never wearied of talking over the plan before
us, and each speculating as to what stare of
acuteness he could contribute to the common
stock of investigation. It was when Crofton left
the room to search for the portrait of Whalley,
that Mary sat down at my side, and said:

"I have been thinking for some time over a
project in which you can aid me greatly. My
brother tells me that you are known to Miss
Herbert. Now, I want to write, to her; I want
to tell her that there is one who, belonging to a
family from which hers has suffered heavily,
desires to expiate so far, maybe, the great wrong,
and, if she will permit it, to be her friend. While
I can in a letter explain what I feel on this
score, I am well aware how much aid it would
afford me to have the personal corroboration of
one who could say, 'She who writes this is not
altogether unworthy of your affection; do not
reject the offer she makes you, or, at least,
reflect and think over it before you refuse it.'
Will you help me so far?"

My heart bounded with delight as I first
listened to her plan; it was only a moment before,
that I remembered how difficult, if not impossible,
it would be for me to approach Miss Herbert once
more. How or in what character could I seek
her? To appear before her in any feigned part
would be, under the circumstances, ignoble and
unworthy, and yet, was I, out of any merely
personal consideration, any regard for the poor
creature Potts, to forego the interests, mayhap
the whole happiness, of one so immeasurably
better and worthier? Would not any amount
of shame and exposure to myself be a cheap
price for even a small quantity of benefit
bestowed on her? What signified it that I was
poor and ragged—unknown, unrecognised—if
she were to be the gainer? Would not, in fact,
the very sacrifice of self in the affair be ennobling
and elevating to me, and would I not stand
better in my own esteem for this one honest
act, than I had ever done after any mock success
or imaginary victory?

"I think I can guess why you hesitate,"
cried she; "you fear that I will say something
indiscreet—something that would compromise
you with Miss Herbert—but you need not dread
that; and, at all events, you shall read my letter."

"Far from it," said I; "my hesitation had a
very different source. I was solely thinking
whether, if you were aware of how I stood in my
relations to Miss Herbert, you would have
selected me as your advocate; and though it may
pain me to make a full confession, you shall
hear everything."

With this I told her all—all, from my first
hour of meeting her at the railway station, to
my last parting with her at Schaffhausen. I
tried to make my narrative as grave and commonplace
as might be, but, do what I would, the
figure in which I was forced to present myself
overcame all her attempts at seriousness, and
she laughed immoderately. If it had not been
for this burst of merriment on her part, it is
more than probable I might have brought down
my history to the very moment of telling, and
narrated every detail of my journey with Vaterchen
and Tintefleck.  I was, however, warned
by these circumstances, and concluded in time
to save myself from this new ridicule.

"From all that you have told me here," said
she, "I only see one thing—which is, that you
are deeply in love with this young lady."

"No," said I; "I was so once, I am not so
any longer. My passion has fallen into the
chronic stage, and I feel myself her friend—only
her friend."

"Well, for the purpose I have in mind, this
is all the better. I want you, as I said, to place
my letter in her hands, and so far as possible,
enforce its arguments—that is, try and
persuade her that to reject our offers on her behalf
is to throw upon us a share of the great wrong
our uncle worked, and make us, as it were,
participators in the evil he did them. As for
myself," said she, boldly, "all the happiness
that I might have derived from ample means is
dashed with remembering what misery it has
been attended with to that poor family. If you
urge that one theme forcibly, you can scarcely
fail with her."

"And what are your intentions with regard
to her?" asked I.

"They will take any shape she pleases. My
brother would either enable her to return home,
and, by persuading her mother to accept an
annuity, live happily under her own roof; or
she might—if the idea of independence fires
her—she might yet use her influence over her
mother and sister to regard our proposals more
favourably; or she might come and live with us,
and this I would prefer to all; but you must
read my letter, and more than once, too. You
must possess yourself of all its details, and, if
there be anything to which you object, there
will be time enough still to change it."

"Here he is—here is the portrait of our lost
sheep," said Crofton, now entering with a miniature
in his hand. It represented a bluff, bold,
almost insolently bold man in full civic robes,
the face not improbably catching an additional
expression of vulgar pride from the fact that the
likeness was taken in that culminating hour of
greatness when he first took the chair as chief
magistrate of his town.

"Not an over-pleasant sort of fellow to deal
with, I should say," remarked Crofton. "There
are some stern lines here about the corners of
the eyes, and certain very suspicious-looking
indentations next the mouth."

"His eye has no forgiveness in it," said his
sister.

Well, one thing is clear enough, he ought
to be easily recognised; that broad forehead,
and those wide-spread nostrils and deeply
divided chin, are very striking marks to guide
one.—I cannot give you this, said Crofton to
me, " but I'll take care to send you an accurate
copy of it at the first favourable moment;
meanwhile, make yourself master of its details, and
try if you cannot carry the resemblance in your
memory."

"Disabuse yourself, too," said she, laughing,