put teeth in almost every word he said. I believe both of them are Henry's enemies; although Henry is quite a stranger to them, and we can't think of any cause of hostility, or even hard feeling."

"Have you asked the opinion of a very clear-sighted, frank, and plain-spoken friend, Eddie?"

"Whom do you mean?"

"The looking-glass."

"Nonsense, Lyddie! That's what Henry suggested; and I told him the idea was so preposterous that he must be getting light-headed."

"And what did he reply?"
"He didn't say anything."
"Didn't his lips move?"

"I didn't see them move."

"There are other senses than sight, Eddie."
Hereupon more laughter and embracing.

"But, honor bright, Lyddie," said E. D., "do you think I am just a little bit pretty and passable?"

"You're not passable. Don't you remember, when we were out walking or riding together in Paris and London, how every human being of the male persuasion, whether boy, youth, dandy, bachelor, paterfamilias, or grandfather, used to stop and stare? Your red hair was the danger signal, and your face was the danger. I'm going to write to Grand Councilor Cuyler and get him to collect some statistics for me. I'll be bound that the number of suicides and lunatics in France and England shows a great and alarming increase ever since E. D. was allowed to go about unveiled."

"Oh! And Oh!-And Oh! Why, it wasn't me they were looking at, at all! It was you, YOU, YOU, all the time! I declare I've often cried with delight when I saw the perfect worship you were receiving-I wish you could stand off a little way from yourself, Lyddie, and see yourself just like I can. There are some things a looking-glass can't tell you. Take your eyes, for example. You can't look

at yourself in the same way that you can look at other people."

"Seriously, though," continued E. D., "I wish you would pay a visit to Colonel Birnie's camp, and take the opportunity of forming your own opinion as to these two men, Simms and Warner. I'll admit, if you like, that they may have taken a little bit of a fancy for me; for, if Henry has done so, I can't say it's impossible for anybody else to act in a similar manner. But there's more in the matter than a passable face and some odious red hair. If you had heard the questions they put to Henry, and if you had seen the way in which that Simms looked at the poor boy, you'd feel just as uneasy as I do. When they see you they'll forget me, and-"

"Isn't that assuming a good deal? Isn't it assuming that a comparison will become possible? Va pour les yeux! Va aussi pour les cheveux ! Mais que voulez vous, ma mie?”

"Jambe fine ne peut se nier, ma petite," replied Eliza, laughing afresh; and then she added, "but all that's your business, dearie, and may very safely be left to your discretion. What I am concerned about is that you shall put your best foot foremost on my behalf."

"I may unconsciously have done so already; that is to say, if my stirrup-foot is really the better of the two. In other words, while I was on horseback in the park this evening, I made Mr. Warner's acquaintance, and took the liberty of summing him up in my own mind."

Lydia then gave an account of the meeting, and of the impression she had formed from her conversation with Merritt.

guess," " said Eddie, "he exclaimed to himself, Vera sede patuit dea!''

"His latinity was, I judge, equal to the exertion; but I must be permitted to doubt whether he could forget you quite so quickly, dear, even if, like a modern Brennus, I did put my best foot into the scale."

not to say 'like a modern Simms,'

"Ought you not

Lyddie?"

"Oh! Oh! Take the-dreadful word-thing down, sir!' Wasn't it screamingly funny to see poor Dick? But I must stop laughing. My sides are getting so sore. And it would do no good to rub them with any of your elbowgrease, Eddie."

This produced a further explosion of mirth of so vehement a character that a hurrying figure in the garden paused for a moment to listen in the full moonlight.

"What's that?" whispered Lydia, sobered in a moment, and pointing into the garden, while she grasped E. D.'s

arm.

"It's Dick Westeron," replied Eliza, who was also sobered. "There! He's gone! I wonder what he's doing? That reminds me of something I wanted to tell you. Last night I sat here for a long time”

"Building castles in the air?"

