ors, not in Paris as we supposed, but in London. The address is,
Number 10, Camp's Hill, Islington. I should also add that the General,
for obvious reasons, lived in London under the assumed name of Marillac.
It will be necessary, therefore, to inquire for his widow by the name of
Madame Marillac.

"You will perhaps be surprised to find that I address these lines to
you, instead of to Mr. Romayne. The reason is soon told.

"I was acquainted with the late General--as you know--at a time when I
was not aware of the company that he kept, or of the deplorable errors
into which his love of gambling had betrayed him. Of his widow and
his children I know absolutely nothing. Whether they have resisted the
contaminating influence of the head of the household--or whether poverty
and bad example combined have hopelessly degraded them--I cannot say.
There is at least a doubt whether they are worthy of Mr. Romayne's
benevolent intentions toward them. As an honest man, I cannot feel
this doubt, and reconcile it to my conscience to be the means, however
indirectly, of introducing them to Mr. Romayne. To your discretion I
leave it to act for the best, after this warning."

Lord Loring returned the letter to Major Hynd. "I agree with you," he
said. "It is more than doubtful whether you ought to communicate this
information to Romayne."

Lady Loring was not quite of her husband's opinion. "While there is a
doubt about these people," she said, "it seems only just to find out
what sort of character they bear in the neighborhood. In your place,
Major Hynd, I should apply to the person in whose house they live, or to
the tradespeople whom they have employed."

"I am obliged to leave London again to-day," the Major replied; "but on
my return I will certainly follow your ladyship's advice."

"And you will let us know the result?"

"With the greatest pleasure."

Major Hynd took his leave. "I think you will be responsible for wasting
the Major's time," said Lord Loring, when the visitor had retired.

"I think not," said Lady Loring.

She rose to leave the room. "Are you going out?" her husband asked.

"No. I am going upstairs to Stella."

Lady Loring found Miss Eyrecourt in her own room. The little portrait
of Romayne which she had drawn from recollection lay on the table before
her. She was examining it with the closest attention.

"Well, Stella, and what does the portrait tell you?"

"What I knew before, Adelaide. There is