voice broke.

"I mourned for her-God alone knows how I mourned for her, how, try as I will, I cannot forget her. I came home and had not been in England many weeks before I-I saw her, or her spirit "-his voice dropped and became almost inaudible. "It was in a country lane, at a spot where we had met when she was alive: I could only tell myself that my love, my grief for her loss, had called her from the grave -you will know what I should tell myself. Then-then I came to London, and last night by mere chance I went into a house"-he paused at a warning gesture from Nolly—" and there I saw her again. A lady came into the room-she was veiled, but her form, the poise of her head-a movementthe tones of her voice- Am I mad or is it possible that there is some dark mystery, and that-that- I can't speak the hope that, wild as it is, persists in haunting me!"

He covered his eyes with his hands again and was silent for

a moment.

"You see, you understand? You can appreciate my suffering, the torture of suspense and doubt. If the lady I have seen only bears a resemblance to her whom I have lost, I-I shall at least be rid of this haunting doubt."

There was silence for a moment, then he stretched out his hands to her.

"You will tell me, help me now!" he implored.

Bessie sat and gazed straight before her; her woman's mind quickly piecing together the dark puzzle which bewildered him.

"I cannot tell you-but I may help you," she said, in a low voice.

"I thank you!" said Lance, in a voice which shook.

"Will you tell me your address?" she said, after another pause.

He told her and watched her face anxiously; but it was like a pallid mask.

"One thing more, sir, I want to ask you. come here to enquire for her?"

How did you

"She was at his house with John Warden last night," said Lance.

She looked at him and rose with a cry on her lips.

Lance rose.

"What have I said, what have I done?" he said aghast. Nolly went up to her to put his arm round her, but she put him aside and looked into his face.

"John has found him: it is the same, father, the same as the man this gentleman tells of at-Heydon. Heydon, yes!"

"It's the same-it's Black, yes, Bessie," murmured Nolly, hoarsely.

She stood gazing before her for a moment, then, as if she had lost all sense of their presence, passed into the house.

"I must go after her, sir-she's motherless and has only got me," said Nolly. "God knows what's passing through her mind: she's a woman now, is my little gel, and women have cuter brains than us men. Better wait and see what

way her mind turns."

Lance rose.

"I'll go," he said, in a low voice.

"I will leave myself in

her hands; but-but-it will be hard to wait."

"You mayn't have long to wait, sir," said Nolly. "Women act quicker than us, and she- But she won't move at all if she thinks you mean to harm that scoundrel."

"I"-began Lance; but stopped-"I make no promise,” he said grimly, as he went.

The mystery which was sapping his courage and making a storm-tossed thing of his life, storm-tossed on a sea of doubt and vague hopes too exquisite to be expressed, was in the hands of this sorrow-stricken girl across whose path Fate had thrust him so strangely.

Kyra lay a vake that night thinking deeply; it was evident that she would have to leave London, perhaps England; for not only had Iance seen her, but Stracey; either of them might come upon her suddenly in the street or in some place when her veil was raised, and might discover that she was indeed Kyra Jermyn, and not dead as they supposed. She shuddered at the complications, at the consequences, which would result.

Yes; she would go away, go into hiding: and yet The prospect of Lance's marriage with Lady May rose to trouble her on another point. Could she remain quiescent and passive while Lance made a marriage which would be no marriage?

She was pale from the want of sleep and the incessant strain of these and kindred thoughts when she went to Walton Street to commence her day's work. Mr. Sutton was already there and remarked her pallor and evident weariness, and when she told him that she was afraid she would have to throw up the situation, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair in a kind of despair.

"Just what I expected," he said. "That's like a woman all over. Directly you are of any use to a man, you want

to leave him. There! Don't cry; you can't help being a

woman.

"I'm not crying," said Kyra, smiling through what was Buspiciously like tears. "And I am very sorry to be obliged to leave you; but circumstances-something has happened-" Mr. Sutton put up his hand and waved it excitedly in the air.

"Oh, of course, I know what has happened: you've what you call fallen in love; you're going to be married. Foolish, foolish woman! When you might have spent the whole of the rest of your life studying early Italian intaglios! But you never know when you're well off."

He struggled into an overcoat at least two sizes too large for him and went out, slamming the door after him with a violence which made Kyra jump; for she felt all nerves that morning. She considered it wiser to remain in the house until it was time for her to go home, and she sent the slip-shod maid servant for a glass of milk for her lunch; and she was drinking it, not because she liked it, but that she might be more fit for the afternoon's work, when there came a timid kind of knock to the door, and, opening it, she was surprised to see Mr. Wicks.

Mr. Wicks had made a resolution to assume cheerfulness even if he could not really possess it; so that whenever he met Kyra he immediately put on a grin which transformed his face into the likeness of a pantomime mask; and he grinned at her now as, with an air of mystery, he drew a letter from his pocket.

