It was quite two months before Beatrice Hall recovered sufficiently to hear after-events. For a long time she remained unconscious, and then came to herself only to suffer from a severe attack of brain fever. The poor girl had gone through so much--she had borne up with such bravery--that the long-continued strain had sapped her strength, and she was seriously ill for weeks. Even when she recovered her reason--which she did, owing to the careful and assiduous nursing of Vivian and his sister--the doctor would not allow her to be told anything. And, indeed, Beatrice did not seem anxious to hear: it appeared as though her mind was a blank. All she cared to do was to lie on her bed, and listen to Vivian reading some soothing book.

Dr. Herman (the same who had examined the corpse of Alpenny, and had given evidence at the inquest) was her medical attendant, and he conducted the treatment with great care. With such a delicately-balanced brain as Beatrice possessed, and after she had undergone such terrible experiences, the doctor seemed to be doubtful if she would be quite sane when she got back her physical strength. He went about with a grave face, and Vivian's heart was wrung with anguish as he thought of what might happen. It seemed terrible that he should, for once, have a chance of happiness with the woman he loved, only to find that she would suffer from something worse than death. In those long days of suspense Vivian turned more to God than he had ever done before in his careless life. And God rewarded his faith. Slowly but surely Beatrice recovered, and when the doctor permitted her to be taken on to the terrace in the mild autumn weather, the peace and fresh air completed her cure. She felt her brain becoming much steadier, and again began to take an interest in life. But always she desired to have Vivian by her side, and was never so happy as when he sat beside her couch holding her hand. In two months she was quite her old self, although paler and thinner. But the troubles she had passed through left their marks on her lovely face and in her sad eyes.

"Let me tell her everything now," Vivian urged to Dr. Herman one day; "she is beginning to ask questions, and will not be satisfied with being put off with vague replies."

"Ah," said the doctor with much satisfaction, "she is asking questions, is she? Then you can take it from me, Mr. Paslow, that she will recover completely. It is that renewed interest in life which I wished to see. Wait for a week, and then she will be strong enough to hear what you have to say. But when she once knows," added the doctor, raising his finger gravely, "never let her hear of the subject again."

"Never, never!" said Vivian, with a shudder, as he also was only too anxious to bury the past which had tormented him for so long. And then he went to tell the joyful news to Durban.

Needless to say, Durban also had been watching everlastingly beside the couch and bed of the creature whom he held dearest on earth. He was like a dog, and when not within the sick-room would lie on the mat at the door. When he heard that his dear young mistress was out of danger, he almost went out of his mind, and vehemently embraced Mrs. Lilly, much to the indignation of that portly female. But when she saw his dog-like devotion, she forgave that exuberant expression of the man's feelings.

So things slowly worked themselves out to a joyful issue. Beatrice was told that in a few days she would be informed of all that had taken place since she fainted in the counting-house, and obeyed the orders of Vivian that, until the time came, she was not to ask any questions. Then one glorious autumn day, when the sun was shining with a summer-like force, and everything seemed to revive under its royal beams, Vivian carried her down the stairs as usual and out on to the terrace. Here, in her favourite nook, she rested contentedly on a soft couch, and a small table was placed beside her. Dinah and Jerry, who were also faithful attendants, hovered round with shawls and rugs and reviving drinks, and such-like things. When Beatrice was comfortably established, she took Vivian's hand softly.

"How good it is to be loved!" she said sweetly.

"Who could help loving you, my own?" said Paslow tenderly. "We are all your slaves here."

"Where is Durban?"

"He will come shortly. And Dinah and Jerry can go away?"

"Why?" demanded Dinah quickly, and rather offended.

"Because Dr. Herman says that I can tell Beatrice everything, and it will be better that we should be alone."

"Oh, Vivian"--the face of the invalid flushed a rose colour--"am I to know everything now?"

"Yes"--he bent down and kissed her--"as a reward for obedience. Then Durban will come and see you; and Jerry can escort Dinah back, unless they forget us in love-making."

"Well," said Jerry very shrewdly, and taking Dinah's hand, "I expect you really won't want us, as you will be love-making yourselves. Besides, I have to read a letter to Dinah."

"From your mother?" asked Dinah rather nervously.

