contrast to the unprovoked rudeness of
the mistress of the lodging-house. He declared that he could only do
justice to his sense of obligation by following Mr. Rayburn's example,
and expressing himself as frankly as if he had been speaking to an old
friend.

"The sad story of my sister-in-law's life," he said, "will, I think,
explain certain things which must have naturally perplexed you. My
brother was introduced to her at the house of an Australian gentleman,
on a visit to England. She was then employed as governess to his
daughters. So sincere was the regard felt for her by the family that the
parents had, at the entreaty of their children, asked her to accompany
them when they returned to the Colony. The governess thankfully accepted
the proposal."

"Had she no relations in England?" Mr. Rayburn asked.

"She was literally alone in the world, sir. When I tell you that she had
been brought up in the Foundling Hospital, you will understand what I
mean. Oh, there is no romance in my sister-in-law's story! She never has
known, or will know, who her parents were or why they deserted her. The
happiest moment in her life was the moment when she and my brother first
met. It was an instance, on both sides, of love at first sight. Though
not a rich man, my brother had earned a sufficient income in mercantile
pursuits. His character spoke for itself. In a word, he altered all the
poor girl's prospects, as we then hoped and believed, for the better.
Her employers deferred their return to Australia, so that she might be
married from their house. After a happy life of a few weeks only--"

His voice failed him; he paused, and turned his face from the light.

"Pardon me," he said; "I am not able, even yet, to speak composedly
of my brother's death. Let me only say that the poor young wife was a
widow, before the happy days of the honeymoon were over. That dreadful
calamity struck her down. Before my brother had been committed to the
grave, her life was in danger from brain-fever."

Those words placed in a new light Mr. Rayburn's first fear that her
intellect might be deranged. Looking at him attentively, Mr. Zant seemed
to understand what was passing in the mind of his guest.

"No!" he said. "If the opinions of the medical men are to be trusted,
the result of the illness is injury to her physical strength--not injury
to her mind. I have observed in her, no doubt, a certain waywardness of
temper since her illness; but that is