age, and then frowned in anger at the contents of the letter. "You
needn't wait," he said to the man. "I shall have to go back again, I
suppose."

Changing his forage cap for a soft hat, and selecting a stick from a
miscellaneous collection in a corner, he prepared to retrace his steps.
"What does she want now?" he asked himself fiercely, as he strode down
the moonlit road; but beneath the fierceness there was an under-current
of petulance, which implied that, whatever "she" did want, she had a
right to expect.

The "George the Fourth" was a long low house, situated in Elizabeth
Street. Its front was painted a dull red, and the narrow panes of glass
in its windows, and the ostentatious affectation of red curtains and
homely comfort, gave to it a spurious appearance of old English
jollity. A knot of men round the door melted into air as Captain Frere
approached, for it was now past eleven o'clock, and all persons found
in the streets after eight could be compelled to "show their pass" or
explain their business. The convict constables were not scrupulous in
the exercise of their duty, and the bluff figure of Frere, clad in the
blue serge which he affected as a summer costume, looked not unlike that
of a convict constable.

Pushing open the side door with the confident manner of one well
acquainted with the house, Frere entered, and made his way along a
narrow passage to a glass door at the further end. A tap upon this door
brought a white-faced, pock-pitted Irish girl, who curtsied with servile
recognition of the visitor, and ushered him upstairs. The room into
which he was shown was a large one. It had three windows looking into
the street, and was handsomely furnished. The carpet was soft, the
candles were bright, and the supper tray gleamed invitingly from a table
between the windows. As Frere entered, a little terrier ran barking to
his feet. It was evident that he was not a constant visitor. The rustle
of a silk dress behind the terrier betrayed the presence of a woman; and
Frere, rounding the promontory of an ottoman, found himself face to face
with Sarah Purfoy.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "Pray, sit down."

This was the only greeting that passed between them, and Frere sat down,
in obedience to a motion of a plump hand that twinkled with rings.

The eleven years that had passed since we last saw this woman had dealt
gently with her. Her foot was as small and her hand as white as of yore.
Her hair, bo