Travers, more confused than alarmed, perhaps, but white as the paper on which I am writing, glanced hurriedly round--we had all impulsively risen to our feet--till his eye rested upon Constance Hervey's eagerly-attentive countenance. "I received them," he stammered, repeating, I was sure, a falsehood, "from my uncle, Mr. Woolridge, of Tottenham." "Then, of course, you will have no objection to accompany us to your uncle, Mr. Woolridge, of Tottenham?" "Certainly not; but not now. To-morrow--you see I am engaged now." "I am sorry to say, Mr. Travers, that you _must_ go with us. Those two notes were among those stolen from the office to which you belong." There was a half-stifled scream--a broken sob, and, but for me, Constance Hervey would have fallen senseless on the floor. Travers was in the merciless grasp of the officers, who needlessly hurried him off, spite of his frantic entreaties for a brief delay. The confusion and terror of such a scene may be imagined, not described. Although at first somewhat staggered, five minutes had not passed before I felt thoroughly satisfied that Travers was the victim of some diabolical plot; and I pretty well guessed of whose concoction. An untruth he had no doubt been guilty of, through fear of displeasing his betrothed--but guilty of stealing money--of plundering the office!--bah!--the bare supposition was an absurdity. As soon as Miss Hervey was sufficiently recovered to listen, I endeavored to reason with her in this sense, but she could not sufficiently command her attention. "My brain is dizzy and confused as yet," she said; "do you follow, and ascertain, as far as possible, _all_ the truth--the worst truth. I shall be calmer when you return." "I did so, and in less than two hours I was again at Kensington. Travers was locked up, after confessing that his statement of having received the hundred-pound notes of his uncle Woolridge, was untrue. He would probably be examined at Bow-street the next day--his wedding-day, as he had fondly dreamed!"