e led
him away.

"You will be taken to Dartmoor Prison to-morrow," said the jailer, as if
in reply. Geoffrey looked over his shoulder to see if Reynolds heard;
but the old man was busy in buttoning up his coat, and did not look his
way.

The day after these occurrences the French mail steamer, putting in at
Cork Harbor, took on board several passengers. Among them was old
Reynolds. It was Christmas week, and the ship was full of Americans,
running home for the holidays, with the usual retinue of English and
French servants, among whom Reynolds passed unnoticed. There were but
two people in all the West that Reynolds cared to see; in Maggie Windsor
and her father the old man had a strange confidence; but as for these
people, their evident prosperity made him sorrowful, their wealth
offended him.

As he sat upon the deck that evening, his old cloak drawn about his
shoulders, a lady passed up and down before him, arm-in-arm with a
gentleman whom he had never seen. There was a grace, a certain sinuous
strength about the woman's figure that was strangely familiar to him. He
tried to think where he had seen such a form before; and, do what he
would, his memory would not stray from the library in the old lodge at
Ripon House. The man with her was middle-aged, or perhaps a little
older; he had a red beard of some three weeks' growth, not long enough
to hide the contour of his fat double chin. His small eyes had a way of
turning rapidly about, but not resting anywhere, as if he feared a
steady glance might lead some one to recognize him. Reynolds wondered
who he was.

The night was mild for the season, and there was a bright moon. All the
other passengers were below in the cabins, the sea was calm, and the
strains of an orchestra were heard from the great saloon, where the
passengers were dancing. There was an electric light behind where
Reynolds sat, and pulling the evening paper from his pocket he tried to
read. He had his own reasons for not caring to go below; apparently so
had the other two, for they still walked the deck in front of him. Once,
as they passed him, they stopped for a moment, and the light fell full
upon the woman's face. It was Mrs. Carey.

The paper fell from the old man's hands. Their eyes met for a moment,
then the woman turned away.

Reynolds was thunderstruck. Could that be Mr. Carey with her? he
thought. He had never seen Carey, but he fancied not. Her husband must
be a younger man. Reynolds h