exposing the outlines
and moulding of a face and throat absolutely flawless in beauty, yet
darkened by the reflection of some overpowering and irremediable woe.
The features were youthful as St. Sebastian's; the expression that of
one prematurely aged by severe and unremitting mental conflict; but
neither shaven crown, nor cowl availed to disguise Bertie Brentano, and
as his sister's eyes gazed at the sketch, it wavered, swam, vanished in
a mist of tears.

In one corner of the sheet a man's hand had written "Brother Luke",
August the 10th. Had relenting fate, or a merciful prayer-answering-God
placed in her hand the long sought clue? When Beryl recovered from the
shock of recognition, and looked around, she found the car empty; and
discovered that she had been carried several squares beyond the street
where she intended to get out and walk.

Carefully replacing the tissue paper and silk thread, she tied the
leathern straps of the portfolio, and left the car, holding the
sketches close to her heart as she hurried homeward. When she turned a
corner and caught sight of the bronze anchor over the door, she
involuntarily slackened her pace, and at the same moment a policeman
crossed the street, stood in front of her, and touched his cap. The
sight of his uniform thrilled her with a premonition of danger.

"Pardon me, Sister, but something has been lost on the street."

"A portfolio? I have found it."

"It is very valuable to the owner."

"I intend having it advertised in to-morrow's paper."

"The person to whom it belongs, wishes to leave the city; to-night,
hence his haste in trying to recover it."

"I picked it up in front of Heilwiggs' Dancing Academy. How did you
know who had found it?"

"The owner discovered he had dropped it, soon after he boarded a car,
where Captain Tunstall of our force happened to be, and he at once
telegraphed to all the stations to be on the look out. A boot-black
whose stand is near Heilwiggs', reported that he saw one of the 'Gray
Women' pick up something, and get on an upbound car. Our station was
telephoned to interview the 'Anchorage', so you see we are prompt. I
was just going over to ring the bell, and make inquiries."

"Who lost the book?"

"A man named McIlvane, an Englishman I think, who is obliged to hurry
on to-night, in order to catch some New York steamer where his passage
is engaged."

"You are sure he is a foreigner?" asked Beryl, who was feverishly
revolving the