learned all particulars. The letter did not
surprise him, but he was infinitely relieved to find
that Lily's eyes were at last opened, and that
she had escaped the danger which he so much
dreaded. So pure and disinterested was his love
for the girl, that for the moment he had no
thought of himself. And so scrupulous was his
sense of honour, that he drew a cheque for two
hundred pounds, and insisted upon Constant
sending it to the scapegrace in fulfilment of
the promise that had been implied, if not actually
made, by the overtures of Franz Stimm.

"The scamp does not deserve it," said Constant.

"Perhaps not," said the baronet; "but that
is no reason that we should be less than gentlemen.
Get the cheque cashed at the bank, and
give him the money in your own name."

The money was duly conveyed to Edgar, and
the first thing he did on getting out of the
spunging-house, was to array himself in a
dandified suit of clothes and call at Pomeroy's Hotel.
Constant met him in the hall. The sultan was
as high and mighty, as haughty and insolent as
ever. He leaped from his cab and swaggered into
the hotel with the confident air of an invading
Caesar. His manner said as plainly as any
words, "I have come, and when I have seen I
shall conquer."

"You may depend upon me, my good fellow,"
he said to Constant, with a patronising air.
"Your trouble shall be well rewarded; but
between you and me and the post," he added,
tapping Constant on the shoulder with his cane,
"I begin to suspect that the little party sent
you, eh?"

Constant could scarcely keep his temper.

"You had better see the lady yourself," he
said. "I will send up your card. No doubt
Miss Blunt will be glad to see you."

Greyfaunt started at the name.

"Blunt!" he said; "is that her name?"

"I should have thought, "said Constant "you
would be acquainted with the name of a lady
who is so devoted to you."

"Well," said Greyfaunt, "her mother called
herself Madame Ernestine; but then these
circus women take all sorts of absurd names. I
only knew the girl as Lily. Surely her father
was not that dirty, drunken Griffin Blunt, who
put an end to his miserable existence in the
Seine?"

"Miss Blunt's father was a gentleman, sir,"
said Constant, glaring at him angrily. "But
here is Miss Blunt's answer."

The servant who had taken up Greyfaunt's
card here returned and presented him with a
letter.

"I am instructed," he said, "to return this
to you, and to say that Miss Blunt has read it."

Greyfaunt was completely taken aback. He
saw at a glance that, it was his own letter,
the letter he had addressed to Constant. He
opened it hurriedly to make sure, and his eye
fell upon his own words, "If you serve me
in this, you shall have no reason to complain of
your share of the plunder."

"Why, what does this mean?" Edgar
stammered out.

"It means, sir," said Constant, "that the
lady is now aware of your true character, and
has nothing more to say to you."

"And you did this?" said Greyfaunt, with
an assumed air of indignation.

"Yes, I did it," Constant replied, deliberately,
"and from the bottom of my soul I rejoice to
think that I have saved this innocent young
lady from the toils of a worthless wretch."

"Insolent scoundrel!" he cried, "how dare
you insult a gentleman?" And in the heat and
passion of the moment he struck at Constant
with his cane.

The hotel-keeper avoided the blow, and with
great coolness walked up to the dandy, wrenched
his cane from him, and broke it across his
knee. "Turn that man out of the hotel,"
Constant said, in a tone of command to his
servants.

Two stalwart fellows in livery immediately
stepped forward, and, seizing Greyfaunt by the
collar, hurried him down the steps, and thrust
him into the street, Constant throwing his broken
cane after him.

It is possible that the crestfallen sultan, as he
slunk out of Great Grand-street that day,
recalled a similar scene in Paris in which he had
some share. Poor Griffin Blunt was avenged.

Lily's first feeling, when she perused the
damnatory letter addressed to Constant, was one
of bitter grief. But when she began to reflect,
and to examine her heart, the feeling became one
of shame. She had deceived herself; and in her
blind selfishness had been ungrateful to one who
loved her tenderly and truly. When she went
back to the retrospect of that Greenwich dinner,
and remembered how she carried away with her
the image of the tall handsome gentleman who
was so good and kind, who took her on his knee
and petted her fondly, who kissed her so tenderly
and gently at parting—when she remembered
that it was this image which she carried away
with her to Paris, that it was this image that
she clung to and loved, and that Edgar was
merely a new presence of outward beauty which
she had indued with all the generous qualities
of the tall handsome form that was fading from
her memory—she hid her face in her hands, and
sobbed for very shame. The god of her
idolatry was Sir William Long; and all this time
she had worshipped a mere joss, which her fancy
had invested with his attributes.

Sir William sought no interview with Lily
until after the first shock of her disenchantment
had passed away. He called every day,
however, to make kind inquiries, and always left a
card, which Constant never failed to send up to
Lily's room.

At first Lily was relieved to find that he did
not ask to see her. She was afraid that he
would despise her. She at least felt that she
was not worthy of any other regard. She
reproached herself bitterly, and often sat for
hours in her own room, rocking herself to and