have "the hero of the occasion" for a neighbor, and plied him with questions—"just to draw him out," as she explained confidentially to the other ladies in the drawing-room while awaiting the gentlemen. Her questions were put with such a pretty show of shrewdness that Martin could not refrain from smiling, and catching him once she said, poutingly:

"Now, if you aren't mean! Here Fred's been saying all sorts of nice things about you, and I have been thinking—never mind what, and you have been laughing at me all the time!"

This rebuke was audible only to the person addressed, but the whole table—heard her next remark.

"Why, Mr. Martin! You've got Kate's ring!" Then glancing at Kate's hand—she sat just opposite; "Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Martin! But it's like it, anyhow!"

There was a general smile at her confusion, and to cover it Martin said there was quite a history attached to the ring. He had not seen Kate's ring, and when Miss Fleming mentioned it Kate's hand was beneath the level of the table.

"History!" echoed the vivacious little sprite. "Then I'll forgive you for laughing at me, if you will promise to tell me all about it."

Martin laughingly promised, and forgot all about it until the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room. Once there, however, he found that not only Miss Fleming, but all the rest of the ladies were waiting for the story, and surrounded him immediately on his entering the room. The other gentlemen laughed at his predicament and Carden advised him to begin at once.

"You might as well go ahead, Dick," he said "if Jennie—Miss Fleming wants a thing, she always wants it bad, and generally gets it, too."

"Very well—I suppose I might as well surrender. Now pay strict attention, Miss Fleming.

"Well, some twenty years ago there died a New York merchant—a man of great wealth. His wife had died a year previous and to his son, a child of three or four, he left his entire property. At the time of his death, Mr. Hall was living in the country. He had retired from business a few years before and the people in the vicinity knew very little about him or his affairs. Therefore, when his brother-in-law, who was appointed executor under the will, disposed of the property and carried off the boy Richard, no one was enough interested to inquire what became of him.

"The brother-in-law, whose name was Hardy, had a son of about the same age as the boy Richard Hall, and from the day he left his country home young Hall was taught to call himself Hardy, while young Hardy, then an innocent party to the scheme, was taught to call himself Hall.

"In the envelope containing the will was a letter from Mr. Hall to his son which was not to be opened until he had attained the age of eighteen. This, of course, the unscrupulous executor opened, and found it to be a request from the father that the son on attaining his majority should fulfill a compact made with his former partner, who had removed to England relating to the marriage of——"

As may be readily imagined, Mr. Stafford was growing somewhat interested by this time. At this point he could restrain himself no longer.

"Mr. Martin!" he exclaimed. "Are you—but hang it! You can't be inventing! Where the deuce did you learn all this?"

Martin and Carden and the friends of the Stafford's stared at him in surprise. Martin, however, quickly noted that neither Mrs. Stafford nor Kate did, although both looked a little excited.

"The story is a short one, Mr. Stafford, and if you wait a minute or two longer you will know it all."

"Oh, yes! Please, Mr. Stafford! Don't spoil it! Go on, Mr. Martin!"

Notwithstanding his excitement, Mr. Stafford could not help laughing at Jennie's appeal, and nodded to Martin to go on.

"I was saying this letter related to the marriage of the boy Richard Hall and the daughter of his father's former partner. Well, the boy did not seem to take kindly to his new name, and Hardy finally shipped him to his brother in the West, where he was so ill-used that at the age of fifteen he ran away and grew to manhood among cowboys and miners. He had a good memory, and retained a lively recollection of his uncle's endeavors to change his identity, and at the age of twenty-one returned to New York. Here chance favored him for in some way—how I cannot tell—he came across his uncle, now an old man in abject poverty. His son, of whose whereabouts he knew nothing, had squandered every dollar of the large estate left by Mr. Hall. He gave young Hall all he had remaining, and that was the letter relating to the marriage compact. Leaving New York, Hall went to California, where I met him and from whence we traveled to Australia, where we met George Carden, Fred's uncle, who took a great fancy to Hall. In return Hall confided to Mr. Carden his history and also his papers. Mr. Carden was unknown to me at that time, and as I was doing well on my claim I did not join them when they moved further up the river. Here Hall met his death at the hands of a ruffian who preyed on the miners. The trouble occurred one Sunday, and I happened to come along just then, being on my way to visit my two friends, and I thus came to hear Hall's story, Mr. Stafford, for he lived for some time after he was shot."

"But the man who shot him died immediately after the shooting—didn't he, Dick?"

It was Carden who spoke, and even the women could understand his words as they saw the grim smile and the cruel expression of Martin's usually calm countenance as he replied:

"Yes, I believe he died just one minute after."

The ladies shuddered and moved closer together.

"After Hall's death," continued Martin, "Old Carden, as he was called, lived alone and away from the other miners. It was current report in the camp that the 'old man' was rich. It was known that he owned valuable property in and about Melbourne and Sydney and Hall when dying told me to warn him that it was known that he carried £20,000 worth of diamonds in a belt about his waist. I did so, but without saving him. He was found dead shortly after, and the belt and everything else, except a few small bags of dust, was gone."

Martin stopped as though through with his story, but Miss Fleming recalled him with:

"But you haven't said a word about the ring, Mr. Martin!"

"Oh, yes! I had forgotten! Hall gave me the ring and requested me to find the lady with its mate and inform her family of the circumstances of his death. He left her what little he had made—a matter of two or three thousand pounds, which I am still waiting to give her, but as her name and all other information regarding her was contained in the letter stolen with Carden's papers, I am still looking for her."