been very conspicuous. I forget whether you
said you were in the habit of going to those
particular billiard-rooms."

"I did not say anything about it, Mrs. Routh.
I never was there but that once. It is very
odd, as you say, about Deane's coat, but the poor
man hadn't it on. After we left the tavern, I
said it was an odd, un-English kind of coat, and
too warm, I should think, for the weather; but
he said he had 'the shakes' that day— Yankee for
ague, you know— and had never worn it before
in this country. He carried it over his arm, I
remember, the cloth side out, and threw it into
a corner of the billiard-room. I dare say no
one saw it."

"Had he put it on when you parted with
him?" asked Harriet.

"No," said George; "he was still carrying
it over his arm, and I remember now that I
said to him, 'You had better button that
trapper's wrap of yours over all that money you've
been staggering under the weight of.' 'Lightened
a little, old fellow, by you,' he said, though
he had paid his losses in a note, not in gold."

Harriet's face was less anxious now.

"Poor fellow!" George went on, with a slight
shudder; "how dreadful it is — such light words,
too, as we parted with. When he handed me
the note, he asked for pen and ink, and wrote
his name upon it, in full, over some initials—
A. F., I think— and told me a queer story about
an old lady who always endorsed her notes
with her name, residence, and the date of her
birth, and how he once traced a forgery by a
bank-note, purporting to come from her, being
devoid of those eccentric inscriptions. He was
telling me the story as we went out."

George's discursive fancy had wandered from
his own position to the circumstances which
invested Deane's fate with additional sadness
to his mind. Harriet frowned angrily at this
proof of his invincibly light nature, and went
on sharply:

"All this adds strength to my argument.
But I asked you another question. Did any one
in the house you lodged at know at what hour
you went home that night? Is any one in a
position to prove it?"

"No," said George. "I let myself in with
a latch-key, and made no noise. I never did,
when I could help it, there, the old woman was
such a Tartar."

"Then there is not a flaw in my argument,
George," she said, in a sweet, solemn tone,
which, from the first time he had heard it, had
had an irresistible charm for the young man;
"there is nothing to be gained for any one, for
any conceivable interest that you are bound to
consider, for any interest, indeed, except the
abstract one of the law, in telling what you
know of this matter."

"The man's friends," remonstrated George,
who, habitually submissive to her, did not recoil
at the suggestion, as he would infallibly have
recoiled had it come from any other person;
"they may not know, they may be in suspense,
in misery."

"I hardly think so," said Harriet, and her
blue eyes had their coldest colour, and her
sweet voice its subtlest inflection of scorn.
"Did you ever hear him mention relative or
friend? Did you ever know a man so cold, so
callous, so base, so shamelessly devoid of any
interest save in his own pleasure or his own
gain? Did you ever know one so
narrow-hearted, so mean-spirited, of so crafty and cruel a
nature?" Her energy quite startled George. She
was looking straight before her,and her hand was
raised as though she were tracing a picture as
her mind produced it. "The man was a reptile,
George — a cruel snake in his nature. I don't
believe any one on earth ever loved him, except
his mother in his babyhood. I hope she's dead;
yes, I trust she's dead! And that you should
peril your safety, drag your mothers name into
the police-courts, arouse all the anger, stab all
the pride, of your step-father, ruin, or at least
greatly injure, your own prospects, by the
revelations you will be forced to make, supposing
(which, I confess, I think most difficult and
improbable) you do prove your own innocence,
seems to me utterly monstrous and irrational.
Remember, you can give justice only negative
assistance. If you prove that Deane was the
victim, and you not the criminal, you can't tell
them who the criminal is, or give them any
information about Deane."

"No," said George, very quickly; "but then,
you know, Routh can."

Harriet dropped her hand off his shoulder,
and fell into a chair.

"You are overdone, Mrs. Routh," George
said, tenderly, as he took her hand in his, and
resumed his old manner of deferential affection.
"You have talked too long and too much
about this murder, and it has been too much
for you. I ought to have seen that before.
We won't say another word about it, until I
have consulted Routh. How shocked he will be!
I will think of all you have said; but I will do
nothing to-day. I can't even wait to see him
now, for I must get down to The Mercury
office by four. I must leave you now."

"You are sure you will do nothing until we
have seen you again?" Harriet said, faintly.
"George, let nothing induce you to mention the
matter at The Mercury. Only think of the
god-send a hint would be to them."

"I'll take care," said George. "I will not
stir in the matter till I have talked it over
thoroughly with you."

"You will stay here, George, of course," said
Harriet, kindly, holding out her hand, but without
rising. "We have a room at your disposal
now, you know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Routh, I will; but I don't
think I shall be more than a day or two in
London, unless I should be detained by this
sad business."

"Are you going back to Amsterdam?" asked
Harriet.

"N o," said George; "I am going to m....
mother."

"I was right," Harriet said, when she ...
alone, as she lay back in her chair, pale an..