if unexpected help had reached him from an
unforeseen quarter.

There was no light in the window, as Routh
passed it by, returning to his lodgings. But
there was a lamp in the hall, at which he lighted
a candle, and went into the sitting-room.

Harriet was still sitting by the window;
she did not raise or turn her head, and Routh
thought she was sleeping. He went up close
to her, and then she languidly opened her eyes
and rose.

"Have you fallen asleep here, in the dark,
Harriet?" said Routh, "and without a fire!
How imprudent and unnecessary."

"I am not cold," she said; but she shivered
slightly as she spoke. Routh took up a shawl
which lay upon a chair and wrapped it round her.
She looked at him, quietly but sharply.

"Don't be afraid; I am all right to-night,
Harry," he said. "I've won a lot of money at
the tables, and I've been thinking over what we
were saying this morning —— " He paused a
moment, and then went on with some constraint
in his voice: "I think you are right so far, that
the sooner we get away from this the better. I
will consider the rest of the matter when we get
to London."

Harriet looked at him still, closely and sharply,
but she said nothing.

"You are too tired to talk about anything
tonight, Harry, I see," said Routh, with good
humour which did not sit on him very
naturally, "so we will not talk. But would it
be possible for you to be ready to start in the
morning?"

"Yes," said Harriet, quietly, and without
showing the least surprise by voice or countenance,
"I will have everything ready."

Homburg von der Höhe was graced for only
a few days longer by the beautiful American.
Her pony-carriage and the grey ponies, the
French groom, the luxurious wrappings, the
splendid vision of satin, and lace, and jewels, all
disappeared, and the Schwarzchild mansion was
for a while desolate, until again occupied by the
numerous progeny of a rich and rusty Queen's
counsel.

It was understood that Mrs. P. Ireton
Bembridge had returned to Paris. "Every season
is the right season for Paris with those Americans,"
said a contemptuous Briton, who secretly
held himself aggrieved by the abrupt departure
of the handsome widow, who had never appeared
more than conscious of his existence, certainly
not interested in the fact; "it draws them like
a loadstone."

"She has evidently heard nothing of Arthur,"
said Mr. Felton to his nephew, "or she would
have sent us word." He spoke timidly, and
looked at George with anxious eyes. George
looked undisguisedly serious and troubled.

"I wish your letters had arrived, uncle," he
replied. "I begin to fear we shall not see
Arthur here; and — and to be sorry that so much
time has been lost."

A week later, George Dallas wrote to Harriet
Routh from Paris, as follows:

Hôtel du Louvre, Paris, October—
My dear Mrs. Routh. I am here with my
uncle. My mother and Mr. Carruthers are
travelling more slowly. We are all to meet in
London. Meantime, a circumstance has
occurred which may prove of great, and must be
of some importance to Mr. Felton and to myself.
I am compelled to ask your assistance, which I
know you will give me with all your accustomed
readiness and kindness.

Accompanied by my uncle, I went this morning
to a jeweller's shop in the Rue de la Paix
to order the bracelet you know of to be re-made
for my mother. I had not previously undone
the packet containing the gold band and the
turquoises, which you sealed up and kept in your
desk for me, since the day you gave it to me at
Homburg. The things were wrapped up in
letter-paper, you will remember. I opened the
packet on the counter of the jeweller's shop,
shook the turquoises into a box he handed
me for the purpose, and was holding up the
gold band for him to examine, when my uncle,
who was looking at the paper I had laid down,
suddenly called to me, and pointing to some
writing on it — mere memoranda, apparently, of
articles to be purchased (I enclose a correct copy)
—exclaimed, "That is Arthur's writing!" I saw
at once that it was his writing, and determined
to apply to you in the first place for information
on the matter. It is now clear that my cousin
has passed under another name than his own,
and that Routh and perhaps you have known
him. There is a date, too, upon the paper — 10th
of April of this year. You took the paper out
of the lower division of your desk. You may
be able to tell us all that we have so long been
anxious to know, at once. Pray answer this
without delay. I think it best not to write to
Routh, because my uncle and he are almost
strangers, and also, dear Mrs. Routh,
because it comes naturally to me to address
myself to you. How strange that all this
time you and Routh should have known
Arthur, and I, living in intimacy with you both,
should have been in a manner seeking him! You
will, no doubt, be able to tell us everything without
an hour's delay; but, in any case, we shall
be in London in a week, and shall have Arthur's
portrait to show you. I am sure this letter is
very ill expressed, but I am still bewildered at
the strangeness of the occurrence. Write at
once. My room is No. 80.

Always yours affectionately,

GEORGE DALLAS.

P.S. The jeweller of the Rue de la Paix is
a jewel among his tribe. He undertakes to
replace the diamonds, and, as far as I can judge—
to be sure, its only a little way — with stones just
as fine as those I sold at A —— for a third less
than the money his Hebrew Dutch confrère gave
me. I had a mind to tell him the value of the
original diamonds, but I didn't — the honestest