ns Place, where Madame
Lind was staying."

"You knew, then?" the other said, quickly.

"Oh yes, I knew. Now, if you will be frank with me, I may be of some
assistance to you. Lind does not know where his wife and daughter are?"

"You know he does not."

"And you--perhaps you fancied that one or other might be sending a
message to me--might call, perhaps--or even that I might have got them
rooms for the time being?"

The Englishman's penetrating gray eyes were difficult to avoid.

"You appear to know a good deal, Mr. Brand," Beratinsky said, somewhat
sulkily. "Perhaps you can tell me where they are now?"

"I can tell you where they are not, and that is in London."

The other looked surprised, then suspicious.

"Oh, believe me or not, as you please: I only wish to save you trouble.
I tell you that, to the best of my belief, Miss Lind and her mother are
not in London, nor in this country even."

"How do you know?"

"Pardon me; you are going too far. I only tell you what I believe. In
return, as I have saved you some trouble, I shall expect you to let me
know if you hear anything about them. Is that too much to ask?"

"Then you really don't know where they are?" Beratinsky said, with a
quick glance.

"I do not; but they have left London--that I know."

"I am very much obliged to you," said the other, more humbly. "I wish
you good evening, Mr. Brand."

"Stay a moment. Can you tell me what Yacov Kirski's address is? I have
something to arrange with him before I leave England."

He took out his note-book, and put down the address that Beratinsky gave
him. Then the latter moved away, taking off his hat politely, but not
shaking hands.

Brand was amused rather than surprised at this little adventure; but
when day after day passed, and no tidings came from Natalie, he grew
alarmed. Each morning he was certain there would be a letter; each
morning the postman rung the bell below, and Waters would tumble down
the stairs at breakneck speed, but not a word from Natalie or her
mother.

At the little Buckinghamshire station at which he stopped he found a
dog-cart waiting to convey him to Hill Beeches; and speedily he was
driving away through the country he knew so well, now somewhat desolate
in the faded tints of the waning of the year; and perhaps, as he drew
near to the red and white house on the hill, he began to reproach
himself that he had not made the place more his home. Though the grounds
and shrubberies