re to advise that, to avoid
lawyers' expenses, you should simply instruct somebody--the right
person--to transfer the property from your name to the name of Iris.
Then you will be saved troubles and formalities of every kind. As for
me, my home is in America--"

"No, Joseph," said Lala Roy gently; "it is in Shadwell."

"It is a lie!" he cried, starting; "it is an infernal lie!"

"Iris," said Arnold, "lift your veil, my dear. Mr. Farrar, who is this
young lady? Look upon this face, Clara."

"This is the daughter of Claude Deseret," said Mr. Farrar, "if she is
the daughter of the man who married Alice Emblem, and went by the name
of Aglen."

Clara turned a terrified face to Arnold.

"Arnold, help me!"

"Whose face is this?" he repeated.

"It is--good Heavens!--it is the face of your portrait. It is Claude's
face again. They are his very eyes--" She covered her face with her
hands. "Oh, Arnold, what is it! Who is this other?"

"This other lady, Clara, is a Music-Hall Singer, who calls herself
Carlotta Claridane, wife of this man, who is not an American at all,
but the grandson of Mr. Emblem, the bookseller, and therefore cousin
of Iris. It is he who robbed his grandfather of the papers which you
have in your possession, Clara. And this is an audacious conspiracy,
which we have been so fortunate as to unearth and detect, step by
step."

"Oh, can such wickedness be?" said Clara; "and in my house, too?"

"Joe," said Lotty, "the game is up. I knew it wouldn't last."

"Let them prove it," said Joe; "let them prove it. I defy you to prove
it."

"Don't be a fool, Joe," said his wife. "Remember," she whispered,
"you've got a pocketful of money. Let us go peaceably."

"As for you, Nigger," said Joe, "I'll break every bone in your body."

"Not here," said Arnold; "there will be no breaking of bones in this
house."

Lotty began to laugh.

"The gentle blood always shows itself, doesn't it?" she said. "I've
got the real instincts of a lady, haven't I? Oh, it was beautiful
while it lasted. And every day more and more like my father."

"Arnold," cried poor Clara, crushed, "help me!"

"Come," said Arnold, "you had better go at once."

"I won't laugh at you," said Lotty. "It's a shame, and you're a good
old thing. But it did me good, it really did, to hear all about the
gentle blood. Come, Joe. Let us go away quietly."

She took her husband's arm. Joe was standing sullen and desperate. Mr.
Chalker was right. It