A ROMANCL FROIN 1 DI

accorded a public funeral. T am pleased to make the acquaintance of the son of so distinguished a man. Pray remove your coat and be scated, and let me know n what way I can serve you.”

“Tam in the Admiralty Office,” my visitor continued, as he divested himsclf of his damp coat, and placing it on the back ol a chair sat down. Thercupon 1 pushed the shaded lamp that stood on the table ncarer to him, tilting the shade shightly so that the light Inl(fht fall upon his face, for it is my lablt to study the face of the person with whom I am 1n conversation. “ And T live with my mother and two sisters at Kensington. IFor three years 1 have been cngaged to a young lady, who 15, [ may venture to say, the sweetest woman who ever drew the breath ol hife.”

“Ah!” T murmured, with a smile, as 1 closcly watched my visitor, and saw his face light up with centhusiasm as he thus referred to his fiancée, ‘1t 1s the old story: love 1s blind and sees no faults until too late.”

“In my casc 1t 1s not so,” he exclaimed, with a force of emphasis that carried cor- viction of his perfect sincerity and a behiel in his own infallible judgment. “ But we will not discuss that point,” he continued. “T'he business that has brought me here 1s far too serious for time to be wasted in arcument. The young lady who i1s pledged to me as my wife 15, at present, under arrest on the serious charge of having stolen some very valuable cwclluy from a well-known firm of jewellers.”

“That 15 a grave charge, indeed,” 1 runtukgd with growing mterest in my visitor ;

“but pluumal)ly there must have been u()od Drind evidence to justify her arrest.”

“Yes,” Mr. Kingsley exclaimed, with an agom/,u,l cxpression, “that 1s the most

terrible part of the whole affair. T am alimaid that legally the evidence will go against her ; and yet momlly I will stake my very soul on her innocence.’

“You speak somewhat paradoxically, Mr. Kingsley,” T said, with a certain amount of professional sternness, for it scemed to me he was straming to twist facts to suit his own VICWS.

“To you 1t will scem so,” he answered “but if you have the patience to listen to m(, I will tell you the whole story, and [ think you will say T am right.”

I intimated that T was quite prepared to listen to anything he had to sav, and leaning back i my chair with the tips of my lingers together and my eyes half closed—an attitude

LECTIVES CASE-BOOK. no3

I always unconsciously assume when en- gaged In trying to dissect some human

puzzle—I waited for him to continue.

“T'he lady’s name 1s Beryl Artois,” he went on. “She was born in France. Her mother was an English lady highly connected ; and her father was a Frenchman of indepen- dent means. They lived surrounded with cvery luxury m a small chiateau, on the banks of the Scine, not far from St. Germain. Unhappily, Monsieur Artois was fatally fond of a life of ease and pleasure, and dying suddenly after a night of revel in Paris, at a bal masque, during the micaréme, it was found that he had dissipated his fortune, and left his widow and child totally unprovided for. Kven his chiteau was ll]OItL{d"Ld up to the hilt, and on his furniture was a bill of sale. Not wishing to be dependent on his relations, Madame Artois and her daughter came to london. Beryl at that time was only six years of age. She was a delicate girl, and needed all her mother’s carc and attention. I'or a few ycars Madame carned her hiving as a teacher of Ifrench, music and drawing, and every spare moment she had she devoted to the education and training of her daughter. Unhappily, before Beryl was twelve years of age her doting mother died, and a bachdm uncle, her mother’s only brother, took Beryl under his care, and as he was well off he engaged highly-qualificd governess for her. 1 first became acquainted with her when she was aghteen years of age. That is now a little over six years ago; and though I have proved the soundness of the old adage which says that the course of true love never did run smooth, I have every rcason to con- agratulate myself, for, as I have before hinted, Beryl s goodness itself.”

“In what way has ruffled ? 7 1 asked.

“Well, Mr. Tamworth, her uncle, refused for some time to countenance our cngage- ment, and threw every obstacle in the way and as Beryl was much under his influence, she struggled between what she considered her duty to her uncle and foster father, and love for me. The love has triumphed, and Mr. Tamworth has consented to our union on condition that we wait three years, and 1 obtain the promotion T hope to obtain in the Government service in that time.”

“T'his 1s a very pretty, even a romantic, story,” I remarked ; “but it is as old as the hills, and yet, like all love stories, ever ney Jut now for the sequel. How comes it that this well-nurtured and well-cared-for young

Vol iv.—-8.

your wooilng been