"I hope I don't intrude," he said, apologetically; "but this came for you this morning after you left-I was staying at home with a sick 'ead ache-and thinking it might be important, I thought I'd better bring it on to you.

Kyra thanked him and opened the note, and, half unconsciously, read it aloud, so that Mr. Wicks caught a word here and there, though he whistled softly to show Kyra that he was not listening. The note ran thus:

"I need you very badly. You promised to come to me if I sent for you. Will you meet me at No. 98 Adelphi Terrace to-night at eight o'clock?

"Your grateful friend,

BESSIE."

"Where is Adelphi Terrace, Mr. Wicks?" asked Kyra, after a long pause, during which Mr. Wicks had stared at the ceiling as if he had discovered something of absorbing interest there.

He told her and looked at her so wistfully that Kyra said with a tired little smile:

"It is all right, Mr. Wicks; it is a note asking me to be at Adelphi Terrace to-night at eight o'clock. The person who brought it did not want an answer I suppose?"

"He did not," said Mr. Wicks, emphatically. "It was a boy; and I regret to say that when I caught hold of him to ask him if an answer was required, he gave me one in the chest and bolted. Boys will be boys, Miss Burns. I suppose there is nothing I can do?" he added, still more wistfully.

Kyra told him "no;" and with her reiterated thanks ringing in his large ears, the faithful Mr. Wicks took his departure: but he went slowly down the street and shook his head thoughtfully at intervals.

A year ago Kyra would have been far too nervous to go to a strange house, even to meet a woman friend, at so late an hour; but amongst other things experience endows us with courage and teaches us self-reliance; and she did not hesitate for a moment. She had promised to go to Bessie when Bessie needed her: it was evident that the poor girl was placed in some difficulty, perhaps in danger. It seemed to Kyra that though she could do little towards guiding her own life, she could help and protect Bessie; and the thought brought her some consolation.

She remained at Walton Street until half-past seven; then she put on her things and made her way to Adelphi Terrace. The night was a wild one and the rain blew in wet gusts across the river and the Embankment. As she approached the steps to the Terrace, holding her thick cape closely round her, and occupied with her thoughts, with the problem which seemed to evade every possible solution, she did not notice the few passers-by, who, like herself, bent their heads before the storm and hurried along the pavement as if anxious to reach a place of shelter; did not notice the tall, thin figure of a man who strode past her with a quick, uneven step, his hat drawn over his brows, and his coat collar turned up, so that his face was almost hidden. He swung past her, without noticing her apparently, and nearly brushed against her; but suddenly he stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder and his hand went up to his lips as if to stifle a cry of amazement and of fear.

He went on a few paces, more slowly; then he stopped again and turned gradually, as if he feared to look back but could not help himself. His face was a sallow whiteness in the lamp-light, and drawn and working like that of a man

who is flying from some peril or, worse still, from some haunting dread.

When he had looked again at the graceful, black-clad figure, he staggered and put out his hand against the stone wall of the Embankment as if for support; and his lips moved with the muttered words:

"Again! But-but-it's only fancy: or I must be going mad. I'll go home."

He did go a few yards; but as if something were drawing him in the direction in which Kyra had gone, he turned with a savage, desperate oath, as if he were yielding to an irresistible impulse and strode quickly after her, quickly, yes, stealthily.

CHAPTER XLIII.

BESSIE reached Adelphi Terrace at a quarter to eight, and, fighting against her nervousness, rang the visitor's bell. But though she was nervous she was resolute, and she enquired for Captain le Breton in a firm though low voice.

"Captain le Breton is out," said the neat maid-servant. Bessie uttered a faint cry of dismay.

"I-I wrote to him," she faltered; and the girl, eyeing her with the calm scrutiny of the experienced London servant, asked her to step inside.

"If you'll wait here a minute, I'll fetch Mr. Spilkins, Captain le Breton's gentleman. I think he's in."

Bessie sat down in the hall and waited, her nervousness increasing each minute, and presently Spilkins came down.

"I-I want to see Captain le Breton. I wrote to him this morning," said Bessie.

"Captain le Breton started for the country soon after breakfast," said Spilkins, eyeing her with a scrutiny akin to that of the maid, and, like her, satisfied with Bessie's quiet and modest appearance and manner.

"Oh, dear!" she said, with a troubled sigh. "I—I didn't think of his being out. I-I told him I was coming-" "The captain has gone to a place called Heydon-" Then Spilkins stopped: it was not his place to tell his master's whereabouts to a stranger, and a woman to boot.

"To Heydon!" echoed Bessie, with knit brows. "Thenthen when may he come back? Oh, it is so important-it is of the greatest importance! And what is the time, please? I-I must go " She broke off, as she thought that Kyra might come at any moment.