“I suppose there was no chance of my receiving letters. I left England, as you know, about the middle of last June. I reached the United States the first of September; left it for the West Indies the tenth of October; reached Havana the first of November; left that port on the twentieth, and here I am!” “Ah! I see how it is! You have run away from our letters, that have never been able to overtake you. But—first of all, have you seen _her_?” “No.” “Have you heard of her?” “I will tell you,” said Lord Montressor. And forthwith he commenced and related the history of his long search and only partial success. “Then we certainly have a clue that if firmly held and followed will lead to her recovery.” “We have a clue; but I am under parole, not to follow that clue until the decision of the Court of Arches is made known.” “Humph—humph—humph,” muttered Lord Dazzleright—“and you know nothing?” “Of her residence—no, nothing except that she lives in strict seclusion, and is believed to enjoy some degree of health and tranquillity.” “Ah! I was not just then thinking of _her_, though she generally occupies my thoughts to the exclusion of all other subjects.” “Of what then were you thinking?” “Of what had occurred at this side of the water. But you say you have heard nothing?” “Nothing, but public news through the public prints! What _can_ you mean, my friend?” “I will tell you! but sit down! sit down! Bless me, you have been standing hat in hand, like the collector for a charity, all this time! sit down.” Lord Montressor sank into a seat. Lord Dazzleright went and pulled the bell-tassel, and when the next moment a servant entered he gave the brief order— “Supper an hour hence, in this room.” For Lord Dazzleright was one of those Englishmen who never could separate the idea of conversation from that of eating and drinking. “Now then to business!” he said, returning and seating himself near Lord Montressor. “First permit me to congratulate you upon the fortunate circumstance that you _did not_ succeed in meeting Estelle.” “Why, in the name of wonder, do you congratulate me upon any such misfortune?” inquired Lord Montressor, in astonishment. “I deny that it _was_ a misfortune! I contend that it was a providential blessing—and that the misfortune would have been to have met Estelle.” “Explain yourself! why should it have been such, to have found the beloved one whom I went to seek?” “Because it might possibly have happened that that beloved one, worn out by importunity, might have rejoined you.” “And what calamity would have followed then?” inquired Lord Montressor, ironically. “Just, simply ruin!” “RUIN!” “Ruin; unless you like a stronger word better!” “A stronger word!” “Yes! there is such a one—listen!” and Lord Dazzleright uttered the single syllable—“shame!”—close to the ear of Lord Montressor, who started as if struck by a bullet.