friend in the Berkshires. After that I may join my brother
in Europe; I'm not sure as to that."

"To-morrow?"

"Yes!"

There was another one of those embarrassing intervals of silence which
of late seemed to occur so often in their conversation. Miss Graham, as
usual, was the first to speak.

"Mr. Brown," she began. The substitute assistant interrupted her.

"Please don't call me that," he blurted involuntarily. "It--oh, confound
it, it isn't my name!"

She should have been very much surprised. He expected her to be. Instead
she answered quite calmly.

"I know it," she said.

"You DO?"

"Yes. You are 'Russ' Brooks, aren't you?"

Russell Brooks, alias John Brown, dropped his cap again, but did not
pick it up. He swallowed hard.

"How on earth did you know that?" he asked as soon as he could say
anything.

"Oh, it was simple enough. I didn't really know; I only guessed. You
weren't a real lightkeeper, that was plain. And you weren't used to
washing dishes or doing housework--that," with the irrepressible curl of
the corners of her lips, "was just as plain. When you told me that fib
about meeting my brother here last summer I was sure you had met him
somewhere, probably at college. So in my next letter to him I described
you as well as I could, mentioned that you were as good or a better
swimmer than he, and asked for particulars. He answered that the
only fellow he could think of who fitted your description was 'Russ'
Brooks--Russell, I suppose--of New York; though what Russ Brooks was
doing as lightkeeper's assistant at Eastboro Twin-Lights he DIDN'T know.
Neither did I. But then, THAT was not my business."

The substitute assistant did not answer: he could not, on such short
notice.

"So," continued the girl, "I felt almost as if I had known you for a
long time. You and Horace were such good friends at college, and he
had often told me of you. I was very glad to meet you in real life,
especially here, where I had no one but Mrs. Bascom to talk to; Mr.
Atkins, by reason of his aversion to my unfortunate sex, being barred."

Mr. Brown's--or Mr. Brooks'--next speech harked back to her previous
one.

"I'll tell you while I'm here," he began.

"You needn't, unless you wish," she said. "I have no right to
know"--adding, with characteristic femininity, "though I'm dying to."

"But I want you to know. As I told Atkins when I first came, I haven't
murdered anyone and I haven't stolen anything. I'm not a