A Whisper In The Dark Part 41

"Let us go to his room, he may have left some paper, some trace that will serve us. Be of good heart, dear Mrs. Noel; I will help you with all my wit, strength and soul."

"You are so kind! Come, then-stay, I must go first-the room is in sad disorder."

Hurrying before me, she ran into the west wing; I followed when she called me, and looked vainly for some trace to explain Noel's absence.

"He never walks so early, never till now has gone even to the grove without telling me. Why did I leave him? Oh, my darling, what has happened to take you from-"

There she paused abruptly, for I beckoned. The long window was open, and glancing out, I had seen upon the newly gravelled walk footprints like those I had seen before. Others were beside them now, slender and small. Mrs. Noel looked, rushed out regardless of her disarray, dropped on her knees and scrutinised the prints, then rose, and carefully compared the smaller one with her own pretty foot thrust stockingless into an embroidered slipper. It seemed to satisfy her; a long sigh of relief followed, yet she began to tremble as her eye wandered far beyond the garden-walls. I said nothing of my nocturnal visitor, and waited for her to speak. In a moment she recovered her self-possession, brushed away the larger footprints with a rapid gesture, and gathering her wrapper closer about her, she turned to me with a gentle dignity I had never seen in her till now.

"I have no longer any fear for him," she said. "These tracks show that Pierre is with him. They plan some surprise for me. Thank you, Mr. Clyde, and let me apologise for my foolish fright."

More mystified than ever, I was turning away, when Noel sprang in at the window, rosy, radiant and wonderfully altered.

Wherein the change lay I could not tell, but I felt it so strongly that I stood staring dumbly, while his wife explained my somewhat embarra.s.sing situation, and chid him for his flight.

"My dearest, I only went to the St. Michaels. The good gentleman had one of his sudden attacks near morning, and sent for me; Pierre would not let me go alone; I feared to distress you, so we slipped away, hoping to be back before you awoke."

This statement, like several others, sounded probable, yet I doubted it, and observed that while he spoke he looked steadily at his wife, who looked as steadily at him. Of course I retired after that, and nothing more was said, even when we met as usual.

All day I wrote, copying several fine poems, which I suspect have been lately written, as they are of love. Mr. Noel has seemed more unlike his former self even than he did at dawn, and his wife has been in a state of joyful restlessness which infected us all. Something wonderfully exciting had evidently happened, and something ardently desired was evidently to take place at night; for as I left the drawing-room this evening I heard Noel whisper, as if to check some impatient glance or gesture of his wife's: "Wait a few hours more, darling. It will not be safe for him to come till twelve."

That was enough for me; out went my light, and having carefully tumbled my bed that it might appear to have been occupied, I sat down by my window, waiting till the house was quiet. At half-past eleven I crept out, and looked to see what windows were still lighted. None but the studio showed a ray. There, then, this joyful meeting was probably to take place. Up I crept, but before I could set foot upon the roof the wind brought me the sound of steps coming to the gate. Motionless I sat, hidden in the sombre verdure of the pine, as two tall figures entered, crept to the window of Noel's room, and disappeared. One was Pierre I knew, by a suppressed hem; the other was almost gigantic, seen through the pale mist that rolled up from the river. An unequal motion in the gait suggested a limp, and as they vanished I caught the faint echo of a voice very like Noel's, but far deeper and manlier than his.

Fearing that Pierre might stand guard, I remained where I was for some time, then crept to my former loophole, and looked down.

A magnificent old man was sitting in the easy-chair with Clarice upon his knee, both her arms were about his neck, and tears of joy were streaming, for she smiled as they fell, and seemed to have no words to express her happiness.

Another woman knelt beside the chair, her face uplifted, tearless, but how n.o.bly beautiful! As I looked my heart stood still, then leaped with an excitement almost uncontrollable, for with a shock of recognition I knew that this was Noel, and that Noel was a woman. The black locks were parted on the forehead now, the dark moustache was gone, the loose paletot was replaced by some flowing dress, from whose deep purple sleeves came arms whose white grace would have convinced me had the face been hidden.

