moment, Mr. Haggerdorn. You have no clue,
not even a suspicion to guide your efforts. This
is building on air."

"You have promised. Zat is no more but
success!" was the confident rejoinder. " Ze
magistrate—he found a clue."

"Ay, here it is," said Polly, taking from a
cabinet the mysterious snuff-box which Sir James
Polhill, at her request, had committed to her
custody. " And what has this told us? It is
more than doubtful if the person suspected to
have been its owner had any share in my father's
murder, and if he had, the wretch has escaped
us, and left the country."

"Whither, think they, he has fled?"

"To France—to Holland—to America—who
knows? There is safe refuge on either shore
for the miscreants."

"To Holland? I, too, thither go. Something
points me that way. Remember only your
gracious promise, dear lady, and all is done.
Trust to me zat box — it shall be my guide. In
fourteen weeks, I will restore it, and with it I
will bring you my own self the murderer—I
swear it. I know it. You have promised."

Polly mechanically placed it in his hand.

"I have promised."

"It is enough: I ask not more. Farewell—
farewell!"

As he stooped to kiss her hand, Mr. Hartshorne
and Miss Serocold rejoined them, as
quietly as they had withdrawn. There was a
singular expression on the latter's face, and even
Mr. Hartshorne lacked something of his
accustomed perfect self-possession — a fact he,
however, tried to cover with an embarrassed laugh.

"Your coachman's sleeping powers are
exhausted, Arthur," he said. " He has driven
off!"

"He has driven!" said Arthur, not, however,
evincing any remarkable consternation.

"Baggage and all. Don't be alarmed. He
will return in the afternoon, in time to convey
you to the extra post-coach, which, as we have
learned, will go to Harwich to-night, with
government property and passengers. I have one
word to—to say to you," added the little doctor,
hesitating, " if Miss Humpage will pardon."

As he drew Arthur aside, Miss Serocold sidled
up to her friend, and, taking her hand, pressed it
with a significance of congratulation with which
Polly, though grateful, could have dispensed.

"Darling, I am so happy!" murmured the
elder lady.

Polly intimated her satisfaction, trying,
nevertheless, to look as though she accepted it rather
as a pleasing fact in their domestic history than
as implying any new phase of feeling.

"So very — very blest!" continued Miss
Serocold. " Such a sudden wave of joy!"

"Blest! Wave!" said Polly. " My dear aunt
—I——"

"Cannot realise the pleasing pain!" said her
friend, sentimentally. " No more can I. That he
should have snatched the first moment —— "

"The last —— " murmured Polly.

" When we had not set eyes on each other
these five weeks, to ask me to be his."

"Whose, aunt?"

"Hartshorne's—John's, my love. To whom
was I referring, do you imagine?" asked her
friend, softly.

Polly looked at her—she was not jesting. It
was clearly no delusion now. Miss Humpage
returned the pressure of her friend's hand with
what gravity she might.

"But how, dear aunt," inquired the curious
young lady, presently, "has your lover
conducted his wooing? Surely to-day was not the
first —— "

"We have corresponded, dear," replied Miss
Serocold, with a becoming blush. " It—it began
with pulsatilla, and ended in—in—this. John
would like to have called, of course: but he is
the most thoughtful, the most considerate—— He
knew, by some means, that you were not in good
spirits, and feared that the sight of others'
happiness might only increase your melancholy.
But, this morning —I was in trouble, you know
—and—and—he spoke."

"Oh!" said Polly.

Mr. Hartshorne, who had only prolonged his
confidences with Arthur until his betrothed had
communicated her secret, now approached Miss
Humpage, and paid his compliments with an
ease that, under the circumstances, did him
great credit, after which he took his hat to
withdraw. Arthur, though less self-possessed,
was sensible that he too should take his leave.

Not another word, and but one more look,
followed between the pair. That sufficed. On
the one side, it ratified the promise; on the
other, reiterated the assurance of success. Four
or five hours later the sleepy coachman returned,
and, without being permitted the briefest interval
of repose, transported Mr. Haggerdorn to the
yard of the Merry Privateer, Tower Links,
whence the extra post-coach was to depart for
Harwich.

CHAPTER VIII.

NOT yet was the business of that eventful day
complete.

Polly-my-Lamb sat before the picture of her
father in deep meditation, not unmingled with
self-reproach, as she remembered how freely, of
late, hopes purely selfish had been permitted to
entwine themselves with the great end and
purpose of her life. Strive as she might,
however, she could not now disconnect them, nor
could she conceal from herself that the failure of
each attempt to do so was not a source of pain!
But then, this youth—who was he? Under what
pretext could one in his position become the
claimant of her hand, unless as the fulfiller of
the object she had in view? Good. It was in
this character alone that she had given him her
promise. Of course he understood that!' Not
for any personal interest she could be presumed
to take in him. Miss Humpage applauded her