The mention of that far-away State sent a cold chill down his back. Was it not the grocery man who had said the beautiful Mrs. Lester’s husband was in California? Somehow he made the application, and the effect was a decided chill. It was growing blacker for Joe. “I shall take a run down and see if I can find Joe—he may be at my room waiting for me—who knows? Can I trust you to keep this matter from him, Mrs. Leslie—supposing this is all a mistake and that he is innocent, would you ever want him to believe that you harbored such suspicions?” “No, no, I would not,” she sobbed. “Then do your part—you can act it I am sure. Appear natural—show no unusual coldness or warmth of affection—try not to meet his eye or your own may betray you. If he insists on finding out what ails you, retreat in the usual plea of a headache.” “I will not fail you, Mr. Darrell. You go about your work with the prayers of a faithful wife following you.” He believed it then—he would have staked his life on her truth—and yet in the near future such terrible doubts were to arise. “Surely that talisman ought to keep any man who is half a man, from evil—a loving mother and a faithful wife are the lodestones that have saved many a weak man from the pit of destruction. Good-night, Mrs. Leslie. Remember, should the worst come, you can depend upon Eric Darrell as your brother.” He had said more than he intended to, but he was not cold-blooded like a fish, and the evident distress of this angel on earth had wrought up all his feelings. Just then he felt as though he could have pommeled Joe Leslie with the greatest of pleasure. Any man was a brute who would give a woman like this sweet creature, pain. So Eric strode away angry with the wickedness of the world in general, and this friend of his in particular. If Joe Leslie turned out a rascal he could see no palliating circumstance connected with the case, and according to his ideas the man ought to be drawn and quartered. Hardly knowing where he was going, Darrell brought up at the hall where the _bal masque_ was in progress. It was still early—not later than half past ten, and the affair had only started. Any one could get in on payment of the regular price, two dollars, although none were allowed on the main floor but masks. Darrell went in. He had seen these things before, and hence had little interest in the ball itself. Most of the characters were old too, although here and there some genius had devised something new, and worth looking at. Eric had other ideas in view. Monks, flower girls, Indians, Chinese, knights, fortune tellers, dames and the endless chain of historical personages such an event gathers, passed before him without exciting more than a slight smile or a single glance of admiration. He was looking for the couple upon whom he meant to bestow his interest. Soon he sighted them. From that time on Eric seldom took his eyes off the pair.