se pain and sadness. The very sound of his
voice brought instant conviction to Michael's mind that he was speaking
the truth. Whatever mystery lay beneath his words, he and Mrs. Blake
were not strangers to each other--her very terror told him that.

'Mrs. Blake,' he said, endeavouring to soothe her, 'there is nothing to
fear. Do try to be reasonable. No one could molest you while you are
under my protection. Perhaps this gentleman,' with a quick glance at the
man's agitated face and shabby coat, 'may have made some mistake. You
may resemble some friend of his.'

'No fear of that,' interposed the man sullenly, and now there was an
angry gleam in his eyes that alarmed Michael; 'a man can't mistake his
own wife, even if he has not seen her for fifteen or sixteen years. I
will take my oath before any court of justice that that is my lawful
wedded wife, Olive O'Brien.'

Mrs. Blake uttered another faint scream, and covered her face with her
hands. She was shaking as though in an ague fit.

'I assure you, you must have made some mistake,' replied Michael
civilly; 'this lady's name is Blake: she and her family are well known
to me. If you like, I will give you my card, if you should wish to
satisfy yourself by making further inquiries; but, as you must see, it
is only a case of mistaken identity.'

If Michael spoke with the intent of eliciting further facts, he was not
wholly unsuccessful.

'It is nothing of the kind,' returned the man roughly; 'don't I tell you
it is no mistake. I can't help what she calls herself. If she has taken
another husband, I'll have the law of her and bring her to shame; she
has only one husband and his name is Matthew O'Brien.'

'Good heavens! do you mean that Thomas O'Brien, of Vineyard Cottage, is
your brother?' And as Michael put this question he felt the plot was
thickening.

'Yes. Tom, poor old chap! is my brother; but he knows nought about Olive
and the young ones. He thinks they are dead. I told him I had lost them
all. Has she not been talking about them--Cyril and Kester and my little
Mollie!' And here there were tears in Matthew O'Brien's eyes.

'Hush!' interposed Michael; 'don't say any more. Don't you see she has
fainted? Will you move away a moment, that she may not see you? Open the
window; make a thorough draught.'

Michael was doing all that he could for Mrs. Blake's comfort. He
loosened her bonnet-strings and made his rug into a pillow, and, taking
out his brandy flask, m