if you like; but I shall not send it until I hear from you. ‘Ever your devoted ‘HUGO.’ Sebastian put the letter down, the smile fading from his face. The meeting with a strange girl, a passing likeness, had set Hugo’s memory working; had prompted him to write words which seemed striking to Sebastian. He had thought, more than once--often--of Helena Spenceley, but he had never seen her since, with disasters falling thick upon her young head, she, with her mother, had left Thanshope. They had gone to Manchester, he had heard. Once or twice he had asked his mother if she had not heard from Helena, for he remembered that Mrs. Mallory had told him how Helena had been a ‘kind of daughter’ to her; but she had composedly answered ‘No,’ and had added that she did not know their address, and had reason to think they did not wish to keep up any of their old Thanshope acquaintances, which, she feelingly added, was really very natural under the circumstances. At the time of their departure, business had pressed upon Sebastian, as it had continued to press upon him ever since. He had been smarting under the disappointment of his refusal by Adrienne. Helena and her misfortunes had touched him deeply; her calmness, and the real heroism with which she met her fate, had impressed him. He had firmly intended that he should not be one of the Thanshope acquaintances whom they dropped entirely; but, by some means, they had slipped out of his ken, and he had not been able to find them again. Yet, many a time, Helena’s beautiful face had seemed to start up before his eyes, at strange moments: sometimes when he was most busy, sometimes when he was in one of his rare idle moods. Sometimes a song or a strain of music would summon up the vision; sometimes in a busy street, or in a silent hour, it would hover before him. This morning, after reading Hugo’s letter, he saw it more strongly than ever; but with the strength of will which belongs to daylight and activity, he thrust it away, and took up his other letter. It was from his old friend, Herr Süsmeyer, who asked him if he was never coming to see him again, and added, that he expected his son home some time during the autumn, to take his place in the business. There were further domestic details, and then the remark, ‘Young Heywood, whom you sent here to me, is my right hand, now that I am somewhat laid up; but he has been invaluable ever since he fairly mastered the language. I should like to speak to you about him too. There will have to be some change when Julius returns.’ ‘Julius will return, will he?’ murmured Sebastian to himself. ‘And Heywood is invaluable. He has gained the old man’s affections, and has not hardened his heart against him, or indeed against any one but me. But I know the reason, and can forgive him. It is an old story now. Still, if ever I had the chance, I should like to test once again his feelings, and see if he is as stiffnecked as ever.’