“When they have found the thieves what will they do with them?” he asked. “Send them to prison,” I answered, “where thieves are kept apart from the rest of humanity.” “And yet these thieves were not in prison. They could not have robbed the bank if they had been in prison.” “True, but there are a good many thieves in the world who are not suspected. They look like honest men and are highly successful in concealing their dishonesty.” “I should think,” he said thoughtfully, “that one would know a thief by his face.” “Remember,” said I, “that all men are not like you. Most of them are easily deceived.” “Why, then, Kendric!” he exclaimed joyfully, “I can do some good with this power of mine.” This conversation may seem commonplace enough, but it stands in close relation to important events which will shortly claim our attention. The subject which it introduces was not soon abandoned. We talked about it on our way to the Paddingtons' that evening, where we were cordially received by our host, and introduced to a large company of ladies and gentlemen. Rayel's wonderful skill with the brush had evidently been the subject of some discussion among Mr. Paddington's guests. It was referred to frequently, and somewhat to the embarrassment of my cousin, in the exchange of greetings that followed our introduction. Greatly to the relief of my fears Rayel seemed quite at ease. He acknowledged the compliments paid him with gravity and self-possession, but with few words. All eyes were raised to his face, as he stood head and shoulders above a group of ladies and gentlemen who had gathered about him. Never had his presence seemed so magnetic and impressive since the first time I saw him in his father's house. Now, as then, a new inspiration was stirring his blood and charging every nerve with the wonderful magnetism of perfected manhood. The last person presented to us was a young lady of unusual beauty, whom I noticed for some moments standing across the room in earnest conversation with our host. Presently he made his way toward us with the lady on his arm. “My daughter, Mr. Lane, whom I shall ask you to escort to dinner,” said he, addressing Rayel. After I had been introduced to the young lady she took Rayel's arm, and the company proceeded to the dining-hall. My seat at the table was almost directly opposite Rayel. His grave and dignified demeanor was made doubly conspicuous by the coquettish airs and ready tongue of the young lady who sat beside him. Under a steady fire of compliments and questions and artful glances I saw that he began to grow uneasy. “That was a beautiful portrait you painted!” exclaimed Miss Paddington, looking sentimental. “Thank you,” said he; “my cousin also admires it, but I must own that it does not quite suit me.” “Perhaps you are an admirer of the lady it represents,” said she, peering shyly into his eyes. “The Count de Montalle has fallen in love with her and has borrowed the portrait from my father.”