so that she could be revived in quiet.

This Mr. Weston did, lingering with his little daughter and Mr. Mortimer
on the terrace outside, to hear tidings of the poor lady's state before
leaving. Here a servant came to them before many minutes had passed,
though the time seemed long to them in their perplexity. Madame Giche
was better, she said, but begged them to excuse her seeing them now, and
would they come by appointment to-morrow, at ten o'clock?

You may be sure Inna lived in a state of continual excitement and
curiosity, so mysterious was Madame Giche's fainting fit to her, for the
remainder of that day and until ten o'clock on the morrow; and when she
saw the two gentlemen set forth alone for the interview, she not being
needed now, she felt like a very inquisitive little girl, who did not
half like being left behind and so not to see and hear what might
happen next.

In the meantime, the two arrived at the Owl's Nest, and reached the
tapestried room, where Madame Giche, still like a snowflake for
paleness, and sweetly weak and trembling, received them, not rising from
her chair this time. Ah! well, it was no time for ceremony. Question
followed question from the poor old lady's lips as to who was Mr.
Weston's father, when born, his real name, and so forth, until the
artist sat down and told her his story--for he had one.

"My father was a gentleman, and died rather suddenly in Italy, when I
was three years old; my mother followed him three weeks after, of a
broken heart, 'twas said, and I was adopted by a friend of my father's,
an artist, named Welthorp, a great traveller, but kind and good, who
took me to Australia--in fact, almost all round the world--and finally
to London, where he and his wife died--both died while I was a mere lad.
But I had learnt to dabble and paint, and so, making the most of my
knowledge, have managed by degrees to struggle up to what I am."

This was his meagre story.

"My father? no, I never knew who he was, nor his name--not Weston; Mr.
Welthorp knew that much--but my father was a reserved man: he never
mentioned who he was, nor what his position or property, not even to
him. I've heard he sent a message to his mother when dying, but----"

The interruption came from Madame Giche, who suddenly clasped his hand,
crying, "That ring, where did you get it--say?"

"It was my father's ring, all he had to show of his former life, so to
speak;" and Mr. Weston took the ring from his fi