escaped further scrutiny by the accidental circumstance of a pauper, called Paul Hunt, having died in a poor-house, furnishing the journalist who recorded it one more occasion for moral reflection and eloquence. Collins lived, I know not how or where. She sailed for Australia, but I believe never went beyond the Cape.” “And you never met her since?” “Never.” “Nor have you held any correspondence together?” “None, directly. I have received some messages; one to that purport I have already told you. Indeed, it was but t' other day that I knew for certain she was in Europe.” “What was she in appearance,--what style and manner of person?” “You shall guess before I tell you,” said Paten, smiling sadly. “A dark-eyed, dark-haired woman,--brunette,--tall,--with a commanding look,--thin lips,--and strongly marked chin.” “Here,” said he, approaching the binnacle lantern, and holding out a miniature he had drawn from his breast,--“here you can recognize the accuracy of your description.” “But can that be like her?” “It is herself; even the careless ease of the attitude, the voluptuous indolence of the 'pose,' is all her own.” “But she is the very type of feminine softness and delicacy. I never saw eyes more full of gentle meaning, nor a mouth more expressive of womanly grace.” “There is no flattery in the portrait; nay, it wants the great charm she excelled in,--that ever changeful look as thoughts of joy or sadness would flash across her.” “Good Heavens!” cried Stocmar. “How hard it is to connect this creature, as she looks here, with such a story!” “Ah, my friend, these have been the cruel ones, from the earliest time we hear of. The more intensely they are womanly, the more unrelenting their nature.” “And what do you mean to do, Ludlow? for I own to you I think she is a hard adversary to cope with.” “I' ll marry her, if she 'll have me.” “Have you? Of course she will.” “She says not; and she generally keeps her word.” “But why should you wish to marry her, Ludlow? You have already told me that you know nothing of her means, or how she lives; and, certainly, the memories of the past give small guarantee for the future. As for myself, I own to you, if there was not another woman--” “Nay, nay,” broke in Paten, “you have never seen her,--never spoken to her.” “You forget, my dear fellow, that I have passed a life in an atmosphere of mock fascinations; that tinsel attractions and counterfeit graces would all fail with me.” “But who says they are factitious?” cried Paten, angrily. “The money that passes from hand to hand, as current coin, may have some alloy in its composition a chemist might call base, but it will not serve to stamp it as fraudulent. I tell you, Stocmar, it is the whole fortune of a man's life to be associated with such a woman. They can mar or make you.” “More likely the first,” muttered Stocmar. And then added aloud, “And as to her fortune, you actually know nothing.”