e hour of victory she
felt that she could afford to be generous; any little thing that he liked
to ask of her she would be glad enough to do with a view to expediting
his departure. Perhaps he wanted her photograph, or a lock of her hair;
to either he would be perfectly welcome.

"There is something I am forced to go away from England without having
done; a solemn duty I have to leave unperformed. Miss Nevill, will you
undertake to do it for me?"

"Really, Monsieur D'Arblet, you are very mysterious; it depends, of
course, upon what this duty is--if it is very difficult, or very
unpleasant."

"It is neither difficult nor unpleasant. It is only to give a small
parcel to a gentleman who is not now in England; to give it him yourself,
with your own hands."

"That does not sound difficult, certainly," said Vera, smiling; after
all, she was glad he had not asked for a photograph, or a lock of hair;
"but how am I to find this friend of yours?"

"Miss Nevill, do you know a man called Kynaston? Captain Maurice
Kynaston?" He was watching her keenly now.

Vera turned suddenly very white: then controlling herself with an effort,
she answered quietly.

"Yes, I know him. Why?"

"Because that is the man I want you to give my parcel to." He drew
something out of his breast coat-pocket, and handed it to her across the
oblong table that was still between them. She took it in her hands, and
turned it over doubtfully and uneasily. It was a small square parcel,
done up in brown paper, fastened round with string, and sealed at both
ends.

It might have been a small book; it probably was. She had no reason to
give why she should not do his commission for him, and yet she felt a
strange and unaccountable reluctance to undertake it.

"I had very much rather that you asked somebody else to do this for you,
Monsieur D'Arblet," she said, handing the packet back to him. He did not
attempt to take it from her.

"It concerns the most sacred emotions of my heart, mademoiselle," he
said, sensationally. "I could not entrust it to an indifferent person.
You, who have plunged me into such an abyss of despair by your cruel
rejection of my affection, cannot surely refuse to do so small a thing
for me."

Miss Nevill was again looking at the small parcel in her hands.

"Will it hurt or injure Captain Kynaston in any way?" she asked.

"Far from it; it will probably be of great service to him. Come, Miss
Nevill, promise me that you will give