"Nothing--nothing--now you are home again." "And the boy? Where is the boy?" "He shall be brought in." The ayah appeared carrying the child. "Here he is; quite well--and strong--and happy. Your son is quite happy--quite happy----" Her voice broke. She sank into a chair, and fell into hysterical sobbing and weeping. "He is quite--quite--quite happy." They brought cold water, and presently she became calmer. Then the father turned again to consider the boy. "He looks strong and hearty; but he doesn't seem much bigger than when you carried him off six months ago." "A little backward with his growth." The mother had now recovered. "But that's nothing. He's made a new start already. Feel his fingers. There's a grip! Your own living picture, Humphrey!" "Ay, ay. Perhaps I would rather, for good looks, that he took after his mother. Blue eyes, fair hair, and the family dimple in the chin." * * * * * When the doctor was left alone, he took the envelope containing the bank-notes from his pocket, and threw it on his desk. Then he sat down, and began to think over the situation. "What does she do it for?" he asked. "Her own child is dead. There is no doubt about that; her face is so full of trouble. She wants to deceive her husband: at least, I suppose so. She will keep that secret to herself. The ayah is faithful--that's pretty certain. There will be no blackmailing in that quarter. A fine face she has"--meaning the lady, not the ayah. "Hard and determined, though. I should like to see it soften. I wish she had trusted me. But there, one couldn't expect it of a woman of that temperament--cold, reserved, haughty; a countess, perhaps. It's like the old story-books. Somebody will be disinherited. This boy is going to do it. Nobody will ever find it out. And that's the way they build up their fine pedigrees!" * * * * * The doctor was quite wrong. Nobody was to be disinherited; nor was there an estate. This you must understand, to begin with. The rest I am going to tell you. "No clue," the doctor continued. "She is quite safe, unless she were to meet me. No other clue. Nobody else knows." He took up the envelope, and observed that it had part of an address upon it. All he could read, however, was one word--"Lady." "Oho!" he said; "there _is_ a title, after all. It looks as if the latter half were a 'W.' There's a conspiracy, and I'm a conspirator! Humph! She's a beautiful creature!" He fell into meditation on that subject which is always interesting to mere man--the face of a woman. Then his thoughts naturally wandered off to the conversation he had held with that memorable face.