ra-glass Sunday night,
I fancied some change had taken place, but I could not make myself
sure. Your memoranda for that night I await with impatience. Please
don't neglect to write down _at the moment_, all remarkable
appearances both as to colour and intensity; and be very exact as to
time, which correct in the way I showed you.--I am, dear Lady
Constantine, yours most faithfully,

SWITHIN ST. CLEEVE.'

Not another word in the letter about his errand; his mind ran on nothing
but this astronomical subject. He had succeeded in his mission, and yet
he did not even say yes or no to the great question,--whether or not her
husband was masquerading in London at the address she had given.

'Was ever anything so provoking!' she cried.

However, the time was not long to wait. His way homeward would lie
within a stone's-throw of the manor-house, and though for certain reasons
she had forbidden him to call at the late hour of his arrival, she could
easily intercept him in the avenue. At twenty minutes past ten she went
out into the drive, and stood in the dark. Seven minutes later she heard
his footstep, and saw his outline in the slit of light between the avenue-
trees. He had a valise in one hand, a great-coat on his arm, and under
his arm a parcel which seemed to be very precious, from the manner in
which he held it.

'Lady Constantine?' he asked softly.

'Yes,' she said, in her excitement holding out both her hands, though he
had plainly not expected her to offer one.

'Did you watch the star?'

'I'll tell you everything in detail; but, pray, your errand first!'

'Yes, it's all right. Did you watch every night, not missing one?'

'I forgot to go--twice,' she murmured contritely.

'Oh, Lady Constantine!' he cried in dismay. 'How could you serve me so!
what shall I do?'

'Please forgive me! Indeed, I could not help it. I had watched and
watched, and nothing happened; and somehow my vigilance relaxed when I
found nothing was likely to take place in the star.'

'But the very circumstance of it not having happened, made it all the
more likely every day.'

'Have you--seen--' she began imploringly.

Swithin sighed, lowered his thoughts to sublunary things, and told
briefly the story of his journey. Sir Blount Constantine was not in
London at the address which had been anonymously sent her. It was a
mistake of identity. The person who had been seen there Swithin had
sought out. He