On the way home from the common, Cyril and Bella agreed that it would be wise to say nothing about her true parentage. In the first place, it would benefit no one to be thus candid, and in the second, such a statement would lead to questions being asked which might get Durgo into trouble. After all, the lovers argued, since Pence, as the chief party, did not move in the matter, it was useless for them to fight his battles. The more particularly when Durgo had acted so generously in surrendering the jewels. The black man had behaved in a way for which Cyril would not have given him credit. Few members of the boasting white race would have done as much.

According to the arrangement which the lovers came to, Bella was to remain Miss Huxham to the world until such time as Edwin Lister could be found, and the truth of Huxham's death became known. Of course, with jewels valued at forty thousand pounds, the girl was quite an heiress, and she proceeded to build castles in the air for the advancement of Cyril, when he became her husband. The young man did not say much, as he did not wish to damp her ardour, but he privately thought that if his father were in possession of the jewels he would not surrender them easily. If Durgo was generous, Edwin Lister, as his son knew, was not, and since he had risked his neck to get the treasure he would certainly not hand it over to a girl whom he did not know, for a mere sentimental whim. That the girl was to be his son's wife, and that the son would benefit by the sale of the jewels, would make no difference.

On the way back to the cottage, Bella recovered her self-control and her spirits. It was a wonderful relief to her to learn that she was not the daughter of the gruff old mariner, whom she had never liked. Looking back on her life at Bleacres, Bella no longer wondered that her supposed father had never shown her any affection, and she shuddered when she recalled the terrible fact that his hands were red with blood. On consideration, however, she gave Huxham full credit for the way in which he had acted towards her. He had come to England a thief and a murderer, it is true, but he could easily have left her in the care of the people who looked after her in a little Croydon house. Bella could scarcely remember that house or the woman who stood to her in the place of a mother, her own being dead.

Almost her earliest recollection was being taken from Croydon by Captain Huxham and placed with some friends of his at Shepherd's Bush until she was nine years old. Then she lived with Huxham for a few years, and ultimately was sent to the Hampstead boarding-school, whence she returned to Bleacres at the age of twenty. Thus the captain had educated her and had looked after her, and in his own coarse way had proved himself to be generous to a certain extent. Badly as he had acted in robbing her of her heritage, he might have behaved infinitely worse. And by her heritage Bella meant the jewels. With the property and the income left to Mrs. Coppersley, now Mrs. Vand, she had nothing to do, and she no longer grudged the woman what she had schemed to get. But it was probable that had Mrs. Vand not so schemed, Huxham, for very shame, might have given his adopted daughter his nefarious earnings.

"I must not be hard on Captain Huxham," said Bella, when Cyril brought her to the gate, "for, in his own strange way, he acted kindly. But I am glad that he did not leave me anything, as I am certain he earned his money in some shady manner."

"A kind of Captain Kidd," assented Lister gravely. "I agree with you. But the old ruffian had a soft spot in his heart for you, my dear."

"No," said Bella, shaking her head, "I would not say that exactly. He suffered from remorse and therefore looked me out when he came to England. I did not find him an affectionate father by any means. But he was just, in a grim way, and even generous. He grudged me nothing save ready money. I wonder if Mrs. Vand knows the truth."

"You said yourself that she did not," replied Lister quietly, "and I am inclined to think so too. A tyrant like Mrs. Vand would have been only too glad to tell you the unpleasant truth."

"Unpleasant? Why, it is a delightful truth!"

"Unpleasant from Mrs. Vand's point of view, since, had she known that you were not her brother's daughter, in no way could you claim the money."

Bella shrugged her shoulders. "I am very, very glad that she has got the money, and much good may it do her. But I am thankful that Captain Huxham did not reveal the truth about me to her. Now she need never know."

"It matters very little whether she knows or not," retorted Cyril. "She cannot gain possession of the jewels. Those are clearly yours."

"How are we going to gain possession of them?" asked Bella lingering.