"I suppose so, darling. You'll do the same before long. Well, it was dreadfully late-right in the middle of the night —and, all at once, I saw a man walk across the grass in the moonlight, just like Dick Westeron did a minute ago. And who do you think it was?"

"I can't guess for the life of me."

"It was that man Simms! At least I feel sure it was. I was so frightened. I thought all sorts of dreadful things about Henry being stabbed, and so on. I couldn't rest until I knew. So I crept quietly downstairs and listened at Henry's door. He was asleep."

"How did you know?"

"He-he-he was snoring," replied Eliza, in some con

fusion.

"Has he a well-pronounced, formidable kind of snore?" Lydia managed to ask, in spite of the handkerchief which she was cramming into her mouth.

"Eh?

Oh! You mean, horrid, beautiful angel of

mischief!" exclaimed Eliza, once more laughing till she cried.

Finally, she explained that she had very gently opened Henry's door and found him sound asleep and unharmed. The window of his room was open, as usual during the summer nights, and nothing exceptional was noticeable. In the morning, though, she found that some of the creepers beside the window were broken, and she was sure that there was some garden-mold on the carpet of the room. She had said nothing to Henry, or, indeed, to anybody, about the incident, but had determined, before she retired to rest on the succeeding (that was to say, the present) night, that she would bring two of the watch-dogs from the farmyard to the garden and let them roam about near Henry's window, even if the flower-beds should suffer more or less.

"That's good, Eddie!" said Lydia; "and you may as well prepare a little trap in addition. Put a long contact piece on the ground underneath Henry's window, so that it must be trodden upon by any one attempting to enter. Connect it with an electric bell by your bedstead. Have your pistol ready, and if you be awakened by a midnight tinkling, go quietly to this window and bring down, or at least wing, the night-hawk."

"It's a little horrid; but I'll do it," replied Eliza, looking like a veritable lioness in defence of her cub.

"I doubt, though," resumed Lydia, "that you will be called upon to show that your right arm can equal your left elbow in prowess, my dear."

Here she was stifled into silence by the satirized arms and by a bosom as soft as her own..

While these confidences were being exchanged upstairs, other events of equal importance and more gravity were taking place below, in Wyndham's room.

On the departure of the two girls Boreen walked softly to the window and watched for Westeron's arrival. The wellknown, burly form was soon descried making its way across

the lawn. On its reaching the window, Boreen extended a hand. Grasping this, Westeron placed his toes on the plinth of brickwork that formed the base of the house wall, and, holding the window-sill with his disengaged hand, he swung himself up to and in through the window noiselessly and quickly. He had evidently not forgotten his whilom exploits as "one of the finest."

The room was feebly illuminated by an electric lamp, around the bulb of which Eliza had fastened a piece of rosecolored silk. A second, and unlighted, lamp stood on a table by the bedside, and was connected with the wall by a long, flexible double wire, which thus admitted of any desired change of position. This Boreen took from the table, and, placing it under the bed, near the foot, turned the switch. A bright light was immediately produced in such a manner as not to illumine the sleeping man's face.

This done, Westeron rapidly took Wyndham's clothes from the hook on the wall and placed them on the floor. Both men then set to work to examine them thoroughly, feeling the cloth and lining all over to make sure that nothing was sewn up or otherwise concealed; and, after this, they examined the pockets.

The trousers were completely infructuose.

The waistcoat yielded a small pocket-knife, a pencil, a dime and a new eagle.

Westeron and Boreen looked at each other silently, but their silence was eloquent.

The coat had three pockets. In two of these nothing was found. The third contained the mysterious documents.

They were manuscripts in Spanish, a language which was not understood by either Boreen or Westeron. But one of the papers was illustrated by two photographic portraits printed on thin paper and pasted to the certificate; for such seemed to be the nature of the document. The first of these portraits was recognized by the two searchers as being that of young Wyndham. The other was the likeness