"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. O'Higgins did not confide in me. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. His voice had broken. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. " "Ja—ja," returned the Hollander. The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses. To-morrow they will know the truth. “Please come by. “No. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle.
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