Cyril looked hopelessly up to the blue sky. "Heaven only knows! The first thing to be done is to find my father and see if they are in his possession. And now that we are parting, Bella, and you feel better, I don't mind telling you that I don't think my father will give them up—if indeed he has them."

"But to me, his son's future wife——"

"My father is quite unbiassed by sentimental considerations," said Cyril very dryly. "What he holds, he keeps. However, there is plenty of time to talk of this matter when we meet my father. Meanwhile, what will you do?"

Bella shook the bundle of papers which she carried. "I am going to my bedroom to read these," she said seriously. "I wish to learn everything that concerns my true parentage. I may have relatives, you know."

"If you have," said Lister emphatically, "I only trust that you will leave them severely alone. I don't care for relatives; they ask everything and give nothing."

"Well," said Bella smiling, for she had quite recovered her spirits, "so long as I have you, I need no sisters or cousins or aunts. Good-bye, dear. No, don't kiss me; someone may be looking on."

"What of that? Everyone knows that we are engaged."

"It doesn't do to emphasise the engagement in public," said the girl seriously, and ran into the cottage. At the door she turned. "I shall tell you all that I read in these papers," she called out, and vanished, while Cyril returned home to think over the strange turn which events had taken. And things were strange, for in striving to solve one mystery they had solved another. In seeking for Huxham's assassin they had found the true father of Bella.

Dora had not yet returned, so Bella, in the seclusion of her bedroom, felt relieved. She did not wish, as yet, to share her secret even with the little school-mistress, good friend as that amiable woman had proved to be. Locking her door she sat down and unrolled the bundle. It consisted of many sheets of foolscap, and appeared to be a kind of rough diary kept by Jabez Huxham, when he was in Africa. The script was in his crooked painful writing, but was legible enough, and after some practice Bella managed to read it fairly easily. Seated on her bed, she perused what was set down, and found the reading extremely interesting.

The sheets seemed to have been torn from a manuscript book, for the diary both commenced and ended abruptly and dealt entirely with Maxwell Faith and his doings. The old pirate had evidently ripped the pages from the diary which he kept and had placed them in the carved chest, which Mrs. Tunks had found in the attic. There also, according to Durgo's story, the jewels had been stored, so apparently Huxham had used the chest—which had belonged to Faith—as a repository for all that concerned the dead trader. But Edwin Lister could scarcely have gone to the garret to seek the chest and get the jewels, since he did not know his way about the old mansion. It was, therefore, evident that Huxham had kept the jewels in his study safe, and had removed the chest containing the torn-out leaves to the attic. Afterwards he had apparently placed the papers in the safe also, where Pence had probably found them. But Bella did not pause to think out these matters. She was to much interested in the story which was set down.

Huxham stated abruptly that he met Maxwell Faith at Calabar, and had been engaged by him to transport certain goods up the Cross River, Nigeria, as far as Ogrude, when they were to be taken in canoes up to Yahe on the stream of that name. The goods were for Kawal, Durgo's father, with whom Faith appeared to have had many dealings. Faith and Huxham—so the writer said—got on very well, and the former told the latter much about himself and his past. The trader declared that he was the son of a wealthy Huntingdon Quaker, but had been disowned by his family and by the Society of Friends, because he had married a lady who was a Roman Catholic. There was one daughter, who had been born in London and had cost the mother her life. Faith said that he had placed his daughter Isabella with some friends of his at Croydon, and had come to Nigeria to make money for her. From what Bella could gather, her father appeared to have been desperately fond of her.

Afterwards Huxham and Faith parted, but met again in the Hinterland at the chief town of Kawal and again became friendly. Then the trader told Huxham that because he had supplied the chief with guns and ammunition, and had proved his friendship in many ways, he had received ancient jewels to the amount of forty thousand pounds. He was going home to his daughter with the money. At this part of the diary a portion of the manuscript was torn away, apparently that which dealt with the murder of Faith by Huxham.