"From my father. He is now settled comfortably in Wales, and likes everything immensely, and----"

"Oh, come away," interrupted Dinah, tugging him by the hand; "don't give me the gist of the letter here. Can't you see that Beatrice and Vivian are dying to be alone? And I want to consult you again about that study of ours. I really don't think that green hangings will suit your complexion, and then--" Here Dinah dragged the willing Jerry down the shallow steps and across the lawn, babbling all the time of their future home.

Beatrice, left alone with Vivian, put out her hand, and heaved a sigh of pleasure when she felt his warm fingers close on that frail member. A thrill ran through her, and everything she beheld before her seemed to take on a brighter hue, because the man she loved was beside her. Yet as she felt his touch and looked into his bright face--for bright it seemed, though sadly worn and thin--a recollection of the barrier between them disturbed her pleasant thoughts.

"Why do you wish to take your hand away?" asked Vivian, as he felt her exert a weak strength.

"Your--your--wife," faltered Beatrice faintly.

"You are to be my wife, dearest," he answered gravely. "No," in reply to her startled look, "Maud is not dead. But she never was my wife."

"Vivian! She said that she was."

"Of course, to gain her own ends. But she is really the wife of Major Ruck: she married him when she first went to town. I believe old Alpenny arranged the marriage, as Major Ruck being a member of his Gang, he wished to secure so clever a woman as Maud also."

"Is this true?"

"Perfectly true; so you can leave your hand in mine for ever."

"That would be a long time," said Beatrice, with a weak laugh of joy. But all the same she allowed her little white hand to rest within Vivian's, and then looked at him inquiringly.

"You wish to ask how we found out?" said Paslow, smiling. "Easily enough. Major Ruck redeemed his promise, and removed the obstacle to our marriage by leaving on the desk in the counting-house a certificate of marriage between himself and Maud Orchard. We--that is, Durban and myself--went to the church where the marriage was solemnised, and found that the certificate was genuine. Major Ruck and Maud Orchard were man and wife some months before I came on the scene, and she entrapped me into that unhappy marriage."

"But what was Major Ruck doing in the counting-house?" said Beatrice, puzzled. "He was not due until the next evening at seven."

"You forget, my darling, what has happened. Waterloo----"

"Yes, yes! I remember now," cried Beatrice, half raising herself in her excitement. "He was coming out to kill me with that horrible knife, when someone pulled him down, and I fainted."

"It was the Major who pulled him down," said Vivian, gently pushing her back. "Be calm, Beatrice, and I'll tell you everything."

"But I remember a lot," she insisted. "Waterloo said that the den at Stepney had been raided, and that he had got away--the Major also. Then because he knew--the Major, I mean--that Waterloo had betrayed the Gang, he followed him down to kill him."

"The Major did not kill him, however, darling. Waterloo was----"

"Wait a moment, Vivian," she entreated. "I want to see how much I remember. Waterloo said that the Major had followed him down by the same train. I suppose the Major came by the secret passage----"

Vivian placed his arms round her so that her head could rest on his breast. "Darling, darling, you must allow me to speak. What you say is true, and you have remembered much. Major Ruck was after Waterloo to kill him, because of his treachery. How he found that the man was coming to Hurstable I do not know. But the den was certainly raided: Tuft and the doctor who attended my wife's double are in custody--the Gang is broken up. The police have examined Durban and myself, and everything has been made clear. While you have been ill the newspapers have been full of the business, and Jerry Snow has made quite a reputation in writing sensational articles."

"Go on," said Beatrice, much interested.

"I will, if it will not excite you too much."

"No, no; I am perfectly calm. Feel my pulse, dear."

Vivian did so, and caressed her fondly. "Speak as little as you can, my dear," he said softly, and then continued his story. "Waterloo knew that Ruck would kill him if he could, and never thinking that the Major would suspect his coming to The Camp--into the jaws of the lion, as it were--he came down here, and the Major--as Waterloo told you--followed him."

"Waterloo got the necklace?" said Beatrice, thinking with an effort.

"He did for a time; but the Major has it now. Hush, dear! The Major, as he wanted to escape, could not wait until the next evening to see you. He came down at once, or perhaps he followed Waterloo. However, he tracked him to The Camp, and saw him go down the secret passage. Ruck went down also, and listened below while Waterloo was talking to you. He knew or guessed that he had the necklace, and when Waterloo was about to kill you--which he would have done in that deserted Camp--the Major saved yo............