Spring had come round again, the spring of the year succeeding that in which the events recorded in these pages took place.

It was about the middle of May when Sir Everard Clinton, to whom any long stay in London had always been distasteful, suddenly made up his mind to revisit Garion Keep. It was a matter of course that his nephew and his nephew\'s wife should accompany him, for Burgo and Dacia had been married early in the new year, and had spent a short honeymoon in the Riviera. Sir Everard\'s home, wherever it might be--and he had always been of a somewhat roving disposition--was theirs also. He liked to have Burgo under the same roof with him; only then did he feel safe, only then could he rid himself of an uneasy fear that at some unexpected moment he might be confronted by his wife, who, he seemed to think, was ever on the watch--lying perdu, like a spider in a corner of its web--to take him unawares. What might or would have happened in case such an eventuality had come to pass, he did not try to imagine. The bare possibility of such a thing was enough to scare him.

But indeed there seemed no valid reason for anticipating any such unwelcome proceeding on her ladyship\'s part. She seemed to have vanished as completely beyond the horizon of Sir Everard\'s life as if she had never existed. After their parting that night at the Keep, so far as was known, she made no attempt to trace his whereabouts; neither, later on, when he was back in Great Mornington Street, if she knew he was there, did she make any effort to intrude herself on his presence. One token, and one only, of her existence was forthcoming in due course. A lawyer, instructed by her, waited one day upon Mr. Garden with the view of ascertaining the nature of the baronet\'s pecuniary intentions towards his client. That they proved to be satisfactory may be taken for granted, seeing that no complaint to the contrary was ever lodged with Mr. Garden. From certain private information which reached Mr. Brabazon some time later, he had reason to believe that her ladyship had taken up her permanent abode in Florence, the English colony of which delightful city was greatly exercised in its mind as to whether it ought to welcome her with effusion as an unquestionable acquisition, or quietly turn towards her that shoulder which is termed cold.

Sir Everard\'s sixty-fourth birthday came and went in due course. It was kept by him, not as a festival, but rather as an occasion for devout thankfulness, as on the part of one who had providentially escaped a great danger. When, a little later, Mrs. Macdona\'s legacy of fifteen thousand pounds was paid over to him, he at once gave instructions for the whole amount to be transferred from his own banking account to one which he caused to be opened in the name of his nephew. When telling Burgo what he had done, he added: "Had it not been for you, my boy, I verily believe my span of life would have run out by now. In no case would the money have come to me: it would have gone to her, and after that--Mais parlous d\'autres choses. I want you to regard the money as a thank-offering from your old uncle--a very inadequate one, he admits, considering all he owes you. Besides, you are a married man now."

Mr. Garden had been right in his supposition that Sir Everard had engaged another lawyer to draw up the fresh will rendered necessary by his marriage, in which, with the exception of a legacy of five thousand pounds to his nephew (which he had made a point of insisting upon) everything he might die possessed of was bequeathed to his wife. But Sir Everard had not been many hours at Hazeldean before he telegraphed to Mr. Garden to join him there, and next day a final will was drawn up, the provisions of which were widely different from those of the previous one.

So Sir Everard, together with his nephew and niece, journeyed down to Cumberland.

But Burgo had not been more than a couple of hours at the Keep when he received a telegram from Mr. Garden which recalled him south without delay. Mr. Denis Clinton was dead. He had died at Worthing, whither his doctors bad ordered him some months before. Mr. Brabazon, as a legatee under his uncle\'s will, was invited to the funeral, as also to the subsequent reading of the will. The dead man\'s lawyer, not knowing where a letter would find Mr. Brabazon, had communicated with Mr. Garden.

Sir Everard was not invited to the funeral, and he decided not to attend it. His brother and he had virtually been strangers to each other for the last twenty years or more, and he saw no reason why he should undertake a journey of three hundred and fifty miles--and the same distance back--in order to be present at the obsequies of a man who had shown no brotherly regard for him while alive. So Burgo went alone.

Greatly to his surprise, when the will came to be read he found himself a legatee to the tune of five thousand pounds. The reason given by his uncle for thus remembering him was an eccentric one; "Because he has never sought me out to flatter me, or sponge on me," ran the clause, "and because he has never asked me to lend him a sixpence." With the way in which the remainder of the property was left we are not concerned.

The demise of Mr. Denis Clinton left Burgo Sir Everard\'s direct heir both to the title and the entailed estates.

Burgo got back to the Keep late at night after Sir Everard had retired. At breakfast next morning, after he had pretty well exhausted his budget of news, he said; "By the way, sir, have you been over the Wizard\'s Tower since you came down here?"

The baronet shook his head. "My exploring days are over," he said. "Still, I have heard so much about the place, that I should not object to go over it with somebody who knows the ins and outs of the old pile; in short, if I visit it at all, I must be personally conducted."

"Then I\'m the man for the job, sir, for who should know more about it than I? Indeed, if you will go over it after breakfast this morning with Dacia and me I shall be glad. I have a special reason for wishing you to do so."

Accordingly the three of them presently set out for the tower by way of the underground passage. When they emerged from it into what might be termed the entrance-hall of the tower, where, it may be remembered, was the door by which admittance was gained from the outside, Burgo, having pointed out the gap in the wall made by Marchment\'s men, conducted his uncle and Dacia upstairs to the room which had served for his prison. Everything apparently was just as he had left it. One of the window-bars lay on the floor; the other, nearly filed through, was still in its place. The crockery, containing the remnants of the last meal Mrs. Sprowle had brought him, was still on the table. And there were the few poor sticks of furniture, and the oaken door with its sliding panel and broken lock. The eyes of Burgo and his wife met more than once. What memories the room and its contents brought back to them Sir Everard was intensely interested in everything.

Then they............