dition. It was clear
that in both cases the nerves had been seriously played upon; but for
what purpose? What was the secret of the stranger's endeavour? What did
he seek?--and what find? To these questions no satisfactory answer would
come for the asking, so that in his impatience he was tempted to break
through the severe self-restraint of science, and let unfettered fancy
find an answer.

But, most of all, he longed to see close to him the man whom the police
sought for in and out, to judge for himself what might be the method and
the purpose of his strange outrages. He scarcely desired his capture,
for he thought of the possible results to Julius, and yet--Day after
day passed, and still the man was unfound, and very soon a change came
over Lefevre's life, which lifted it so far above the plane of his daily
professional experience, that all speculation about the mysterious "M.
Dolaro," and his probable relation to Julius, fell for a time into the
dim background. The doctor had been calling daily in Carlton Terrace to
see his patient, when, on a certain memorable day, he intimated to her
father that she was so completely recovered that there was no need of
his calling on her professionally again. The old lord, looking a little
flustered, asked him if he could spare a few minutes' conversation, and
led him into his study.

"My dear Lefevre," said he, "I am at a loss how to make you any adequate
return for what you have done for my daughter. Money can't do it; no,
nor my friendship either, though you are so kind as to say so. But I
have an idea, which I think it best to set before you frankly. You are a
bachelor: it is not good to be a bachelor," he went on, laying his hand
affectionately on the doctor's arm, and flushing--old man of the world
though he was--flushing to the eyes. "What--what do you think of my
daughter? I mean, not as a doctor, but as a man?"

Lefevre was not in his first youth, and he had had his admirations for
women in his time, as all healthy men must have, but yet he was made as
deliriously dizzy as if he were a boy by his guess at what Lord
Rivercourt meant.

"Why," he stammered, "I think her the most beautiful, intelligent,
and--and attractive woman I know."

"Yes," said her father, "I believe she is pretty well in all these ways.
But--and you see I frankly expose my whole position to you--what would
you think of her for a wife?"

"Frankly, then," said Lefevre, "I find I have admired her