ept it."

"You have my marriage notice?" she repeated, startled out of her
caution.

"Yes. Put your hand under my pillow and you will find my wallet; the
woman of the house has skillfully abstracted the money, but fortunately
she has not considered a newspaper slip as of any value." He took the
case from her hand, opened it, and gave her a folded square paper, cut
from the columns of a New York journal. Anne opened it, and read the
notice of the marriage of "Erastus Pronando, son of the late John
Pronando, Esquire, of Philadelphia, and Angelique, daughter of the late
William Douglas, surgeon, United States Army."

The slip dropped from her hand. "Pere Michaux must have sent it," she
thought.

"It was in all the New York and Philadelphia papers for several days,"
said Heathcote. "There seemed to be a kind of insistence about it."

And there was. Pere Michaux had hoped that the Eastern Pronandos would
see the name, and, moved by some awakening of memory or affection, would
make inquiry for this son of the lost brother, and assist him on his
journey through the crowded world.

"I did not know that 'Anne' was a shortening of 'Angelique'; I thought
yours was the plain old English name. But Helen knew; I showed the
notice to her."

Anne's face altered; she could not control the tremor that seized her,
and he noticed it.

"Are you _not_ married then, after all? Tell me, Anne, tell me. You can
not deceive; you never could, poor child; I remember that well."

She tried to rise, but he held her arm with both hands, and she could
not bring herself to use force against that feeble hold.

"Why should you not tell me what all the world is free to know?" he
continued. "What difference does it make?"

[Illustration: "SHE TRIED TO RISE, BUT HE HELD HER ARM WITH BOTH
HANDS."]

"You are right; it makes no difference," she answered, seating herself,
and taking up the fan again. "It is of no especial consequence. No, I
am not married, Mr. Heathcote. Angelique is the name of my little sister
Tita, of whom you have heard me speak; we first called her Petite, then
Tita. Mr. Pronando and Tita are married."

"The same Pronando to whom you were engaged?"

"Yes. He is--"

"Oh, I do not care to hear anything about _him_. Give me your hand,
Anne. Take off that ring."

"No; it was a present from my pupils," she said, drawing back with a
smile, but at the same time an inward sigh of relief that the disclosure
was over. "They--"