n
will come." In that manner he had reconciled himself to his position.
And now--he knew it when he handed back the letter to Romayne--his turn
_had_ come!

"You can hardly go to Paris to consult the book," he said, "in the
present state of Mrs. Eyrecourt's health?"

"Certainly not!"

"Perhaps you will send somebody to search the catalogue at the British
Museum?"

"I should have done that already, Father Benwell, but for the very kind
allusion in your note to your friend in the country. Even if the book is
in the Museum Library, I shall be obliged to go to the Reading Room to
get my information. It would be far more convenient to me to have the
volume at home to consult, if you think your friend will trust me with
it."

"I am certain he will trust you with it. My friend is Mr. Winterfield,
of Beaupark House, North Devon. Perhaps you may have heard of him?"

"No; the name is quite new to me."

"Then come and see the man himself. He is now in London--and I am
entirely at your service."

In half an hour more, Romayne was presented to a well-bred, amiable
gentleman in the prime of life, smoking, and reading the newspaper. The
bowl of his long pipe rested on the floor, on one side of him, and a
handsome red and white spaniel reposed on the other. Before his visitors
had been two minutes in the room, he understood the motive which had
brought them to consult him, and sent for a telegraphic form.

"My steward will find the book and forward it to your address by
passenger train this afternoon," he said. "I will tell him to put my
printed catalogue of the library into the parcel, in case I have any
other books which may be of use to you."

With those words, he dispatched the telegram to the office. Romayne
attempted to make his acknowledgments. Mr. Winterfield would hear no
acknowledgments.

"My dear sir," he said, with a smile that brightened his whole face,
"you are engaged in writing a great historical work; and I am an obscure
country gentleman, who is lucky enough to associate himself with the
production of a new book. How do you know that I am not looking forward
to a complimentary line in the preface? I am the obliged person, not
you. Pray consider me as a handy little boy who runs on errands for the
Muse of History. Do you smoke?"

Not even tobacco would soothe Romayne's wasted and irritable nerves.
Father Benwell--"all things to all men"--cheerfully accepted a cigar
from the box on the table.

"Father