"The writer of these lines, Seth Dumbrick by name, wishes for a personal interview with Mr. Temple, on a matter of vital importance to himself and the gentleman he addresses. He will call on Mr. Temple at eight o'clock this evening, and hopes not to be denied." Mr. Temple glanced at the clock. It was a quarter-past eight. He struck a bell, and a servant entered. "Is any person waiting to see me?" "Yes, sir; he is in the hall." "Giving any name?" "Dumbrick, sir." "Did he come yesterday?" "Yes, sir, and was informed you would not return till to-night." "What sort of a person?" "A common person, sir--a very common person." "Show him in." The next moment Seth Dumbrick entered, hat in hand, and stood near the door. From his seat at the table, Mr. Temple desired him to come near. Seth Dumbrick obeyed, and the men faced each other. "You are the writer of this note," said Mr. Temple haughtily. "I am, sir." "Explain it, and briefly. Stay--have I not seen your face somewhere?" Seth Dumbrick made no immediate reply. He had no desire to recall to Mr. Temple's memory the circumstances of the unpleasant interview that had taken place between them many years ago. He himself had recognised Mr. Temple the moment he entered the room, his cause for remembrance being the stronger of the two. Mr. Temple had an unerring memory for faces, but his meeting with Seth Dumbrick lay so far in the past, and his life was so varied and full of colour, that he could not for the moment connect the face with the circumstance. "Answer me," he said peremptorily. "Have I not seen you before?" "You have, sir." "Where?" "Years ago--at Springfield--when I, with two children, was taking a holiday in the country." "Ah, I remember perfectly. Our meeting was not a pleasant one." "It was not my fault that it was not so." "I remember also that you gave me the address of an inn at which you were stopping, and that I informed you I should call there. I _did_ call, and you had gone. You ran away, I presume." "I followed my course, being a free man, and not bound to wait for strangers." "It is a matter of no importance. Two children! Yes; I should know them again, I think. One, a child, with a very beautiful face. Is she living?" "She is, sir; as a woman, though she is scarcely yet out of her girlhood, she is more beautiful than she was as a child. I am here on her behalf." "On her behalf!" exclaimed Mr. Temple, taking the note from the table. "You use the words 'vital importance.'" "They are correctly used, as you will perhaps admit when you hear me." "I will hear you. Of vital importance to yourself and to me?" "That is so, sir." Mr. Temple considered for a moment. His career had been one which necessitated rapid conclusions. "Write your name, trade, and address on this paper."