spirit shot across her brow. But it passed quickly, and she
added, with fierce composure, "You are right; go on!"

"Either-and pardon me for an insult that comes not from me--either
this will be the case: Lady Mary St. John will hasten back in alarm
to London; she exercises extraordinary control over her son; she
may withdraw him from us altogether, from me as well as you, and the
occasion now presented to us may be lost (who knows?) forever,--or she
may be a weak and fond woman; may be detained in Italy by her sister's
illness; may be anxious that the last lineal descendant of the St. Johns
should marry betimes, and, moved by her darling's prayers, may consent
at once to the union. Or a third course, which Percival thinks the most
probable, and which, though most unwelcome to us of all, I had wellnigh
forgotten, may be adopted. She may come to England, and in order to
judge her son's choice with her own eyes, may withdraw Helen from your
roof to hers. At all events, delays are dangerous,--dangerous, putting
aside my personal interest, and regarding only your own object,--may
bring to our acts new and searching eyes; may cut us off from the
habitual presence either of Percival or Helen, or both; or surround
them, at the first breath of illness, with prying friends and formidable
precautions. The birds now are in our hands. Why then open the cage and
bid them fly, in order to spread the net? This morning all the final
documents with the Insurance Companies are completed. It remains for me
but to pay the first quarterly premiums. For that I think I am prepared,
without drawing further on your hoards or my own scanty resources, which
Grabman will take care to drain fast enough."

"And Percival St. John?" said Madame Dalibard. "We want no idle
sacrifices. If my son be not found, we need not that boy's ghost amongst
those who haunt us."

"Surely not," said Varney; "and for my part, he may be more useful to
me alive than dead. There is no insurance on his life, and a rich friend
(credulous greenhorn that he is!) is scarcely of that flock of geese
which it were wise to slay from the mere hope of a golden egg. Percival
St. John is your victim, not mine; not till you give the order would I
lift a finger to harm him."

"Yes, let him live, unless my son be found to me," said Madame Dalibard,
almost exultingly,--"let him live to forget yon fair-faced fool, leaning
now, see you, so delightedly on his arm, and fancying eternity i