"It do seem so hard that he should die here, and not one of his own blood follow him to the grave! Surely he has some one who loves him!" "There was something said the other day about a child," mused my father.
"Have no papers or letters been found about his person ?" "None at all.

Why, Doctor, you were here last night when we searched for Master Basil's watch, and you are witness that he had nothing of the kind in his possession.

As to his luggage, that's only a carpet-bag and his conjuring things, and we looked through them as carefully as possible." The Chevalier moaned again, and tossed his arms feebly in his sleep.
"The proofs," said he.

"The proofs! I can do nothing without the proofs." My father listened.

The landlady shook her head.
"He has been going on like that ever since you left, sir," she said pitifully; "fancying he's been robbed, and calling out about the proofs--only ten times more violent.