“You have nothing but your own statement?” “No.” “And you may be an impostor. Mind you--I’m a magistrate--and you’d better be careful.” “You can do what you choose,” said I, coldly. “No, I can’t. In this country a man can’t do what he chooses.” I was silent. “Johnnie,” said my father, “I’ll have to leave her to you. You arrange it.” John looked at me lazily, still smoking, and for some time said nothing. “I suppose,” said he at last, “you’ve got to put it through. You began it, you know. You would send for her. I never saw the use of it.” “But do you think this is the party?” “Oh, I dare say. It don’t make any difference any way. Nobody would take the trouble to come to you with a sham story.” “That’s a fact,” said my father. “So I don’t see but you’ve got to take her.” “Well,” said my father, “if you think so, why all right.” “I don’t think any thing of the kind,” returned John, snappishly. “I only think that she’s the party you sent for.” “Oh, well, it’s all the same,” said my father, who then turned to me again. “If you’re the girl,” he said, “you can get in. Hunt up Mrs. Compton, and she’ll take charge of you.” Compton! At the mention of that name a shudder passed through me. She had been in the family of the murdered man, and had ever since lived with his murderer. I went in without a word, prepared for the worst, and expecting to see some evil-faced woman, fit companion for the pair outside. A servant was passing along. “Where is Mrs. Compton?” I asked. “Somewhere or other, I suppose,” growled the man, and went on. I stood quietly. Had I not been prepared for some such thing as this I might perhaps have broken down under grief, but I had read the MS., and nothing could surprise or wound me. I waited there for nearly half an hour, during which time no notice was taken of me. I heard my father and John walk down the piazza steps and go away. They had evidently forgotten all about me. At last a man came toward the door who did not look like a servant. He was dressed in black. He was a slender, pale, shambling man with thin, light hair, and a furtive eye and a weary face. He did not look like one who would insult me, so I asked him where I could find Mrs. Compton. He started as I spoke and looked at me in wonder, yet respectfully. “I have just come from China,” said I, “and my father told me to find Mrs. Compton.” He looked at me for some time without speaking a word. I began to think that he was imbecile. “So you are Mr. Potts’s daughter,” said he at last, in a thin, weak voice. “I--I didn’t know that you had come--I--I knew that he was expecting you--but heard you were lost at sea--Mrs. Compton--yes--oh yes--I’ll show you where you can find Mrs. Compton.”