Dizzy with bewilderment and a strange satisfaction which I could not a.n.a.lyse, I stared down upon the three, seeing, hearing, yet scarcely comprehending for a time. This stately man was their father; it needed no words to tell me that, for Clarice's eyes were dark and l.u.s.trous as his; Noel's-I can call her by no other name-Noel's grave, sweet mouth was a perfect miniature of his, and the features of both have a strong though softened resemblance to those finer ones whose reposeful strength was beautifully touched by tenderness. An Italian evidently, for though his figure far exceeded the lithe slenderness which usually characterises this race, there was the olive hue, the Southern eye, the fire, the grace which colder climates seldom produce. Gray-haired, worn and old he looked; yet suffering, thought and care seemed to have aged him more than years, for his voice had a youthful ring, his gestures the vigor of a man still in his prime. The right foot was smaller than the left, and slightly deformed, as if by some accident, and one of the daughters had laid a cus.h.i.+on for this weak and weary foot, the sight of which confirmed my suspicion that I saw the midnight visitor whose tracks I had found beneath my window.

The first words that reached me after a pause were Noel's, and I held my breath to hear, for the flutelike tenor I had learned to love was softened with a womanly tone, and now I knew why the seeming boy had been so silent when I was by.

As if continuing some subject dropped for a momentary overflow of emotion: "Padre mi o, I will tell you how it has fared with us since they drove us from your prison doors. Good old Annunciata took us home, but remembering my promise to you to fly at once to your old comrade Pierre in Paris, we went. He was all you believed he would be, father, friend, counsellor and guard. He feared to keep us there, begged us to come to England, and in some safe disguise wait here till you could join us, if your captivity did not end in death.

"As we planned what would be the easiest, safest disguise for each to a.s.sume, I bethought me that if we were searched, for when it was discovered that the proscribed book had disappeared with us we should be described as two Italian girls; if we separated each might be found, and apart, our apprehensions for each other would be unbearable. Now, if we could lose our ident.i.ty altogether, and appear in a new land exactly opposite to what we had been in the old, we should be doubly safe, and could help you without fear. I recalled our wandering life before you knew Clarice's mother, when you and I roamed over Italy and France as a peasant and his little son. I made so excellent a boy, and liked the part so well, you know, I cried when forced to give it up; but in my strait I remembered it, and resolved to be, not a little lad, but a half-grown youth, and train myself to dare all things for your sake. Clarice could not if she would, having neither courage, stature, nor voice, poor, timid darling as she is! therefore she should personate aunt Clotilde, whom she used to mock, and her French accent would serve her well. Show papa how perfectly you looked it, naughty girl."

Up sprang Clarice, ran below, and in a moment Madame Estavan appeared. Great heavens, how blind I have been! No matter, that is over now, and a light I never dreamed of has dawned for me. Let me finish speedily. The three happy souls within laughed gaily as the mock invalid repeated her graceful helplessness, and deplored her sufferings with the pensive airs with which madame had won my sympathy. Soon Noel, or Monica as I should now call her-ah, the sweet Italian name!-continued her narration, leaning on the high back of her father's chair, caressing his gray head with a fond reverence that was beautiful to see.

"Pierre was unknown, circ.u.mspect, and the dear soul insisted upon coming with us. He knew the St. Michaels, and had done them a service when they were in Paris years ago; he wrote to them, for they were true as gold; they prepared all things for us, and in this quiet nook we have lived through these weary months."

"But this young man, to whom I nearly betrayed myself last night, what of him? how came he here? You would only hear my story then, now finish yours, my man-hearted girl."

How her face glowed at that, half with pride at the praise, half with shame at the part she had played so well; as if with her woman's garb she had a.s.sumed her woman's nature.

"Papa, see what we have done while waiting for you. Here, translated, fairly copied and ready for your last touches, is the dear book, written with such enthusiasm, lived for, suffered for, and now to be enjoyed in this free land when all danger has gone by, and honor, fame and love are to be reaped at last."

What pa.s.sed below for a few minutes I shall never know, for my own eyes grew too dim for seeing, as the daughter who had dared and done so much laid her gift in her father's hands, and her head upon her father's knee. When next I looked the precious gift was at his feet, the beloved giver in his arms, and with the two fair faces looking up into his own, the happy man was listening to that chapter of the romance in which I played a part. Clarice spoke now.

"This dear Monica nearly killed herself with working at it all last winter, and when the spring arrived Mrs. St. Michael and myself began to pray and urge and work upon her to consent that we should either put the copying out or have some person here. At length we prevailed; she would not part with her charge even then for a time, but having grown bold through many successful trials, she consented to have a clerk at home. We were dying for society; we dared not go out much, because I could not play my part well, and made sad blunders by forgetting that I was blind and ill. She might have gone anywhere in this dull place, for none would guess her, but she would not do that for fear of mishaps. Both longed for some change, and when we advertised were wild to see who would come. This Clyde appeared; Monica liked him; he seemed wellbred, simple, unsuspecting and sincere. In time we found him accomplished, a.s.siduous and a most agreeable inmate. Was it not so, cara sposa?"

