t might gladden some one's heart were I to bear
them from your lips this fresh assurance; were I to tell them how you
have saved me when all hope seemed lost; were I to tell them how all
here speak well of you, and how absolutely I am convinced that some
hideous mistake must have been made."

Frank sat for some time silent.

"Yes," he said, at last. "I have a little cousin, a girl, she was like
my sister; I hope--I think that, in spite of everything, she may still
have believed me innocent. Will you see her and tell her you have seen
me? Say no more until you see by her manner whether she believes me to
be a rascal or not. If she does, give her no clue to the part of the
world where you have come across me; simply say that I wished her to
know that I was alive and well. If you see that she still, in spite of
everything, believes that I am innocent, then tell her that I affirm on
my honour and word that I am innocent, though I see no way whatever of
ever proving it; that I do not wish her to tell my uncle she heard from
me; that I do not wish her to say one word to him, for that, much as I
value his affection, I would not for the world seem to be trying to
regain the place he thinks I have forfeited, until I can appear before
him as a rich man whom nothing could induce to touch one penny of his
money, and who values only his good-will and esteem. That is her name
and address."

And Frank wrote on the leaf of his pocket-book, "Alice Hardy, 354 Eaton
Square."

"I do not think you will have to deliver the message; it is hardly
possible that she should not, as my uncle has done, believe me to be
guilty. Still, I do cling to the possibility of it. That is why I
hesitate in giving you the commission, for if it fails I shall lose my
last pleasant thought of home. If you find she has believed in me, write
to me at Sacramento, to the care of Woolfe & Company, of whom I always
get my stores. There is no saying where I may be in four or five months'
time, for it will take that before I can hear from you. It may be, in
that case, she too will write. If she does not believe in me, do not
write at all; I shall understand your silence; and, above all, unless
you find she believes in me, say no more than that I am alive and well,
and give no clue whatever to the part of the world where we have met."

"I will discharge your commission," Mr. Adams said. "But do not be
impatient for an answer; I may not find a steamer going down to Pa