On the day after the funeral--and there had been no mourner found to follow that poor young man to his last home, but one who had been fellow curate with him, and who was now in London--Mrs. Dundyke and her visitor were alone when a gentleman was shown in. A fine man yet, of middle age, but with a slight bend in the shoulders, as if from care, and grey threads mingling with his dark hair. It was not a time for Mrs. Carr to see strangers, and she rose to quit the drawing-room, after hurriedly replacing some papers in a desk she was examining. But there was something so noble, so pleasing, so refined, in the countenance of the man standing there, his hands held out to Mrs. Dundyke, and a sweet smile upon his lips, that she stopped involuntarily. "Have you forgotten me, Betsey?" For the moment she really had, for he was much changed; but the voice and the smile recalled her memory, and with a glad cry of recognition Mrs. Dundyke sprang forward, and received on her lips a sisterly kiss. "Emma, don't go. This is your husband's friend, and my brother-in-law, William Arkell." Mrs. Carr gladly held out her hand; her pretty face raised in its widow's cap. A shade came over William Arkell's at seeing that badge on one so young. He had a little business in London, he explained, connected with the transfer of some of his property, and came up, instead of writing; came up--there was no doubt of it, though he did not say so--that he might have the opportunity of seeing Mrs. Dundyke. Mrs. Carr left the room, and Mr. Arkell drew his chair nearer to his sister-in-law. "You have heard nothing further, Betsey, of--of of your lost husband?" She shook her head; she should never hear that again. It was only natural that she should relate the circumstances to him, now that they met, although he had heard them so fully from Mr. Prattleton. Where much mystery exists, especially pertaining to undiscovered crime, it seems that we can never be tired of attempting to solve it. Human nature is the same all the world over, and these things do possess an irrepressible attraction for the human heart--very human it is, now and then. Mr. Arkell sat with his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his chin resting on his hand; he was looking dreamily into the fire as they talked. "I should strongly suspect that Mr. Hardcastle, Betsey; should you know him if you saw him again?" "Know him! know that same Mr. Hardcastle!" she repeated, wondering at what seemed so superfluous a question. "I should know him to the very end of my life. I should know him by his eyes, if by nothing else. They seem to be always before mine." "Were they peculiar eyes, then?"