er been in better spirits than on the day
after this decision had been arrived at.

On that day, however--it was early in March--an annoying incident
happened. Mr. Scawthorne, who always dined in town and seldom returned
to his lodgings till late in the evening, rang his bell about eight
o'clock and sent a message by the servant that he wished to see Mrs.
Byass. Bessie having come up, he announced to her with gravity that his
tenancy of the rooms would be at an end in a fortnight. Various
considerations necessitated his livin in a different part of London.
Bessie frankly lamented; she would never again find such an estimable
lodger. But, to be sure, Mr. Scawthorne had prepared her for this,
three months ago. Well, what must be, must be.

'Is Miss Snowdon in the house, Mrs. Byass?' Scawthorne went on to
inquire.

'Miss Snowdon? Yes.'

'This letter from America, which I found on coming in, contains news
she must hear--disagreeable news, I'm sorry to say.'

'About her father?' Bessie inquired anxiously.

Scawthorne nodded a grave and confidential affirmative. He had never
given Mrs. Byass reason to suppose that he knew anything of Joseph's
whereabouts, but Bessie's thoughts naturally turned in that direction.

'The news comes to me by chance,' he continued. 'I think I ought to
communicate it to Miss Snowdon privately, and leave her to let you know
what it is, as doubtless she will. Would it be inconvenient to you to
let me have the use of your parlour for five minutes?'

'I'll go and light the gas at once, and toil Miss Snowdon.'

'Thank you, Mrs. Byass.'

He was nervous, a most unusual thing with him. Till Bessie's return he
p aced the room irregularly, chewing the ends of his moustache. When it
was announced to him that the parlour was ready he went down, the
letter in his hand. At the half-open door came a soft knock. Jane
entered.

She showed signs of painful agitation.

'Will you sit down, Miss Snowdon? It happens that I have a
correspondent in the United States, who has lately had--had business
relations with Mr. Joseph Snowdon, your father. On returning this
evening I found a letter from my friend, in which there is news of a
distressing kind.'

He paused. What he was about to say was--for once--the truth. The
letter, however, came from a stranger, a lawyer in Chicago.

'Your father, I understand, has lately been engaged in--in commercial
speculation on a great scale. His enterprises have proved un