I am afraid the cunning and dexterity, the subtlety and tact required, interested him more in the commission than did the benevolence. He called, sent up his card, and composed his countenance for his part, like an actor at the Wing. “Not at home.” He stared with amazement. The history of a “Not at home” is not, in general, worth recording: but this is an exception. On receiving Falcon's card, Mrs. Staines gave a little start, and colored faintly. She instantly resolved not to see him. What! the man she had flirted with, almost jilted, and refused to marry--he dared to be alive when her Christopher was dead, and had come there to show her HE was alive! She said “Not at home” with a tone of unusual sharpness and decision, which left the servant in no doubt he must be equally decided at the hall door. Falcon received the sudden freezer with amazement. “Nonsense,” said he. “Not at home at this time of the morning--to an old friend!” “Not at home,” said the man doggedly. “Oh, very well,” said Falcon with a bitter sneer, and returned to London. He felt sure she was at home; and being a tremendous egotist, he said, “Oh! all right. If she would rather not know her husband is alive, it is all one to me;” and he actually took no more notice of her for a full week, and never thought of her, except to chuckle over the penalty she was paying for daring to affront his vanity. However, Sunday came; he saw a dull day before him, and so he relented, and thought he would give her another trial. He went down to Gravesend by boat, and strolled towards the villa. When he was about a hundred yards from the villa, a lady, all in black, came out with a nurse and child. Falcon knew her figure all that way off, and it gave him a curious thrill that surprised him. He followed her, and was not very far behind her when she reached the church. She turned at the porch, kissed the child earnestly, and gave the nurse some directions; then entered the church. “Come,” said Falcon, “I'll have a look at her, any way.” He went into the church, and walked up a side aisle to a pillar, from which he thought he might be able to see the whole congregation; and, sure enough, there she sat, a few yards from him. She was lovelier than ever. Mind had grown on her face with trouble. An angelic expression illuminated her beauty; he gazed on her, fascinated. He drank and drank her beauty two mortal hours, and when the church broke up, and she went home, he was half afraid to follow her, for he felt how hard it would be to say anything to her but that the old love had returned on him with double force. However, having watched her home, he walked slowly to and fro composing himself for the interview. He now determined to make the process of informing her a very long one: he would spin it out, and so secure many a sweet interview with her: and, who knows? he might fascinate her as she had him, and ripen gratitude into love, as he understood that word.