"On no matter. I do not travel, Mr. Etheridge." The pride and finality with which this was uttered, gave him his first glimpse of the hard streak which there was undoubtedly in her character. Though he longed to press the question he judged that he had better not, so suggested carelessly: "Your sister, then?" But she met this suggestion, as he had expected her to, with equal calmness and pride. "My sister does not travel either." He looked the astonishment he did not feel and remarked gravely: "I fear, then, that the matter cannot be so easily adjusted." And he began to point out the difficulties in the way, to all of which she listened with a slightly absent air, as if the affair was in reality of no great importance to her. Suddenly she waved her hand with a quick gesture. "You can do as you please," said she. "If you can save us from loss, do so; if not, let the matter go; I shall not allow it to worry me further." Then she looked up at him with a total change of expression, and for the first time the hint of a smile softened the almost severe outline of her mouth. "You are searching, I hear, for a woman named Harriet Smith; have you found her, sir?" Delighted at this evidence on her part of a wish to indulge in general conversation, he answered with alacrity: "Not yet. She was not, as it seems, a well-known inhabitant of this town as I had been led to believe. I even begin to fear she never has lived here at all. The name is a new one to you, I presume." "Smith. Can the name of Smith ever be said to be new?" she laughed with something like an appearance of gayety. "But Harriet," he explained, "Harriet Smith, once Harriet Huckins." "I never knew any Harriet Smith," she averred. "Would it have obliged you very much if I had?" He smiled, somewhat baffled by her manner, but charmed by her voice, which was very rich and sweet in its tones. "It certainly would have saved me much labor and suspense," he replied. "Then the matter is serious?" "Is not all law-business serious?" "You have just proved it so," she remarked. He could not understand her; she seemed to wish to talk and yet hesitated with the words on her lips. After waiting for her to speak further and waiting in vain, he changed the subject back to the one which had at first occupied them. "I shall be in Marston again," said he; "if you will allow me I will then call again and tell you exactly what I can do for your interest." "If you will be so kind," she replied, and seemed to breathe easier. "I have one intimate friend in town," pursued Frank, as he rose to take his departure, "Dr. Sellick. If you know him----" Why did he pause? She had not moved and yet something, he could not say what, had made an entire change in her attitude and expression. It was as if a chill had passed over her, stiffening her limbs and paling her face, yet her eyes did not fall from his face, and she tried to speak as usual. "Dr. Sellick?"