A minute afterwards Mr Lloyd was ushered into the room. He was a thin, emaciated, and apparently sorrow-stricken man, on the wintry side of middle age, but of mild, courteous, gentlemanly speech and manners. He was evidently nervous and agitated, and after a word or two of customary salutation, said hastily, 'I gather from this note, sir, that you can afford me tidings of my long-lost brother Owen: where is he?' He looked eagerly round the apartment, gazed with curious earnestness in my face, and then again turned with tremulous anxiety to Mr Smith. 'Is he dead? Pray do not keep me in suspense.' 'Sit down, sir,' said Mr Smith, pointing to a chair. 'Your brother, Owen Lloyd, was for many years a clerk in this establishment'---- '_Was--was!_' interrupted Mr Lloyd with greatly-increased agitation: 'not now, then--he has left you?' 'For upwards of three years. A few days ago--pray do not interrupt me--I obtained intelligence of him, which, with such assistance as you may possibly be able to afford, will perhaps suffice to enable this gentleman'--pointing to me--'to discover his present residence.' I could not stand the look which Mr Lloyd fixed upon me, and turned hastily away to gaze out of the window, as if attracted by the noise of a squabble between two draymen, which fortunately broke out at the moment in the narrow, choked-up street. 'For what purpose, sir, are you instituting this eager search after my brother? It cannot be that---- No, no--he has left you, you say, more than three years: besides, the bare supposition is as wicked as absurd.' 'The truth is, Mr Lloyd,' rejoined Mr Smith after a few moments' reflection, 'there is great danger that my son may disadvantageously connect himself with your--with your brother's family--may, in fact, marry his daughter Caroline. Now I could easily convince Owen'---- 'Caroline!' interjected Mr Lloyd with a tremulous accent, and his dim eyes suffused with tears--'Caroline!--ay, truly _her_ daughter would be named Caroline.' An instant after, he added, drawing himself up with an air of pride and some sternness: 'Caroline Lloyd, sir, is a person who, by birth, and, I doubt not, character and attainments, is a fitting match for the son of the proudest merchant of this proud city.' 'Very likely,' rejoined Mr Smith dryly; 'but you must excuse me for saying that, as regards _my_ son, it is one which I will at any cost prevent.' 'How am I to know,' observed Mr Lloyd, whose glance of pride had quickly passed away, 'that you are dealing fairly and candidly with me in the matter?' In reply to this home-thrust, Mr Smith placed the letter addressed by Miss Lloyd to his son in the hands of the questioner, at the same time explaining how he had obtained it.