"Ah, sir! so you have recognized this young woman, Dickson tells me. Well, please dictate a telegraph message to her friends at once," Doctor Churchman said to him, gently, for the despairing look on the young man's face touched him with sympathy. "He must have been in love with the murdered girl," he said to himself. Ralph went into the little office and sent a message off to Mrs. Carew's address: "I have found Kathleen Carew here dead under very mysterious circumstances. Please come immediately, as I am compelled to leave." By one of those strange rulings of fate that so startle us at times, a mistake was made at the Boston office in taking the message, and when received by Mrs. Carew the telegram ran thus: "I have married Kathleen Carew, and nothing can change it. Please God in Heaven, I am comforted to know it." Mrs. Carew raved with anger, and the very next day the Boston papers published, as a sensational item, Miss Carew's elopement and marriage to the handsome actor, who charmed all women's hearts out of their keeping--Ralph Washburn Chainey. Mrs. Carew's active malice could invent but one sting for the heart of her step-daughter at so short a notice. She cabled at once to Vincent Carew in London a garbled account of Kathleen's elopement with an actor, one of the lowest and most unprincipled professionals who had ever disgraced the stage. Vincent Carew had just been buying his ticket to return to America. His health was restored, and his heart ached for a sight of his bonny Kathleen, his beloved daughter. Close against his heart lay her picture, and her last sweet, loving letter, in which she implored him to come home to his unhappy child. She did not mention her step-mother's unkindness, but a vague suspicion stirred within him and prompted his speedy return. His ticket was bought, his luggage, with so many beautiful gifts for Kathleen stored in it, was sent down to the steamer. He smiled as he thought of the surprise in store for his "home folks." Upon this complacent mood came the malicious cablegram from his irate wife. The revulsion from his pleasant mood to keen wrath was terrible. Vincent Carew had a dislike to actors in general, of which no one understood the origin. The thought of his bonny Kathleen married to one of this abhorred class drove the proud man beside himself with shame and rage. For an hour he raged and stormed about his room until he was on the verge of apoplexy. Having exhausted the first fury of his anger, he flung himself into a cab and was driven in haste to a lawyer's office. His last act on leaving England was to execute his last will and testament, in which he angrily disinherited Kathleen, his only child. Leaving the document with the lawyer for safe keeping, with instructions to forward it to America in case of his loss at sea, the angry man was driven down to the steamer, and embarked for home--the home that would be so lonely now without the light of Kathleen's starry, dark eyes.