cond time you have turned up when I was in difficulties."

In spite of his resolution to proceed cautiously, a twinkle crept into
Wyllard's eyes, and suggested that the fact she had mentioned was not
so much of a coincidence as it probably appeared. She saw it, and was
about to pass on, when he stopped her with a gesture. He was, after
all, usually a candid person.

"The fact is, I have been looking out for you the last three days," he
said.

He fancied the girl had taken alarm at this, and spread his hands out
deprecatingly. "Won't you hear me out?" he added. "There's a matter I
must put before you, but I won't keep you long."

His companion was a little puzzled, and naturally curious. It struck
her as somewhat strange that his rather startling admission should have
roused in her very little indignation; but she felt that it would be
unreasonable to suspect this man of anything that savoured of
impertinence. His manner was reassuring, and she liked his face.

"Well?" she said inquiringly.

The man indicated a big oak trunk that lay just inside the gate.

"If you'll sit down, I'll get through as quick as I can," he said. "In
the first place, I am, as I told you, a Canadian, come over partly to
see the country, and partly to carry out one or two duties. In regard
to one of them, I believe you can help me."

His companion's face was expressive of a very natural astonishment.

"I could help you?"

Wyllard nodded. "I'll explain my reasons for believing it later on,"
he said. "In the meanwhile, I asked you a question the other night,
which I'll now try to make more explicit. Were you ever acquainted
with a young Englishman who went to Canada from this country several
years ago? He would be about twenty then, and had dark hair and eyes.
That, of course, isn't an unusual thing, but there was a rather curious
white mark on his left temple. If he was ever a friend of yours, that
scar ought to fix it."

"Oh!" said the girl, "that must have been Lance Radcliffe. I was with
him when the scar was made--ever so long ago. But you said his name
was Pattinson--and we heard that he was dead."

"I did," said Wyllard gravely. "Still, I wasn't quite sure of it, and
he's certainly dead. I buried him."

His companion made a little abrupt movement, and he saw the sudden
softening of her eyes. There was, however, only a gentle pity in them,
and nothing in her manner suggested the deeper feeling he had
half-expe