forward, with a face almost as white as her own, and raised her
up, and implored the people to get her a carriage.

It was Mr. Coventry. Little had he counted on this meeting.
Horror-stricken, he conveyed the insensible girl to her father's house.

He handed her over to the women, and fled, and the women brought her
round; but she had scarcely recovered her senses, when she uttered
another piercing scream, and swooned again.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Coventry passed a night of agony and remorse. He got up broken and
despondent, and went straight to Woodbine Villa to do a good action.

He inquired for Miss Carden. They told him she was very ill. He
expressed an earnest wish to see her. The servants told him that was
impossible. Nobody was allowed to see her but Dr. Amboyne. He went
next day to Dr. Amboyne, and the doctor told him that Miss Carden was
dangerously ill. Brain fever appeared inevitable.

"But, sir," said Coventry, eagerly, "if one could prove to her that
those were not the remains of Henry Little?"

"How could you prove that? Besides, it would be no use now. She is
delirious. Even should she live, I should forbid the subject for many
a day. Indeed, none but the man himself could make her believe those
remains are not his; and even he could not save her now. If he stood by
her bedside, she would not know him."

The doctor's lip trembled a little, and his words were so grave and
solemn that they struck to the miserable man's marrow. He staggered
away, like a drunken man, to his lodgings, and there flung himself on
the floor, and groveled in an agony of terror and remorse.

CHAPTER XXXV.

One day it occurred to Raby he could play the misanthrope just as well
at home as abroad, so he returned home.

He found old Dence dead and buried, and Patty Dence gone to Australia
with her husband.

He heard Jael was in the hospital. He called at Woodbine villa, and they
told him Grace was lying between life and death.

He called on Dr. Amboyne, and found him as sad as he used to be gay. The
doctor told him all, and even took him to the town hall, and showed him
an arm and part of the trunk of a man preserved in spirits, and a piece
of tweed cloth, and a plain gold ring.

"There," said he, "is all that remains to us of your nephew, and my
friend. Genius, beauty, courage--all come to this!" He could say no
more.

The tears filled Raby's eyes, and all his bitterness melted away. With
respect to his s