nt. "Would you take mine, in such a case?"

"No," replied Walters, with delightful candor. "Your word is worthless.
Mine was never broken. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes."

"There must be another stipulation."

"What is it?"

"You are not to mention my name to Mortimer. He does not know of my
existence."

"I shall not be likely to meet him," returned Flint, a little surprised. "I
thought you had seen him."

"I did--through the bars of his cell."

And Mr. Flint was left alone in no enviable state of mind. So absorbed was
he in his disappointment, that Tim several times that afternoon whistled
snatches from "Poor Dog Tray," with impunity.

The twilight came stealing into the room in which Mrs. Snarle and Daisy
were sitting. The food on the supper table remained untouched. Neither of
them had spoken for the last half hour; the twilight grew denser and
denser, and the shadows on their faces deepened. Daisy had told her mother
all--the search of the officers for the necklace, her visit to the Tombs,
and Mortimer's protestation of innocence. Mrs. Snarle never doubted it for
a moment; but she saw how strong their evidence might be against him.

"God only knows how it will end, Daisy."

"As God wills it, mother!"

As these words were said, a shadow fell across the entry, and a pair of
arms was thrown tenderly around Daisy's neck.

"Mortimer!"

XV.

QUIN.--_Is all our company here?_

MID-SUMMER'S NIGHT DREAM.

XV.

IMPORTANT DISCLOSURES.

_A Picture--The Lawyer's Note--Mr. Hardwill once more--The Scene at
the Law Office--Mr. Flint Hors du Combat--Face to Face._

"Mortimer!"

That was all Daisy said.

The candles were lighted, the dim, sad twilight driven out of the room, and
a happy trio sat around the supper table. Mrs. Snarle smoothed her silk
apron complacently; Daisy's eyes and smiles were full of silent happiness;
and Mortimer, in watching the variations of her face, all so charming,
forgot the misfortunes which had so recently threatened him.

Daisy gave Mortimer an account of the unknown's strange visit; and,
inexplicable to himself, Mortimer connected it in some way with his
unexpected release.

Soon after Mrs. Snarle had retired, the lovers sat in the little room,
which was only lighted by a pleasant fire in the grate. Wavering fingers of
flame drew grotesque pictures on the papered walls; then a thin puff of
smoke would break the enchantment, and the