d a meeting with him at this old
mansion. And why at this old mansion? Was it her home? No, that was not
likely, or why was he to wait until she came? If her home, she would be
waiting there for him. Probably the home of some friend of whom she had
made a confidant, and who was in sympathy with her love affair. Yes, it
must be this; and the mystery of her life, what could that be but some
pre-natal pledge of marriage with one whom she despised, or tyrannical
guardians, or both. She would probably be disinherited if she disobeyed.
What did he care; money was not the end of God's judgment. He would take
her away from it all; his precious darling, and she was ill, too; she
was in pain and he could not go to her. He longed to sit by her side,
and hold her hand and pour out his love. He was bitterly disappointed
at not seeing her to-day, but he almost forgot that, now, as he thought
of her ill and suffering. He read and re-read the lines of her letter,
and tried to comfort himself with the thought that it was no more than a
headache brought on by her mental strain.

By and by, something else about this letter began to puzzle him. He had
not thought of it at first, but gradually it dawned upon him that the
handwriting was not exactly like that upon the card of Eva Delorme. It
seemed to him that it was less delicate and more irregular. He took her
card from the little tray on the table, and compared them. He decided
that they were the same, after all. The letter was written hurriedly and
she was ill; but the formation of the characters was much the same. As
he replaced the card his eye fell upon that of Evelin March. There was
no similarity between the writing on the two cards, but as he glanced
now from that of Evelin March to the letter he fancied one suggested
faintly the nervous, dashing style of the other. The haunting curiosity
that had once possessed him returned for a moment. There was a strange
fear in his heart which he could not name. He compared the two more
closely, and as he did so the fancy disappeared. It was like certain
faint odors that are only perceptible at a distance. He heaved a sigh of
relief.

"I am a consummate ass, among other things," he muttered.

His mind reverted to Eva. How would he get through the time until
to-morrow? To-morrow there would be a sitting with Evelin. As he thought
of her his face flushed with shame, and a feeling of dread came upon
him. He would send her portrait to the dealer