It gave him a shock to find that the old man was quite dead, but directly he began to perceive that the sudden death would help his plans materially. “Poor old man, I am very sorry about it, but it makes my secret safe. Now, I will lay him with the lantern and the vault keys some distance away in one of the paths, so that when he is found in the morning no one will suspect what has happened here,” he thought, as he lifted the frame of the old man and bore it some distance away, placing beside it the lantern and keys as if he had fallen dead on the spot. “God rest his soul!” he murmured, bending over the still form and placing in his inner coat pocket a sum of money more than sufficient to defray his burial expenses. “For who knows but he may have left a widow and orphans who will mourn bitterly to-morrow when he is found here dead,” he thought, with a sigh, as he turned from the spot, returning to Jessie, who lay faintly breathing, but not yet fully conscious, on the grass. “Now to get safely away from here before she awakes and realizes the horror of her position,” he muttered, fastening the long overcoat tightly around her to conceal her white robes as he bore her in his arms out of the beautiful cemetery, past glimmering statues marking the last repose of world-worn hearts. The mossy marbles rest On the lips that we have pressed In their bloom. And the names we loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. Once safely in the street, he ventured to call a taxicab, explaining to the chauffeur, who looked suspiciously at his strange burden, that his daughter had fainted in the street while they were on their way to a little party. “Just drive about the streets a while until I give you further orders,” he said, wishing to gain time to think. To carry Jessie in this garb and condition to any hotel, he knew, would bring upon him a suspicion he was unwilling to face, so he racked his brain in the endeavor to decide where to go with his charge. In his extremity he thought of the woman by whom the Lyndons had once lived, and who had told him of his sister’s death and the removal of the bereaved family to so distant a part of the city that she had quite lost track of them. The woman was widowed and lived alone in a poor cottage of her own, so it was the safest refuge he could find for Jessie. To this kindly soul he went in his trouble, and was received with motherly cordiality. Preferring not to tell her the actual truth, he satisfied her curiosity with a plausible story, and soon had Jessie disrobed and placed in a warm, comfortable bed. But though the woman who had dearly loved Jessie always called her by every fond, endearing name, no light of recognition shone in the dazed, dark eyes. By morning they found that she was really ill, and needed a physician. “She has had a fall and perhaps injured her brain--however, I can tell better by to-morrow,” said the man of healing.