The story commenced abruptly again with the statement that the writer was going to England with his earnings and with the jewels; and intending to seek out Faith's little daughter and adopt her. Huxham gave no reason for doing so in his diary; but Bella, reading between the lines, guessed that the man was overcome with remorse—a strange thing for so hardened a sinner as Huxham undoubtedly was. Then came hasty notes of Huxham's fears lest he should be robbed for the sake of the jewels, and reference to an unknown man who was dogging his steps. Ogrude, Afikpa, Obubra and Calabar were towns mentioned as having been the scene of adventures with this man, whose name was not given. Afterwards the hasty notes detailed the finding of Faith's little daughter at Croydon, her adoption by the writer and her removal to Shepherd's Bush. A few remarks were made relative to the fears of Huxham, and of his determination to find some place in the country where he would be safe from pursuit. The final page was torn off in the middle, and Bella could read no more.

Putting away the bundle in her box, she reflected on what she had read. It was easy for her to find her Quaker relatives, as the name and address of the family were given. Evidently these same relatives were rich, but very stiff-necked in Quaker traditions. Bella, however, thought very little of this at the moment. Her brain was employed in wondering if Huxham had met with his death at the hands of the unknown man who had dogged his footsteps in Nigeria. Without doubt this man knew of the existence of the jewels, and that Huxham had murdered Faith to get them. It might be that he determined to get the jewels, and, having traced Huxham to England after long years, had killed him and so gained his end. And this man—Bella asked herself the question earnestly—was this man Edwin Lister? She resolved to tell Cyril and to give him the papers to read. He could decide better than she, and probably Durgo could throw much light on the subject.

But there was no doubt that Huxham had bought the Solitary Farm, and had planted the corn thickly, and had mounted the search-light on the roof of Bleacres, so that he might defend himself from robbery and possibly from death. But all his precautions had been in vain, and he had been struck down at last in his very fortress. And by Edwin Lister! Bella felt certain that, as Edwin Lister had been many years in Nigeria and had been a close friend of Kawal's, he must be the unknown man to whom Huxham had so often referred. Lister was the assassin; there could be no doubt on that point.

Very thoughtfully the girl locked up the papers, and descended to the drawing-room to wait for the return of Dora. She greatly wished to speak to her friend about what she had discovered, but such a confidence was not to be thought of, as many things had to be done first. Until Edwin Lister was discovered, Bella felt that she would have to be silent. But her thoughts on this subject were brought to an abrupt conclusion when she opened the drawing-room door, for she unexpectedly beheld Silas Pence.

"I came to see you, Miss Faith," he said, using her true name, "and I told the servant not to announce me. I waited here till you came."

Speaking in this jerky, nervous manner, the young man did not attempt to rise, as he appeared to be ill and exhausted. His face was haggard and his head was bound up in a white cloth. Anything more weird than his looks Bella had never seen, and she recoiled on the threshold of the room, only anxious to escape from his unwelcome presence.

"Have you come to persecute me again?" she asked.

"No! no! no!" said Pence weakly, and yet with great relief in his tone. "I have come to ask your pardon for the way in which I have behaved. I was mad to trouble you as I did, but now I have recovered my reason."

"What do you mean exactly?"

Pence smiled in a ghastly manner. "Can you not guess," said he, touching the linen rag round his head. "The blow I received when I fell on the fender has changed my feelings towards you."

"But how can a blow do that?" asked Bella, relieved but puzzled.

"I cannot say," faltered Pence, resting his aching head on one thin hand. "I really cannot say; my brain won't think just now."

"Then don't think and don't talk," said Bella, kindly placing a plump cushion at his back. "Rest quietly and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"You give me good for evil," said the preacher, flushing painfully.

"No, no!" replied the girl hastily, and remembering her share in his trouble. "You did me great honour in asking me to be your wife, though you were a trifle difficult in some ways. But now——"

"It is all gone; it is all gone. I assure you it is all gone!"

"What is all gone?"

"All my love for you; all my desire; all my mad infatuation. I like you as a friend, Miss Faith—I shall always like you as a friend—but I can never, never worship you again in the way I did."

