“What is the meaning of this exhibition. You promised me, when I took you home last night, that you would remain there.” “I couldn’t papa, I couldn’t,” sobbed the girl. “What have you come here for?” “To tell you that I love him, and that if you don’t let him off I shall kill myself and let everybody know why. You don’t believe me!” the poor distracted creature continued passionately. “I do. I could believe anything of such an idiot,” said her father contemptuously. “You have seen him, I suppose, this morning?” “No. I don’t know where he lives.” “Ah, he was afraid of your worrying him even at his rooms, evidently.” And he uttered an exclamation of disgust. “Now go home. Nothing is further from my thoughts than punishing Rees. I would not even give him a fool for a wife.” He led her, without too much gentleness, through the station, put her in a hansom, and gave the driver the address of his home. Then, with a laconic caution that she had better remain at home and keep quiet, he turned his back upon her and went in search of Deborah, whom he found just inside the doors, wearing a rather sad face. “I wish that foolish girl of mine had a little of your sense,” said he, as he helped Deborah into a hansom and got in after her. “She is the ideal faithful woman, though.” “Yes, because she has no beauty.” They drove on in silence to the lodgings in St. Martin’s-lane, where, in answer to their inquiries, they were told that Mr. Pennant still lived; then they were ushered into the little back room, which Deborah remembered, and, finding that Rees was not there, they said they would wait. Mr. Pennant’s hours were very uncertain, the old landlady, who opened the door herself, said; and as he scarcely ever had a meal at home, and always let himself in with a latch-key, she could give very little information about his movements. Both Mr. Pennant and Mr. Jocelyn, she mentioned, as if it was no uncommon occurrence, had slept out last night. “Jocelyn!” repeated Lord Austell, turning to Deborah. “It must be Sep, Mrs. Kemp’s nephew,” answered she. “We will wait,” repeated he. “If you should meet either of them on their way in, don’t tell them any one is here. We want to surprise them.” “Very well, sir,” said Mrs. Williamson. Then she continued, with a smile, “If Mr. Goodhare should call, sir, I suppose you would wish him told that his brother is inside?” Lord St. Austell started. “Brother!” he repeated sharply. “Lor’, yes, sir, I saw the likeness in a minute!” The earl glanced in the looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and laughed with an effort. “No,” he said. “Let him in, but don’t let him know I’m here.” “Very well, sir.” She left the room, and the earl turned to Deborah in great agitation. “Now do you know who is the prime mover in all this?” he asked, almost fiercely, when the door closed. “Amos Goodhare,” she answered quietly. “He has been Rees’s evil genius for the last eighteen months.”