is
tribute to the pure character of Salome Owen."

"Thank Heaven! I had faith in her. I believed her too generous to
stoop to a flirtation with the lover of her friend; and, deplorable as
was your own weakness, I am rejoiced, Gerard, to find that you have
conquered it. Tell Muriel all that you have confided to me, and in her
hands we will leave the decision."

"Do you intend to prosecute the search which has proved so fruitless?"

"I do. She has not returned to America,--she is here somewhere; and,
living or dead, I must and will find her."

Dr. Grey seemed lost in perplexing thought for some time, then drew a
sheet of paper before him, and wrote, "Ulpian Grey wishes to see
Salome Owen, in order to communicate some facts which will induce her
return to her family; and he hopes she will call immediately at No.
Rue ----."

"Gerard, please be so good as to have this inserted in all the leading
journals in the city; and give me the address of Mr. Minge's agent."

At the expiration of a month, spent in the most diligent yet
unsuccessful efforts to obtain some information of the wanderer, Dr.
Grey began to feel discouraged,--to yield to melancholy forebodings
that an untimely death had ended her struggles and suffering.

Once, while pacing the walks in the Champs-Elysees, he caught a
glimpse of a face that recalled Salome's, and started eagerly forward;
but it proved that of a Parisian _bonne_, who was romping with her
juvenile charge.

Again, one afternoon, as he came out of the Church of St. Sulpice, his
heart bounded at sight of a woman who leaned against the railing, and
watched the play of the fountain. When he approached her and peered
eagerly into her countenance, blue eyes and yellow curls mocked his
hopes. One morning, while he walked slowly along the _Rue du Faubourg
St. Honore_, his attention was attracted by the glitter of pretty
baubles in the _Maison de la Pensee_, and he entered the establishment
to purchase something for Jessie.

While waiting for his parcel, a woman came out of a rear apartment and
passed into the street, and, almost snatching his package from the
counter, he followed.

A few yards in advance was a graceful but thin figure, clad in a
violet-colored muslin, with a rather dingy silk scarf wound around her
shoulders. A straw hat, with a wreath of faded pink roses, drooped
over her face, and streamers of black lace hung behind, while over the
whole she had thrown a thin gray veil.