incredulously, "a savage like that?"

"Cockatoo is much cleverer than the average white man," said Braddock
dryly, "especially in following a trail. He, if any one, will learn the
truth. I would much rather trust the Kanaka than young Hope."

"Nonsense!" cried Lucy, standing up for her lover. "Archie is the one to
discover the assassin. I'll see him at once. And you, father?"

"I, my dear," said the Professor calmly, "shall remain here and make my
peace with the future Mrs. Braddock."

"You have made it already," said the widow graciously, and extended her
hand, which the Professor kissed unexpectedly, and then sat back in his
chair, looking quite abashed at his outburst of gallantry.

Seeing that everything was going well, Lucy left the elderly couple
to continue their courting, and hurried to Archie's lodgings in the
village. However, he happened to be out, and his landlady did not know
when he would return. Rather annoyed by this, since she greatly desired
to unbosom herself, Miss Kendal walked disconsolately towards the
Pyramids. On the way she was stopped by Widow Anne, looking more dismal
and funereal than ever, and garrulous with copious draughts of gin. Not
that she was intoxicated, but her tongue was loose, and she wept freely
for no apparent reason. According to herself, she had stopped Lucy to
demand back from Mr. Hope through the girl certain articles of attire
which had been borrowed for artistic purposes. These, consisting of a
shawl and a skirt and a bodice, were of extraordinary value, and Mrs.
Bolton wanted them back or their equivalent in value. She mentioned that
she would prefer the sum of five pounds.

"Why do you not ask Mr. Hope yourself?" said Lucy who was too impatient
to bear with the old creature's maunderings. "If you gave him the things
he will no doubt return them."

"If they aren't spiled with paint," wailed Widow Anne. "He told my Sid
as he wanted them for a model to wear while being painted. Sid asked
me, and I gave 'em to Sid, and Sid, he passed 'em along to your good
gentleman. There was a skirt, as good as new, and a body of the dress
trimmest beautiful, and a tartan shawl as I got from my mother. But no,"
the old woman corrected herself, "it was a dark shawl with red spots
and--"

"Ask Mr. Hope, ask Mr. Hope," cried Miss Kendal impatiently. "I know
nothing about the things," and she tore her dress from Widow Anne's
detaining hand to hurry home. Mrs. Bolton wailed aloud at thi