with its green
fields and purling rills. There they sow anonymous letters like barley.
The very girls write anonymous letters that make my hair stand on end.
Yes, it is a vile world."

"Don't you believe him, miss," said Mrs. Undercliff, appearing suddenly.
Then, turning to her son, "How can you measure the world? You live in a
little one of your own--a world of forgers and anonymous writers; you see
so many of these, you fancy they are common as dirt; but they are only
common to you because they all come your way."

"Oh, that is it, is it?" said the expert, doubtfully.

"Yes, that is it, Ned," said the old lady, quietly. Then after a pause
she said "I want you to do your very best for this young lady."

"I always do," said the artist. "But how can I judge without materials?
And she brings me none."

Mrs. Undercliff turned to Helen, and said: "Have you brought him nothing
at all, no handwritings--in your bag?"

Then Helen sighed again. "I have no handwriting except Mr. Penfold's; but
I have two printed reports of the trial."

"Printed reports," said the expert, "they are no use to me. Ah! here is
an outline I took of the prisoner during the trial. You can read faces.
Tell the lady whether he was guilty or not," and he handed the profile to
his mother with an ironical look; not that he doubted her proficiency in
the rival art of reading faces, but that he doubted the existence of the
art.

Mrs. Undercliff took the profile, and, coloring slightly, said to Miss
Rolleston: "It is living faces I profess to read. There I can see the
movement of the eyes and other things that my son here has not studied."
Then she scrutinized the profile. "It is a very handsome face," said she.

The expert chuckled. "There's a woman's judgment," said he. "Handsome!
the fellow I got transported for life down at Exeter was an Adonis, and
forged wills, bonds, and powers of attorney by the dozen."

"There's something noble about this face," said Mrs. Undercliff, ignoring
the interruption, "and yet something simple. I think him more likely to
be a cat's-paw than a felon." Having delivered this with a certain modest
dignity, she laid the profile on the counter before Helen.

The expert had a wonderful eye and hand; it was a good thing for society
he had elected to be gamekeeper instead of poacher, detector of forgery
instead of forger. No photograph was ever truer than this outline. Helen
started, and bowed her head over the sketch to co