"Thank heaven for that!" said Bella fervently. She knew no more than did Silas how the change had come about. But it was evident that the blow on his head had suddenly rearranged his ideas.

"Up to ten o'clock last night I loved you madly, despairingly, and would have risked my soul to gain your hand. But since I fell"—he passed his hand across his forehead in a bewildered manner—"everything has changed."

"And for the better," Bella assured him. "Come, don't think anything more about the matter. I have rung the bell for tea."

"I rung the bell also last night. It brought in Mrs. Queen, very fortunately, or I might have bled to death, Miss Faith."

"Why do you call me Miss Faith?" asked Bella abruptly.

"Because you are Miss Faith," said the preacher, lifting his haggard face to her own in some surprise. "Did not the black man tell you?"

"How do you know that I have anything to do with the black man?"

"I have seen Mr. Lister with him. I saw you all three talking on the common. Oh, Miss Faith, you don't know how I have followed and spied on you!" and the man flushed with shame and dismay.

"Did you listen?" asked Bella abruptly.

"No; I did not fall so low as that, but I followed and watched."

"Why?"

"Because I loved you. That is all over now; I shall never follow or watch you again. I am glad that the black man threw me down last night. When I found this morning that my prayers had been answered and that I no longer suffered from this mad passion, I resolved to say nothing about what had taken place."

"And so invented the story of the epileptic fit?"

"Yes; but the truth is——"

"I know the truth: Durgo told everything to me and to Mr. Lister this morning, or rather this afternoon; also Durgo gave me the papers. I have read them, and know that I am not Captain Huxham's daughter. By the way"—Bella looked sharply at the preacher—"are we friends?"

"Yes, if you will have me for a friend," said Pence meekly.

"By all means, now that you love me no longer. Be my friend,"—she held out her hand, which Pence grasped feebly—"and tell me how you got those papers."

"From your father's—I mean from Captain Huxham's safe."

"Then you were in the room on that night?"

"Yes. I saw the body."

"And you said nothing."

"No. Had I done so, I should have incriminated myself. When I entered the study Captain Huxham was lying dead under the desk."

"Did you see anyone about?"

"I saw no one, not even Mr. Lister, whom I had followed into the house."

"Just explain precisely what you did see," said Bella, anxiously.

Pence thought for a few moments. "I was watching the house as usual on that night because I loved you," he said, in a slow, feeble way, for he was still weak from loss of blood. "I beheld Mr. Lister coming towards me. He brushed past me, and entered the Manor by the front door. I watched for his return, intending to speak to him. But he never came out."

Bella sat up alertly. "He never came out?"

"No. I don't know how long I watched; but finally I grew tired, and stole up to the house. The front door was ajar. I saw that the study door was also open, so I went in. Then I saw Captain Huxham lying dead and bleeding, with the safe open and the papers in disorder. In the safe, or, rather, tumbled on the floor before the safe was a bundle of bank-notes. The Accuser of the Brethren tempted me," said Silas, with the perspiration beading his high forehead, "and I snatched up the notes, for I thought that if I had money I could marry you. I then saw that bundle which the black man took from me, and thinking there might be more notes in the bundle, I snatched that up also and fled."

"Why did you fly?" asked Bella, following this story with great interest.

"I thought I heard a noise, and feared lest I should be accused of killing Captain Huxham. I ran out of the study, and out of the house, and down the path between the standing corn, as though the devil was after me. But he was not after me," wailed Pence, standing up, "he was in my heart. Here is the money for which I sold my precious soul," and he threw a packet of bank-notes on the table with feverish eagerness. "It was all for your sake!"

Bella took up the notes. "The man you mistook for Mr. Lister was his father," she said quietly; "did you not see him in the room?"

"I saw no one. Did Lister's father kill Captain Huxham?"

"Can't you tell?" asked the girl, looking at him straightly.

"I have told everything," said Pence, with an air of fatigue; "now I die," and before she could help him he fell full length on the floor quite insensible. The interview had proved too much for him in his weak state.