, as may well be imagined, was not the woman to burn two
thousand pounds. She locked the notes up; and after that night became
very reserved on that head, so much so that, at last, Mr. Penfold saw it
was an interdicted topic, and dropped it in much wonder.

When Nancy came to think of it in daylight, she could not help suspecting
Wylie had some hand in it; and it occurred to her that the old gentleman,
who lodged next door, might be an agent of Wylie's and a spy on her.
Wylie must have told him to push the 2,000 pounds into her room; but what
a strange thing to do! To be sure, he was a sailor, and sailors had been
known to make sandwiches of bank-notes and eat them. Still, her good
sense revolted against this theory, and she was sore puzzled; for, after
all, there was the money, and she had seen it come through the wall. One
thing appeared certain, Joe had not forgotten her; he was thinking of her
as much as ever, or more than ever; so her spirits rose, she began
singing and whistling again, and waited cunningly till Joe should
reappear and explain his conduct. Hostage for his reappearance she held
the 2,000 pounds. She felt so strong and saucy she was half sorry she had
allowed Mr. Penfold to advertise; but, after all, it did not much matter;
she could always declare to Joe she had never missed him, for her part,
and the advertising was a folly of poor Mr. Penfold's.

Matters were in this condition when the little servant came up one
evening to Mr. Penfold and said there was a young lady to see him.

"A young lady for _me?"_ said he.

"Which she won't eat you, while I am by," said the sharp little girl. "It
is a lady, and the same what come before."

"Perhaps she will oblige me with her name," said Michael, timidly.

"I won't show her up till she do," said this mite of a servant, who had
been scolded by Nancy for not extracting that information on Helen's last
visit.

"Of course, I must receive her," said Michael, half consulting the mite;
it belonged to a sex which promptly assumes the control of such gentle
creatures as he was.

"Is Miss Rouse in the way?" said he.

The mite laughed, and said:

"She is only gone down the street. I'll send her in to take care on you."

With this she went off, and in due course led Helen up the stairs. She
ran in, and whispered in Michael's ear--

"It is Miss Helen Rolleston."

Thus they announced a lady at No. 3.

Michael stared with wonder at so great a personage visi