Infinitely mischievous and merry looked Mrs. Noel, as she glanced up at her blus.h.i.+ng sister, who half averted her face, and answered with a traitorous softness in her tone: "Yes, too agreeable for our peace of mind, perhaps. Now let me finish, for I have ill things to tell of you and of myself. Papa, Clarice forgot her part continually; she never would be careful, and kept me in a fever of fear. The first night he came a lock of her bright hair nearly betrayed her, another time she dropped her rosary, and calmly owned that we were Catholics. I took refuge behind her, for in a Frenchwoman it was nothing strange, but in me who desired to pa.s.s for an English youth it was not to be allowed. Mrs. St. Michael often tried us by her overanxiety, and sent your letters in all manner of strange ways, till I bid her do it simply, for Clarice was always in a tremor when anything arrived from them, lest a letter should appear when least expected. I too was more than once on the point of telling all, for Clyde was very faithful, very kind, and oh! papa, I longed so for a wiser, stronger friend than either my good Pierre or the St. Michaels. When the paper came which announced the release of those who suffered for Italy, and your name was among them, I could not bear it. Clyde helped me, and was so patient, so unsuspicious and so tender that it broke my heart to tell another of those falsehoods. But till I knew how free, how safe you were I would not breathe a whisper of the truth."

"Poveretta! it was too hard a task, too heavy a burden for your loving heart. You shall be rewarded, my daughter, in this world if your old father can do it, and in the next where your mother waits to receive you into Paradise." A little pause, then the proud father asked with a smile so like his daughter's I seemed to see an elder Noel, "Tell me why this mock marriage was performed?"

"It never would have been had we known how soon you would arrive. But Clarice endangered all things; I could not send Clyde away when that part of my venture failed, for the book was not done; she would not leave me, yet pined here in confinement after madame's shadow departed. Nor could she appear as my sister, for I had said to various persons when I came that I had no family. Neither could she stay openly with me as a friend, because I would not have a breath of scandal or the faintest blemish on her maiden fame. We were in despair, when it occurred to me, that, as I a.s.sumed the role of a wayward genius-that I was forced to do, owing to the book and the secluded life I led-I might marry and play a little game of love and matrimony. It was foolish, perhaps hazardous, but I won them all to it, and brought my wife home, as happy as a bird when the cage is open and the sky cloudless."

"Lean nearer, my daughter, and answer truly. Did this shadow of love arise from any longing in your own heart for the substance? Have not these quiet summer days, pa.s.sed in the society of this young man, been hazardous to something more valuable than my safety? Will you not find the same longing to lean upon, to confide in the new friend lingering under the woman's robe as warmly, as strongly, as when this gentle bosom hid itself behind a man's vest? Tell me, Monica, do you love this Clyde?"

There was no answer, but her face was hidden, and before the mute confession could be accepted she sprang up, as if pride struggled with maiden love and shame, and came towards me. Then I saw her face, and knew that the strange sentiment of affection, reverence and admiration I had felt for her when I believed her to be a singularly gifted and n.o.ble boy was unsuspected love; that the blushes, the reserve, the anxiety which I fancied arose from other causes, in truth proceeded from a like suddenly upspringing, swiftly growing pa.s.sion, whose chief charm lay in its blindness. These thoughts whirled through my brain as I listened, and when I saw that familiar yet sweetly altered countenance unconsciously betraying to me what it struggled to conceal from those nearer yet not dearer I could scarcely contain myself, and some half audible exclamation broke from me. She caught it, looked up, seemed to see my face as it vanished. No sound betrayed that she had recognised me, and so brief was the glimpse that I flat tered myself she could scarcely think she saw a human visage through the thickest growing leaves. Like a guilty yet most happy ghost, I swiftly, silently regained my room, and dashed into bed. Not a moment too soon, for barely had I got my breath when a light step drew near and paused at the door. My heart beat as if it would betray me, when the door opened, and the invisible being evidently paused upon the threshold listening. I bore the suspense till I could bear it no longer, and stirred noisily in my bed. Then quietly as it had opened the door closed, and the steps withdrew.

Mr. North, I am your spy no longer, and the record which I now dispatch is the last you will ever receive from me, for I break the compact and relinquish the reward you offer.

