connected him with the interests and events of
the passing day. "I shall thank you better
soon," he said at leave-taking, "for letting
me go away out of this din of London with
all that is left to me of Sarah, my niece. I
will dry up my tears as well as I can, and
try to have more courage when we meet
again."

On the next day, when they were alone,
Rosamond and her husband sought refuge
from the oppression of the present, in speaking
together of the future, and of the influence
which the change in their fortunes ought to
be allowed to exercise on their plans and
projects for the time to come. After
exhausting this topic, the conversation turned
next on the subject of their friends, and on
the necessity of communicating to some of
the oldest of their associates the events
which had followed the discovery in the
Myrtle Room. The first name on their lips
while they were considering this question,
was the name of Dr. Chennery; and
Rosamond, dreading the effect on her spirits of
allowing her mind to remain unoccupied,
volunteered to write to the vicar at once,
referring briefly to what had happened since
they had last communicated with him, and
asking him to fulfil, that year, an engagement
of long standing, which he had made
with her husband and herself, to spend his
autumn holiday with them at Porthgenna
Tower. Rosamond's heart yearned for a
sight of her old friend; and she knew him
well enough to be assured that a hint at
the affliction which had befallen her, and
at the hard trial which she had undergone,
would be more than enough to bring
them together the moment Doctor
Chennery could make his arrangements for leaving
home.

The writing of this letter suggested
recollections which called to mind another friend,
whose intimacy with Leonard and Rosamond
was of recent date, but whose connection
with the earlier among the train of
circumstances which had led to the discovery of the
Secret, entitled him to a certain share in their
confidence. This friend was Mr. Orridge, the
doctor at West Winston, who had accidentally
been the means of bringing Rosamond's
mother to her bedside. To him she now wrote
acknowledging the promise which she had
made, on leaving West Winston, to
communicate the result of their search for the
Myrtle Room; and informing him that it had
terminated in the discovery of some very sad
events, of a family nature, which were now
numbered with the events of the past. More
than this, it was not necessary to say to a
friend who occupied such a position towards
them as that held by Mr. Orridge.

Rosamond had written the address of this
second letter, and was absently drawing lines
on the blotting-paper with her pen, when she
was startled by hearing a contention of
angry voices in the passage outside. Almost
before she had time to wonder what the noise
meant, the door was violently pushed open,
and a tall, shabbily dressed, elderly man,
with a peevish, haggard face, and a ragged
grey beard, stalked in, followed indignantly
by the head waiter of the hotel.

"I have three times told this person,"
began the waiter, with a strong emphasis on
the word "person," "that Mr. and Mrs.
Frankland——"

"Were not at home," broke in the shabbily
dressed man, finishing the sentence for the
waiter. "Yes, you told me that  and I told
you that the gift of speech was only used by
mankind for the purpose of telling lies, and
that consequently I didn't believe you. You
have told a lie. Here are Mr. and Mrs.
Frankland both at home. I come on
business, and I mean to have five minutes'
talk with them. I sit down unasked,
and I announce my own name, Andrew
Treverton."

With those words he sat down coolly in
the nearest chair. Leonard's cheeks reddened
with anger while he was speaking, but
Rosamond interposed before her husband
could say a word.

"It is useless, love, to be angry with him,"
she whispered. "The quiet way is the best
way with a man like that." She made a sign
to the waiter which gave him permission to
leave the room—then turned to Mr. Treverton.
"You have forced your presence on us,
sir," she said quietly, "at a time when a very
sad affliction makes us quite unfit for
contentions of any kind. We are willing to show
more consideration for your age than you
have shown for our grief. If you have
anything to say to my husband, he is ready to
control himself and to hear you quietly, for
my sake."

"And I shall be short with him and with
you, for my own sake," rejoined Mr. Treverton.
"No woman has ever had the chance
yet of sharpening her tongue long on me, or
ever shall. I have come here to tell you three
things. First, your lawyer has told me all
about the discovery in the Myrtle Room, and
how you made it. Secondly, I have got your
money. Thirdly, I mean to keep it. What
do you think of that?"

"I think you need not give yourself the
trouble of remaining in the room any longer,
if your only object in coming here is to tell
us what we know already," said Leonard.
"We know you have got the money; and
we never doubted that you meant to keep
it."

"You are quite sure of that, I suppose?"
said Mr. Treverton. "Quite sure you have
no lingering hope that any future twists and
turns of the law will take the money out of
my pocket again and put it back into yours?
It is only fair to tell you that there is not the
shadow of a chance of any such thing ever