of Liverpool. She felt in her pocket for her
purse, as she drew near the Euston Square
station with this intention. She had left
it at home. Her poor head aching, her
eyes swollen with crying, she had to stand
still, and think, as well as she could, where
next she should bend her steps. Suddenly
the thought flashed into her mind that she
would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She
had been hardly kind to him the night before,
though her heart had bled for him ever
since. She remembered his telling her, as she
inquired for his address, almost as she had
pushed him out of the door, of some hotel in
a street not far distant from Euston Square.
Thither she went: with what intention she
hardly knew, but to assuage her conscience
by telling him how much she pitied him. In
her present state she felt herself unfit to
counsel, or restrain, or assist, or do ought else
but sympathise and weep. The people of the
inn said such a person had been there; had
arrived only the day before; had gone out
soon after his arrival, leaving his luggage
in their care; but had never come back.
Norah asked for leave to sit down, and await
the gentleman's return. The landlady—
pretty secure in the deposit of luggage
against any probable injury—showed her
into a room, and quietly locked the door on
the outside. Norah was utterly worn out,
and fell asleep a shivering, starting, uneasy
slumber, which lasted for hours.

The detective, meanwhile, had come up
with her some time before she entered the
hotel, into which he followed her. Asking the
landlady to detain her for an hour or so, without
giving any reason beyond showing his
authority (which made the landlady applaud
herself a good deal for having locked her in),
he went back to the police-station to report
his proceedings. He could have taken her
directly; but his object was, if possible, to
trace out the man who was supposed to have
committed the robbery. Then he heard of the
discovery of the brooch; and consequently
did not care to return.

Norah slept till even the summer evening
began to close in. Then up. Some one was
at the door. It would be Mr. Frank; and
she dizzily pushed back her ruffled grey hair,
which had fallen over her eyes, and stood
looking to see him. Instead, there came in
Mr. Openshaw and a policeman.

"This is Norah Kennedy," said Mr. Openshaw.

"O, sir," said Norah, " I did not touch the
brooch; "indeed I did not. O, sir, I cannot
live to be thought so badly of;" and very
sick and faint, she suddenly sank down on
the ground. To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw
raised her up very tenderly. Even the
policeman helped to lay her on the sofa; and,
at Mr. Openshaw's desire, he went for some
wine and sandwiches; for the poor gaunt
woman lay there almost as if dead with
weariness and exhaustion.

"Norah! " said Mr. Openshaw, in his
kindest voice, " the brooch is found. It was
hanging to Mrs. Chadwick's gown. I beg
your pardon. Most truly I beg your pardon,
for having troubled you about it. My wife is
almost broken-hearted. Eat, Norah, or,
stay, first drink this glass of wine," said
he, lifting her head, pouring a little down
her throat.

As she drank, she remembered where she
was, and who she was waiting for. She
suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away, saying,
"O, sir, you must go. You must not stop
a minute. If he comes back he will kill
you."

"Alas, Norah! I do not know who 'he'
is. But some one is gone away who will never
come back: some one who knew you, and
whom I am afraid you cared for."

"I don't understand you, sir," said Norah,
her master's kind and sorrowful manner
bewildering her yet more than his words.
The policeman had left the room at Mr.
Openshaw's desire, and they two were
alone.

"You know what I mean, when I say
some one is gone who will never come back.
I mean that he is dead!"

"Who? " said Norah, trembling all
over.

"A poor man has been found in the
Thames this morning, drowned."

"Did he drown himself?" asked Norah,
solemnly.

"God only knows," replied Mr. Openshaw,
in the same tone. " Your name and address
at our house, were found in his pocket: that,
and his purse, were the only things, that were
found upon him. I am sorry to say it, my
poor Norah; but you are required to go and
identify him."

"To what? asked Norah.

"To say who it is. It is always done, in
order that some reason may be discovered
for the suicide—if suicide it was. I make no
doubt he was the man who came to see you
at our house last night. It is very sad, I
know." He made pauses between each little
clause, in order to try and bring back her
senses; which he feared were wandering so
wild and sad was her look.

"Master Openshaw," said she, at last,
"I've a dreadful secret to tell you—only you
must never breathe it to any one, and you
and I must hide it away for ever. I thought
to have done it all by myself, but I see I
cannot. Yon poor man—yes! the dead,
drowned creature is, I fear, Mr. Frank, my
mistress's first husband!"

Mr. Openshaw sate down, as if shot. He
did not speak; but, after a while, he signed
to Norah to go on.

"He came to me the other night—when—
God be thanked—you were all away at
Richmond. He asked me if his wife was dead or
alive. I was a brute, and thought more of
your all coming home than of his sore trial: