Three weeks after Mr. Wetter's return to England, Miss M'Craw saw him once again in the Hendon lane. It was spring time when she had last seen him, but now it was deep autumn, and the dead leaves were whirling through the air, and being gathered into heaps by the old men employed as scavengers by the parish. Miss M'Craw was alone in her little parlour, and had no friends to share her watch. Nevertheless, she did not allow her attention to be diverted from Mr. Wetter for an instant. She saw him ride up, followed by his groom, but instead of gazing over the hedge he rode straight to the front gate, over which appeared a painted board announcing the house as to let, and referring possible inquirers to the village agent and to the auctioneers in London. Miss M'Craw saw Mr. Wetter yield up his horse to his groom, dismount, ring the bell, and pass out of her sight up the garden. When he reached the door it was already opened by the servant, who was standing there, to whom he intimated his desire to see the house. The girl asked him into the dining-room, and withdrew. Five minutes afterwards the door opened, and Pauline entered the room. The sun had set about five minutes previously, and there was, but little daylight left, so little that Mr. Wetter, glancing at the new comer, thought he must have been deceived, and made a step forward, staring hard at her. There was something in the movement which put Pauline on her mettle instantly. 'May I ask your business?' said she, in a hard, dry tone. 'The voice, the accent--no doubt about it now,' said Mr. Wetter to himself. Then he said aloud, 'I see this house is to let; I ask to be permitted to look over it.' 'The house cannot be seen without a card from the agent in the village, Mr. Bowles,' said Pauline, in her former tone. 'And I may as well remark that Mr. Bowles will not give a card to every one. He will expect a reference.' 'I shall be very happy to give him one,' said Mr. Wetter, with a sardonic smile. 'My name is Henrich Wetter, formerly clerk to Monsieur Krebs, the banker, of Marseilles; and I shall be happy to refer him to an old acquaintance of mine, Madame Pauline Lunelle, dame du comptoir at the Restaurant du Midi in that city.' CHAPTER II. DULY PRESENTED. The words of recognition uttered by Mr. Wetter filled Pauline with the utmost consternation. What! was this elegant gentleman, who stood before her with an amused smile on his handsome face, the same Henrich Wetter, the blonde and lymphatic clerk to Monsieur Krebs?