g--which was about the only blessing I enjoyed,
since none of them progressed far enough to imperil my freedom, and,
lacking confederates, I was of course unable to carry through the
profitable series of abductions in the world of High Finance that I had
contemplated. Hence my misfortunes, and now on this beautiful Sunday
morning, penniless but for the coppers and the postage-stamp, with no
breakfast in sight, and, fortunately enough, not even an appetite, I
turned to my morning paper for my solace.

[Illustration: "THIS I WOULD SELL TO THE SUFFERING POOR"]

Running my eye up and down the personal column, which has for years been
my favorite reading of Sunday mornings, I found the usual assortment of
matrimonial enterprises recorded: pathetic appeals from P. D. to meet Q.
on the corner of Twenty-third Street at three; imploring requests from
J. A. K. to return at once to "His Only Mother," who promises to ask no
questions; and finally--could I believe my eyes now riveted upon the
word?--my own sobriquet, printed as boldly and as plainly as though I
were some patent cure for all known human ailments. It seemed
incredible, but there it was beyond all peradventure:

"WANTED.--A Butler. BUNNY preferred. Apply to Mrs. A. J. Van
Raffles, Bolivar Lodge, Newport, R.I."

To whom could that refer if not to myself, and what could it mean? Who
was this Mrs. A. J. Van Raffles?--a name so like that of my dead friend
that it seemed almost identical. My curiosity was roused to concert
pitch. If this strange advertiser should be-- But no, she would not send
for me after that stormy interview in which she cast me over to take the
hand of Raffles: the brilliant, fascinating Raffles, who would have won
his Isabella from Ferdinand, Chloe from her Corydon, Pierrette from
Pierrot--ay, even Heloise from Abelard. I never could find it in my
heart to blame Henriette for losing her heart to him, even though she
had already promised it to me, for I myself could not resist the
fascination of the man at whose side I faithfully worked even after he
had stolen from me this dearest treasure of my heart. And yet who else
could it be if not the lovely Henriette? Surely the combination of
Raffles, with or without the Van, and Bunny was not so usual as to
permit of so remarkable a coincidence.

"I will go to Newport at once," I cried, rising and pacing the floor
excitedly, for I had many times, in cursing my loneliness, dreamed of
Henriette,