Clarence and Martyn said very little to one another,
but they set out for Dawlish the next day.
'Found' was indicated to us, but no more, for they arrived late, and
had to sleep at the hotel, after an evening when we were delighted
to hear my mother ask so many questions about household and parish
affairs. In the morning she was pleased to send all 'the children'
out on the beach, then free from the railway. It was a beautiful
day, with the intensely blue South Devon sea dancing in golden
ripples, and breaking on the shore with the sound Clarence loved so
well, as, in the shade of the dark crimson cliffs, Emily sat at my
feet and my brothers unfolded their strange discoveries into her
lap. There was a kind of solemnity in the thing; we scarcely spoke,
except that Emily said, 'Oh, will she come again,' and, as the tears
gathered at sight of the pathetic petition in the old book, 'Was
that granted?'
We reconstructed our theory. The poor lady must have repented of
the unjust will forced from her by her stepsons, and contrived to
make another; but she must have been kept a captive until, during
their absence at some Christmas convivialities, she tried to escape;
but hearing sounds betokening their return, she had only time to
hide the bundle in the ruin before she was detected, and in the
scuffle received a fatal blow.
'But why,' I objected, 'did she not remain hidden till her enemies
were safe in the house?'
'Terrified beyond the use of her senses,' said Clarence.
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