“Oh, indeed! And did he give you any other presents?” I sternly pursued, as John sank feebly into a chair. She refused to answer until I should say who I was and what was my business there; but when I did explain matters, the poor old skeleton was quite beyond answering me. She was horrified at the discovery that John was a thief, but more so, I am convinced, to find that he was not a gentleman at all, but only a flunkey. In the confusion of her fainting and hysterics, I had the opportunity of examining the gold watch, which was taken from her pocket by the servant, and found inside the back of the case a watch-paper bearing Mr Ward’s name and address, and also the written date of the sale, which corresponded exactly with that already in my possession. The brooch and other articles were readily given up by Miss Huntley, as soon as she was restored to her senses. Had she been fit for removal, we should have taken her too, but the shock had been too much for her, and her medical man positively forbade the arrest. John made a clean breast of the swindle and impersonation, and went to prison for a year, while the poor old woman he had made love to went to a grave which could scarcely be called early. I met John some years after in a seedy and broken-down condition, and looking the very opposite of the haughty aristocrat he had seemed when first we met. I scarcely recognised him, but when I did, I said significantly— “Ah, it’s you? I’m afraid, John, you took the _wrong_ umbrella that time!” “I did,” he impressively returned, with a rueful shake of the head; and I saw him no more. A WHITE SAVAGE. The woman had a queer and almost crazed look; was miserably clad, with no bonnet on her head, and her hair covered with the “fluff” which flies about factories and covers the workers. I am not sure if she had any covering on her feet; if she had, it must have been some soft material which gave out no more noise than her bare soles would have done. Added to this, she smelled strongly of whisky, though she was not in any way intoxicated. She had come into the Office at the breakfast hour, and patiently waited till I appeared, without enlightening any one as to her business. “No one but Mr M^cGovan was of any use to her,” she said; and when I appeared and heard her begin her strange story I soon thought that I should be of no use to her either. Her statements were so wild and improbable, and her delivery so incoherent, that I speedily decided that if I was not conversing with a mad woman I was at least beside one suffering from _delirium tremens_. Her age seemed to be about twenty-five, and she was by no means bad looking, had she not been such a miserable wreck. “I want you to help me to hunt for my man,” she said, with perfect self-possession. “My name is Janet Hanford, and I’m married—maybe you’ll mind the name.” I thought for a little—or appeared to do so—and then told her that she had the advantage of me, for I did not remember the name.