rts."

With this preface, Mr. Mool related the circumstances under which Mr.
Le Frank had met with his accident. "His first proceeding when they
discharged him from the hospital," continued the lawyer, "was to summon
Teresa before a magistrate. Fortunately she showed the summons to me.
I appeared for her, provided with a plan of the rooms which spoke for
itself; and I put two questions to the complainant. What business had
he in another person's room? and why was his hand in that other person's
cupboard? The reporter kindly left the case unrecorded; and when the
fellow ended by threatening the poor woman outside the court, we bound
him over to keep the peace. I have my eye on him--and I'll catch him
yet, under the Vagrant Act!"

CHAPTER LXI.

Aided by time, care, and skill, Carmina had gained strength enough
to pass some hours of the day in the sitting-room; reclining in
an invalid-chair invented for her by Ovid. The welcome sight
of Zo--brightened and developed by happy autumn days passed in
Scotland--brought a deep flush to her face, and quickened the pulse
which Ovid was touching, under pretence of holding her hand. These signs
of excessive nervous sensibility warned him to limit the child's visit
to a short space of time. Neither Miss Minerva nor Teresa were in the
room: Carmina could have Zo all to herself.

"Now, my dear," she said, in a kiss, "tell me about Scotland."

"Scotland," Zo answered with dignity, "belongs to uncle Northlake. He
pays for everything; and I'm Missus."

"It's true," said Mr. Gallilee, bursting with pride. "My lord says it's
no use having a will of your own where Zo is. When he introduces her to
anybody on the estate, he says, 'Here's the Missus.'"

Mr. Gallilee's youngest daughter listened critically to the parental
testimony. "You see he knows," she said to Ovid. "There's nothing to
laugh at."

Carmina tried another question. "Did you think of me, dear, when you
were far away?"

"Think of you?" Zo repeated. "You're to sleep in my bedroom when we go
back to Scotland--and I'm to be out of bed, and one of 'em, when you eat
your first Scotch dinner. Shall I tell you what you'll see on the table?
You'll see a big brown steaming bag in a dish--and you'll see me slit it
with a knife--and the bag's fat inside will tumble out, all smoking hot
and stinking. That's a Scotch dinner. Oh!" she cried, losing her dignity
in the sudden interest of a new idea, "oh, Carmina, do you remember