Sophie had seen her mistress looking at such a packet as was described, and at once took me to the bureau in which they were kept. Oddly enough, I had forgotten to bring the key with me, and there was no time to go back for it, so, rather to Sophie’s horror, I broke the drawer lock open. Then, having found the great prize I sought, I hurried to the street, jumped into the hansom waiting for me, and was soon in the presence of the lady whose schemes I had circumvented. She was already impatient at the long delay, and started up in alarm when she saw me enter the office smiling triumphantly, and holding in my hands the papers upon which hung the destiny of the Bracketts. She sprang forward, and would have snatched them out of my hand. But I was too quick for her. I was also protected by my colleagues, and Sir Arthur, who had been telegraphed for, arrived at the same moment. For awhile the baffled woman shrieked out rage and threats, and swore that all the world should know the disreputable secret connected with Sir Arthur’s parents. But the latter had now the upper hand, and meant to keep it. Taking the packet from my hand, and opening it to see that all the papers were there, he promptly threw it into the empty fireplace, set a match to it, and watched it burn to the last atom. “You have filched ten thousand pounds out of me because I dreaded to have my family name disgraced. You will get no more. Every proof of these past events is now destroyed, and any assertions you might make would not be believed. I saw the man who claims to be my brother last night. He tells me that he is married to you. You will find him in our village if you want him. But he understands as fully as you must do that any further injury he may attempt to do me will recoil on his own head.” Mrs Hulbert Brackett seemed to comprehend the situation thoroughly. She left the office without another word, and we have never heard of her since. III. One of Dora's Failures Is it usual to record one’s failures? I believe not. And yet many of them are perforce as interesting to the public as one’s most brilliant successes. Here is a case in point. A young lady, whom we will call Ada Calmour, had had the misfortune to displease her wealthy father to so great an extent that he vowed never to forgive her. Her crime was a common one. She loved a handsome young fellow who was impulsive, unlucky, poor, and a cousin to boot, and steadfastly declined to give him up when ordered to do so by her father, from whom, by-the-by, she inherited the self-will which roused his ire. Just about this time Mr Calmour fell under the spell of a lady whom his daughter did not hesitate to dub an adventuress of the most pronounced type, and it became evident to his friends that he was sickening for matrimony.