Those last words were written in the hush of dawn on that morning after the discovery, for I was eager to be done with my now insupportable task, and as Monica had said that her father was past all danger, I feared no harm would follow the delivery of that final record. I had waited impatiently for the first ray of light that I might make it, and when it was written paused for the page to dry. That pause was fatal, for worn out with a sleepless night and the excitement of the preceding hours, my eyes closed, my head fell on my arms, and lost I all consciousness in a deep slumber, which must have lasted for an hour, as when I awoke the sun shone in upon me. Intent on posting my letter un.o.bserved as usual, I looked for it, and see ing it wished that I had never wakened.

There it lay with its infamous purpose clearly confessed in its closing lines, and on it a bank-note, a slip of paper, all three stabbed through by the tiny dagger that pinned them to their place. I knew the dagger, had seen it on Monica's study-table, and admired its dainty workmans.h.i.+p; I knew the sharp Italian writing on the paper, for I had seen it day after day; I knew whose eyes had read my words, whose hand had stabbed the treacherous sheet, whose contempt had spared me for a remorse sharper than any pang of death. The slip held these words: "We are gone for ever, leaving despair for the lover, wages for the tool, a friend for the traitor."

How long I sat there I cannot tell. The sun came up, the world woke, and life went on about me, but mine seemed to have ended.

A dull hope woke at last within me, and I went wandering through the house, looking for that which I shall never find. Every room was deserted, but that of the grim maid, Catherine; and from her I got no help, but a curt request to breakfast and go, as she had orders to close the house, and return to her former mistress, Mrs. St. Michael. "Were they there?" I asked. No, they were miles away now, and she would have no questions put to her. My one refuge was Mr. North, and to him I hurried.

His office was closed. I knew his house, and ran to it. c.r.a.pe shrouded the knocker, and when I was admitted it was to find him dead. The day before a strange gentleman had called, had a long interview, and when he went Mr. North was found speechless in his chair. He never had revived, and died at dawn. His secret had died with him, and through all these weary years I have never gleaned a hint of it; never seen Monica; never regained my peace of mind, nor found rest from pondering miserably over these unsolved Enigmas.

A Laugh and a Look

Editor's Note:By the time Alcott began writing her thrillers, it was de rigueur that even the most co vague longings even in the least romantic hearts. Leaning against a tree, I listened to the music, watched the wandering groups about me, and dreamed the dreams that young men love. A sudden laugh disturbed my reverie; it was a peculiar laugh, and I involuntarily turned my head to see whose lips uttered it. Just the other side of the tree stood a tall young man, with a slender little woman leaning on his arm. They were talking earnestly, he bending down, she looking up; but I could see neither face distinctly, for the light was dim, his hat-brim hid his features, and hers were concealed by a dark vail. They stood somewhat apart from the crowd, yet evidently fancied they were enjoying the freedom from observation which such a time and place permitted.

"If my husband knew of this, he would be wild," the lady said, in a tone that contrasted strangely with her burst of merriment.

"But, my angel, he must not know. So far, you have played your part divinely, but you must guard your voice and eyes, else you'll betray the truth, fine actress as you are. You look at me too much, speak to me with too soft an accent, and your manner at times would inevitably proclaim our secret to the old man if he were not so unsuspicious and obtuse."

"I do my best, but when with you, I forget myself. You must remind me by a look, and show me how to deceive with an innocent face. Ah, me, what madness it all is!"

She drooped her head, and her voice became inaudible as a burst of drums and trumpets broke in on the softer melody of flutes and horns.

"You will surely meet me there in August, Mab?" were the next words that reached my eager ear.

"I will, without fail; you know my poor old dear denies me nothing, and is too busy then to leave town, so we may lay our plans in peace. No one we know will be there, and we can both enjoy our freedom and make it profitable."

"We will, and defy the world. My love, you'll not repent?" asked the man, tenderly.

"Never! with me, as with you, it is "all for love, or the world well lost.'"

"The steamer sails in September, we must make the most of our time, for I shall be in despair to go without you," said the young man, in an entirely altered tone, when I could hear again.

"Poor Vaughn, he little dreams what's in store for him," and the musical laugh made me shudder, so full of heartless mirth did it sound.

"Privy conspiracy and rebellion suits you, Mab. You've a talent for finesse, that quite appalls me sometimes, sinner as I am. Don't you feel remorse when you sit on your husband's knee, and remember that we are about to destroy his peace?"

