Mr. Gurth Egerton, immediately after he had decided to resume his earthly career and cease to be a ghost or a drowned passenger of the Bon Espoir, was mush exercised in his mind as to what course he should pursue.

He was tired of travelling about, and he was anxious to settle down and become a useful and ornamental member of society.

The vague memory of that fatal night, which the thought of appalling death had revived, had vanished once more with safety. He was quite satisfied now that the man to whom, in a moment of superstitious weakness, he had confided his secret had passed to where he could do him no earthly mischief.

The threat made by the clergyman, amid such dramatic surroundings, to bring him to justice if possible, had lingered long in his mind; but the impression was weakened as time went on, and now that every fear from that quarter was removed, Ralph’s heir felt that he had undisputed possession of his inheritance, and the best thing he could do was to enjoy it and turn it to some account.

From the moment he found himself a rich man by Ralph’s death, he had carefully avoided all intercourse with his old companions. Birnie was the only one he kept up a friendship with, and Birnie’s friendship was a thing he was bound not only to accept but to cultivate.

No word had ever passed the doctor’s lips that would even imply that he suspected Garth of the blow from the consequences of which the whole party had been shielded by his presence of mind and fertility of resource.

Immediately after the occurrence Gurth, a prey to nervous dread, had rushed away to the sea-coast, leaving his address with Birnie, and he had remained away until a letter from the doctor brought him to town to attend the funeral.

They had a short interview then, and Birnie said very little. He simply explained to Gurth that his cousin was dead, that his certificate had been accepted, and that, as the head of the family, it was incumbent upon him to take his position at once and arrange his cousin’s affairs.

Nothing in the words, but something in the look and manner plainly showed Gurth Egerton that Birnie must be his friend if he wanted to enjoy himself.

He was profuse in his thanks to the doctor for his kindness to poor Ralph, he begged him to remain in the villa where his cousin died, and he asked him as a favour to accept an annuity out of the estate. He framed a neat little falsehood, setting forth that poor Ralph had told him that Birnie had always been a friend of his, and that if anything happened to him he should like Birnie not to be forgotten.

The doctor listened placidly, rubbed his hands gently, declared he didn’t desire it, but, as Gurth put it in a sentimental way, out of respect to his dead friend’s memory he would accept the proffered benefits.

He had never asked for anything, he had never thrown out a hint that he knew anything and must be paid for secrecy; everything had been spontaneous on Gurth’s part, and therefore Birnie need have no hesitation in sharing in the sudden good fortune of his old comrade.

When Gurth, feeling restless and not knowing what to do, at last made up his mind to travel about the world, revisiting town only at long intervals, he again came to Birnie, as his best friend, and talked matters over with him.

Birnie suggested that someone in whom he had perfect confidence should be left executor; and what was more natural than that Gurth should immediately appoint him? In whose hands could his affairs be so safe? Thus Birnie was duly left executor, and Grigg and Limpet were appointed his solicitors, in order to relieve the doctor of any responsibility.

Birnie had never asked for this arrangement, therefore he could accept it with a good grace. Birnie was a man who never asked for what he wanted. But somehow or other he generally got it. When, after his supposed death at sea, Gurth turned up again in the flesh, Birnie gave him a hearty welcome, and they renewed their old friendship. From the first moment the Turvey ghost-story came to his ears, the doctor formed a decided opinion that Egerton was among the saved and keeping out of the way for some reason of his own. But he kept his opinion to himself, and professed to be as astonished as anyone when the ghost turned out to be real flesh and blood.

Birnie was doing very well, with his house rent free, his annuity, and a steadily improving practice, and he was quite content that Gurth should keep him out of his executorship for a good many years yet. A vulgar-minded person might have suggested that Gurth alive was, perhaps, worth quite as much to the doctor as Gurth dead. The doctor would have repelled the idea with virtuous indignation. All he got from Gurth was given freely and unsolicited. The Birnie conscience was as clear as crystal in that particular.

The resurrection of Egerton did not, as I have said, disturb the doctor’s equanimity an atom, but the resurrection of another of his old comrades did.

Birnie would as soon have met the devil as Edward Marston. Gurth was rich and useful. There the spirit of camaraderie, was strong in the Birnian soul. But Marston was poor and detrimental; under such circumstanccs old friendship was a thing Dr. Birnie would prefer to forget.

Marston, however, was not the man to allow himself to be forgotten. Needing an old friend when his fortune was at a low ebb, he turned to the one Providence flung in his way and made use of him.

He was moderate—far more moderate than Birnie had expected. He took £500, certainly, but he came for no more. All the favours he asked from the doctor after that were quite remote from financial ones.

Birnie hated Marston, because he felt he was dangerous. He was a link with a time Birnie would much rather forget. Further, Marston was unscrupulous, and he never knew to what extent he might not trade on the secrets of the past.

Old Heckett was another of his bÈtes noires, but he was civil to him for the sake of peace. Now and again, during the years that had elapsed since Ralph’s death, Heckett had come for a loan, pretending he was hard up, and he had had it; but the old man had been given pretty plainly to understand that if he took liberties things might be made uncomfortable for him.

The balance of power was certainly on Birnie’s side in Heckett’s case. The relative position of the men left the one completely master of the other.

But, with regard to Marston, Birnie knew positively nothing, except that he had left the country in a hurry and gone to America, where it was fondly hoped he had broken his neck long ago.

When, at the interview in which he requested an introduction to Grigg and Limpet, Marston mentioned his intention of looking up Egerton, Birnie was vexed. He had very good reasons for wishing to keep Egerton away from Marston’s influence if he wanted to retain his own.

More than that, he feared that Marston might have designs upon Egerton’s banking account, and he determined, if possible, to stop the meeting.

Marston, however, had been too quick for him. He had seen Gurth, and had a long chat with him before Birnie arrived.

The doctor was agreeably surprised to find that no money had been asked for. On the contrary, Marston had informed his former comrade that he had been remarkably lucky, was doing well, and hoped to permanently establish himself in this country. His ambition was to make a fortune as financier, and eventually enter Parliament and shine in the political world.

When Egerton told Birnie this the latter was honestly astonished.

He had expected Marston to represent himself as poor and unfortunate, and make a demand for substantial help.

He listened open mouthed to Gurth’s narrative, but offered no remark. However astonished Birnie might be, he never confessed it. For a man to be astonished is for him to see or hear something unexpected. Birnie prided himself upon being prepared for anything that might happen.

The next best thing to having any gift or virtue is to pretend to have it. Birnie owed much of his later success in life to constantly bearing this maxim in mind.

Marston’s interview with Gurth Egerton had a great effect, though it was quite contrary to what Birnie had supposed it would be.

For years Egerton had wavered, unable to decide upon any course in life. Suddenly the ambitious views of an old comrade opened out a new vista before him.

Here was a man who had led a roving life, who had been under a cloud for years—a man whom Egerton had known to be in the very depths of poverty—here was this adventurer, Edward Marston, without fortune and without position, boldly aiming at both, and not hesitating to aspire to political fame.

If Marston could do all this with no advantages, what could not he, Gurth Egerton, do with the money at his command?

Here, at last, was an aim in life. He would put all the old foolish fears behind him and be somebody. The fortune for which he had dared and endured so much should be of some use to him. Ten years of his life had been wasted He would make up for the lost time, and take a place in society. It had been his ambition in the early days of his penury to be a great man, admired, caressed, and fÊted. When wealth came to his grasp the ambition faded away, overgrown by a new set of sensations altogether.

But the bold words of Marston called the faded fancies into new life. Yes, here was something to live for—fame, position. In the pursuit of them he could forget the past.

He paced the library, thinking aloud, for an hour.

Mrs. Turvey, passing down the stairs, heard him, and muttered to herself that master seemed uneasier in his conscience than ever.

But Mrs. Turvey was wrong. Conscience was torpid for the present. Ambition had taken possession of Gurth Egerton and there was room for nothing else. Conscience and ambition are bad companions. One always lags behind and holds the other back.

Gurth Egerton walked himself tired, and then sat down and shut his eyes and looked into the future.

He saw himself married to a charming wife, his house filled with gay company, his name in the papers, and his doings on every tongue. He saw himself loved, honoured, and powerful.

It was late in the afternoon when Egerton sat down to think. He sat thinking and dreaming till the shadows deepened and darkness crept gently over the room.

‘I will take a position in the world!’ he exclaimed, rising and pacing the room. ‘There is nothing to stand between me and my ambition now.

As he uttered the last words he paused opposite the window and gazed out into the street below, in which the dim light of the gas-lamps was struggling with the deepening shadows.

He looked out into the quiet street with eyes that wandered far beyond into a world where he was famous and beloved.

And as he gazed there crept up the street, between him and his ideal future, a little girl followed by a big mastiff dog.