"That would be a great inducement, child. You are nearer to my heart than any other. I have no ties of kin,—at least I can learn of none. Another time I may tell you the nature of the disappointment to which I referred. You will pity the poor, lonely man, I'm sure." His tone was so sad that it deeply moved her, and taking his hand she pressed her lips upon it. "Don't do that, I can't bear it. I shall be unfit for the business if I allow my feelings to have sway. I have been jotting down a few items in connection with the disposal of my property. I have more money than I know what to do with. If that interloper had not stepped in, I would make you my heir, and you could scatter it round as you please. As it is, I have set aside a few thousands to educate our friend Neddy, and I want you to look after him if anything happens to me. "What is the name of that girl-wife you told me about, whose husband is in prison? I want to give you a thousand for her own use. If she goes back to that scoundrel it must be so tied up that he can't get at it. Will you have the goodness to pass me that long paper, ruled with red ink? That's the one." In selecting this paper from the others, Marion had to move several letters lying on top. As she did so her eyes fell on an open page, with the name Madrid in full view. "Madrid! Does he have letters from Madrid? That was Mrs. Douglass's native place." Her heart almost stopped beating, as a sudden possibility flashed like lightning through her mind. She glanced back at Mr. Lambert. "Could he, oh, could he be the cruel, exacting man whose jealousy and distrust had rendered the life of her friend so miserable? No! Oh, no!" And yet the thought, once entertained, would not be banished. "What if he is? How can I find out? How would he bear it? What a happy future he might have! What shall I do? What can I say?" Her habitual frankness came to her aid. She had mechanically given him the paper and sank back in her chair, while he was so occupied in glancing over the items that he had not noticed her wild stare of astonishment. "Mr. Lambert—" She stopped; her heart seemed to rise up in her throat and choke her. "Mr. Lambert, did you ever live in Madrid? I saw the address on an open letter. I do not ask from mere curiosity." "The most blissful and the most wretched days of my life were passed in that city." "Mr. Lambert, something has happened to me. I—I can't think of business to-day. Will you excuse and trust me as though I were your own daughter? I want to tell you about a dear friend, the grandmother of the beautiful boy you have heard me speak about with such rapture. I promised to bring him to see you some day. That boy is a native of Madrid." "What is the mother's name?" "Cheriton, Mrs. Juliette Cheriton." He shook his head thoughtfully. "I never heard the name." He laid down the paper with a little vexed and disappointed air, adding, "I haven't been in Madrid for more than eighteen years."