"A little, Val; but he needs change and excitement; this will give it to him, and he'll soon forget the rest. He'd forgive me the unpardonable sin if I played penitence, for in his eyes the queen can do no wrong. He loves me too much; he never should have married me; I am too young to make him really happy," and a sigh shook the gossamer vail.

"I always thought and said so, you remember, for I meant to have you myself. And so I will, in spite of heaven and earth, an old man's mortgage and a woman's fears."

The fervor of the last sentence sent an odd thrill through me, as I saw the speaker seize the little hand that lay on his arm.

"Don't be absurd, Val; remember where you are. This is no place for that sort of thing," said the lady, glancing hastily about her.

"There's a good deal of it, nevertheless; this is a capital stage for lovers to rehea.r.s.e on," returned the man, nodding toward several pairs of humble sweethearts near them.

"I'm tired; take me home. It's getting late, and Vaughn will wonder where we are."

"Come and get an ice first. I want something cool, and a sight of your face to set me up for my night's work."

"I hate to think of you in that dreadful place, night after night. When will you give it up, dear Valentine?"

"In another month or two I shall be free; then hey for Paris and Queen Mab!"

The music ceased as they moved on, and in a moment the crowd broke up, streaming away in four directions toward the four great gates.

I meant to follow to see the faces of this pair, for I was in a fever of excitement, and I rushed after them, regardless of the jostlings I both received and gave.

For a time the tall figure of the man served to guide me, but in the crush at the southern gate I lost him, and after chasing several stalwart gentlemen, I hurried to the most fas.h.i.+onable saloon. Here I waited an hour, prowling about or lounging over a cup of coffee, and watching all new-comers, till it occurred to me that this mysterious Val and Mab would not desire to be seen together, and had doubtless gone to some less frequented cafe.

Provoked at my own stupidity, I turned toward home, but feeling that I should not sleep, I stepped into the theatre, hoping to quiet myself by a wholesome laugh with the great comedian playing there.

It was a benefit night, and getting interested, I remained till the long performance was over. It was past midnight as I went toward the river, near which my lodgings were just then, and as I turned a corner, I saw something that made me pause suddenly.

A tall man, wrapped in a curious dark cloak, stood under a lamp, apparently examining some object in his hand. It looked like a pistol, and the air and the dress of the man were suspicious. The place was solitary, for the streets were new, and many of the houses unoccupied. I was still weak and very nervous, and following an involuntary impulse, I stepped into a dark doorway, hoping he would pa.s.s me un.o.bservantly.

As I stood there, a carriage turned the other corner, and as if he was as anxious to escape observation as myself, the man threw off his cloak and sprang up the steps of the door where I was standing.

The suddenness of the meeting startled both. I uttered an exclamation; he sprang back, and would have fallen, had I not caught his hand. In the drawing of a breath, he was on his feet, and wrenching himself from my hold, darted away.

I stood a moment to recover myself, and was about to hurry off in an opposite direction, when a little bright object attracted my attention. I picked it up, and stopping under the light, found it to be a tiny silver imp, curiously wrought and attached to a broken silver chain, an inch or two long.

I was just going to pocket it, when I was horror-struck to perceive on my hand the stain of blood. It came from no wound of my own, but evidently from the man whose hand I had grasped. I stared at it an instant, then dashed home and into bed, feeling as if I had committed a murder, and the police were on my track.

The imprudence and excitement of that night caused a relapse, and I was a prisoner for several weeks. When able to care and ask for news, I learned that the latest sensation had been the a.s.sault and robbery of a Mr. Vaughn, one of the richest and most respected merchants in the city. He had been detained at his counting-room late one night, and returning with a large sum of money about him, had been stabbed, robbed, and left for dead by some unseen person.

The offender had been discovered, after much difficulty, and was awaiting his trial, stoutly denying the act, and refusing to give up the money.

On reading the account in an old paper, the date of the outrage struck me, May 14th. That was the date of my last walk, and my encounter with the b.l.o.o.d.y-handed man.

It interested me intensely, but finding that Mr. Vaughn was recovering, and the offender was taken, I resolved to save myself any further excitement or fatigue, and as my testimony was now valueless, I held my tongue. I had some curiosity to see the culprit, for the impression I received from him in the instant we stood face to face, was of a young and handsome man; blackbearded, pale, and remarkably tall. On inquiring about the prisoner, however, I learned that he was a short, stout, fair man, quite the reverse of my mysterious party. After that I let the matter drop, but often thought of it, and often wondered if the young couple in the Park were in any way connected with the injured Vaughn, for the two affairs were curiously connected in my mind from that time forth.

