They do haul him out, and they do see. His
face is rather bluish in colour, aud his eyes are
open, but his hands are clenched, and his tongue
is rigid. And he is quite dead. So there is a
great sensation around the prison, the senseless
figure is carried into the yard, and the gate is
promptly shut, the rumour spreads through the
crowd, trying to find chinks which do not exist,
and to hear sounds inaudible, that the " murder"
case is disposed of, the prisoner having tried,
condemned, and executed himself. And, though
the incident is highly sensational, the general
feeling is disappointment.

A woman, plainly dressed and closely veiled,
who has been lingering about the street for some
time, and was there when the van arrived, has
seen the figure lifted from the van, and has heard
the rumour. But she waits a little while longer,
until a policeman comes out of a side-entrance,
and while some eager inquirers, chiefly women,
question him, and he tells them it is quite
true, the man committed for trial for the riverside
murder is really dead, she stands by and
listens. Then she draws her shawl closely
round her, and shivers, and goes away. After
she has taken a few steps, she falters and sways
a little, but she leans against the wall, her
hands pressed upon her breast, quietly,
attracting no attention, until she has regained
her composure and her breath, and then goes
on, along the street, and so out into Holborn.

" She has not been seen or heard of, at his
chambers or at home," said Mr. Carruthers to
Mr. Felton, late that evening. " Nothing is
known of her. They say she has no friends ;
I could not find out from the servants that she
has a single acquaintance even to whose house
she could have gone."

Mr. Felton was infinitely distressed by this
news which Mr. Carruthers, whose active
benevolence, guided by the judgment of others,
knew no bounds, brought to his brother-in-law,
who was at length exhausted, and unable
to rise. They had heard early in the afternoon
of the death of Routh, and had at once been
aroused to the warmest compassion for Harriet.
Clare, having left the unconscious Mrs. Carruthers
tranquilly asleep, had gone to Mr. Felton's lodgings, and was there when her uncle
came in with his report.

"Laura has no suspicion?" asked Mr.Felton.

"Not the slightest. She has no notion that
you and George are not still in Paris. I must
say Clare is an admirable girl to keep a secret
and play a part."

Clare blushed a little at her uncle's praise.

"What is to be done now about this unfor-
tunate woman? She must be found. Apart
from every other consideration, George would
be infinitely distressed if any harm came to
her."

"I really don't know," said Mr. Carruthers.
"There seems to be no clue to her probable
movements, and ——- Come in." This was in
answer to a knock at the door.

Jim Swain came in, his face full of eagerness:

"Have you found her, sir? Is she at home?
Does she know?"

"No, Jim," said Mr. Felton, " she's not at
home, and no one knows anything of her."

"Sir," exclaimed Jim—- "miss, I'm sure
she's somewheres about the prison. Has any
one thought of lookin' for her there? She'd
go there, sir and miss—- she'd go there. Take
me with you, and let us go and look for her.
I daren't go alone; she wouldn't listen to me,
she wouldn't look at me; but I'm sure she's
there."

"Uncle," said Clare, earnestly, " I am sure
he is right—- I feel sure he is right. Pray go;
take one of the servants and him. The carriage
is waiting for me; take it and go."

Mr. Carruthers did as she desired. It was
wonderful to see the change that had come over
him with the awakening of his better nature.
He had always been energetic, and now he forgot
to be pompous and self-engrossed.

The streets in the dismal quarter of the prison
were comparatively silent and empty when Mr.
Carruthers called to the coachman to stop, and
got out of the carriage, Jim descending from
the box, and they began their dismal search.
It was not prolonged or difficult.

They found her sitting on the ground,
supported by the prison wall, which she had
contrived to reach by creeping under the strong
barrier of iron spikes which protects the prison
on the side which turns its external wall to the
street. There, fenced in by the terrible bristling
barrier, she lay, in an angle where there was
little resort of footsteps and but dim light —- a
corner in which the tired wayfarer might rest,
unquestioned, for a little, by either the policeman
or the passer-by. And no more tired wayfarer
had ever sat down to rest, even in the
pitiless London streets, than the woman who
had wandered about until the friendly night had
fallen, and had then come there to die, and have
done with it.

They took her to her own home, and when
they removed her shawl a slip of paper, on
which George Dallas's name was written, was
found pinned to the front of her dress. It
contained these words:

"The boy's story is true. I did not keep
the diamonds taken out of the studs. You
sold them when you sold your mother's. I
was always sorry you ever knew us.
                                         " H. ROUTH."

George Dallas is in New York with
Mr. Felton, who is winding-up all his affairs, with a
view to a permanent residence in England.
Jim Swain, whose education includes the art of
writing now, is attached to the personal service
of Mr. Dallas, who is understood to be his
uncle's heir.

Miss Carruthers is at Poynings, not to be
tempted by London and its pleasures ; but the
absence of the young and beautiful heiress is