II.

Early in August I went to the seash.o.r.e to recruit, choosing a quiet place, once fas.h.i.+onable, but now deserted by all but a few faithful habitues who came for health, not gayety. I had lounged through one week, and was beginning to long for some object of interest, when my wish was suddenly granted.

Coming up from the beach one evening, I approached the house from the rear, thinking to shorten the way, and as I pa.s.sed a room in the wing, I was arrested by the sound of a laugh. I remembered it at once, for it was too peculiar to be forgotten, and I paused with a half-uttered exclamation on my lips. The French windows were open, and a soft gust of wind swayed the muslin drapery far enough aside to show me a lovely young woman, leaning on the shoulder of a man, into whose averted face she was looking with an expression of mingled joy and anxiety. I saw no more, for the curtain fell, and I stole away, longing to hear what that fresh voice was saying.

"What new arrivals are there?" I asked of Mrs. Wayne, a motherly matron, who had expressed an interest in me, because I resembled a son of hers.

"No one but little Mrs. Vaughn and her cousin, Valentine Devon," answered Mrs. Wayne.

"Is she related to the old gentleman who was robbed and wounded last May?"

"Slightly; she is his wife."

"That young creature! why, he is old enough to be her father."

"You know them, then?"

"Not at all; I never saw Mr. Vaughn, and merely caught a glimpse of her just now. She doesn't look as if she came for her health. By Jove, it's August, and the time they planned to meet!"

My incoherent exclamation was caused by a sudden recollection of the words spoken in the Park by the unknown pair; and in a moment I was as excited as before, and actually grateful that fate had thrown them in my way again. So absorbed was I in my discovery, that I stood before Mrs. Wayne, deaf to her surprised inquiry of what I meant by that odd speech. Her curiosity was increased a moment afterward, for, as we still stood in the hall, a voice said, courteously, behind me: "Will you allow me to pa.s.s?"

And, turning abruptly at the sound, I found myself face to face with the tall, darkly-bearded man whose b.l.o.o.d.y hand had grasped my own. I must have looked even more startled than I felt, for Mrs. Wayne exclaimed: "Bless me, what is it?"

And the stranger half-paused in pa.s.sing, as if arrested by my strange expression.

"I beg pardon; it is nothing; a momentary dizziness," I muttered, turning away, quite upset by this sudden rencontre.

There was no doubt of it, for, brief as that glimpse had been, the face I saw that night was clearly impressed upon my memory. The figure, carriage, and expression were the same; the look of wild surprise just seen was a shadow of the startled glance he gave me as he started back when I seized him.

At dinner my eye glanced down the long table and saw the pair at the end, entirely absorbed in each other.

Mrs. Vaughn was younger and lovelier even than I thought, and Devon a fine-looking fellow. No one but Mrs. Wayne knew them, and they seemed to care very little what any one thought, evidently bent on enjoying their freedom.

As we strolled about on the long piazzas, after dinner, Mrs. Wayne kept her promise and introduced me to Devon. While the two ladies chatted, we smoked and discussed meerschaums, as young men have a weakness for doing. I admired his, which was of a peculiar and foreign style, richly carved and ornamented with silver. A tiny Cupid sat on the cover to the bowl, and as I examined it, he said, carelessly: "That is not in keeping with the rest of the ornaments, which are grotesque rather than pretty, you see. Originally there was an imp there-a capital little fellow, but I lost him, and filled his place with that fat cherub."

"Something in this style, perhaps," I said, showing the silver imp that hung from my watchguard, fixing my eyes on his face as I spoke.

"By Jove! that's the image of my Puck! Where did that come from, if I may ask?" he exclaimed, with unfeigned surprise.

"I found it in the street. I dare say it is yours, and I'll return it in a week or two if you care for it," I said, coolly, dropping my guard again.

"Thank you. I do care for it, as my pet pipe is imperfect without it. But I am to sail in ten days for Europe, so if you can spare it I'll gladly replace it with any trinket you fancy," he answered, smiling, yet looking at me with an odd expression.

"You shall have it in time, I a.s.sure you," and with a glance still more peculiar than his own, I turned to talk with Mrs. Vaughn. "If this weather holds, you will have a charming voyage," I said, as Mrs. Wayne addressed herself to Devon.