Ned Chester fulfilled the promise he gave to the Duchess that he would see Mrs. Lenoir safely to her home. When the exhausted woman recovered from her fainting condition and was sufficiently strong to lean on his arm and walk slowly along, he said to her:

"You may thank your stars I was near you when you fell. I am going to help you home. Where do you live?"

The strange voice and the rough manner of the man--for Ned was not always on his holiday behaviour, and the worse side of his nature invariably exhibited itself when there was nothing to be gained--caused Mrs. Lenoir to shrink from him; but, deprived of his support, she almost fell to the ground again.

"Don't be a fool!" cried Ned; "you are not strong enough to stand alone. Where do you live?"

"Who are you?"

"I am a gentleman," he replied, in a boastful tone.

His manner gave the lie to his assertion, and Mrs. Lenoir, with her fine instinct, knew that the man was a braggart. "Yes, yes--but your name?"

"Never mind my name--it won't enlighten you. Now, are you coming?"

"No," said Mrs. Lenoir; "leave me."

"What will you do if I take you at your word?" he asked brutally.

"I will wait here--I will creep on till I find her--till I see again the face I saw a little while ago, bending over me. Heaven will give me strength--Heaven will give me strength!"

"In which case," thought Ned, "I shall get myself into hot water with the Duchess. That will never do."

He adopted a more conciliatory tone.

"You foolish creature! You've been dreaming, and you'll bring trouble on yourself."

"Dreaming!" murmured Mrs. Lenoir, pressing her hands to her head. "For mercy's sake, do not tell me so! Nay, but it is not true. Let me think--let me think. No--it was not a dream. I followed her and her companion for miles through the snow, till my strength was gone. But it has come again," she said, with hysterical sobs, which she struggled with and checked; "it has come again, and I can go on. As I lay on the ground I saw her face--the face I have dreamt of for many weary years--bending over me!"

"It was my face you saw," said Ned, beginning to think that the woman was mad.

"No, no," said Mrs. Lenoir, with a wan smile, "it was the face of a lovely girl."

Ned's vanity and triumph in his conquest trapped him.

"She has a lovely face, has she not?"

"It was no dream, then," cried Mrs. Lenoir eagerly.

"No; it was no dream. Now, let me help you home. I promised her I would do so."

"You did!" sobbed Mrs. Lenoir; "she thought of me--and pitied me! Oh, my heart!"

"You'll be going off again, if you don't mind. I tell you I promised her, and I must keep my promise."

"Why must you keep your promise?"

Ned's boastful spirit was entirely beyond his control.

"Isn't the reason plain? We love each other. Is that sufficient? If you will let me help you home, I promise that you shall see her again, if you would like to."

"It is what I have lived for. You promise me--solemnly!"

"On the honour of a gentleman," said Ned, laying his hand on his heart. "Will that content you?"

"It must--it shall. You are right--I cannot walk without assistance. This is my way, I think. And you love her--and she loves you! I shall see her again! When? It must be soon! It must be soon!"

"It shall be--in a day or two. We are getting along nicely now. Ah, there's a cab--that's lucky."

He called the cab, and put Mrs. Lenoir in it.

"What street do you live in?"

She told him, and he mounted the box. In less than a quarter of an hour the cab stopped at her home. Desiring the driver to wait for him, Ned opened the street-door with the latch key she gave him.

"Shall I help you to your room?" he asked.

"No; stay here in the passage. I will get a light; I want to see your face."

She crept slowly upstairs. The passage was narrow, and, cold as the night was, Ned, a strong and sturdy man, took off his light overcoat and held it on his arm. Presently Mrs. Lenoir returned, with a lighted candle in her hand.

She raised the candle, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked steadily at him. As she gazed into his face, a troubled expression stole into her own. It was not the face of a man to whom she would have cared to entrust the happiness of anyone dear to her.

"Well," he exclaimed, nettled at her intent observance of him, "you will know me again."

"I shall know you again," she said, as he turned from her. "You can have no objection now to tell me your name."

"Temple--Arthur Temple."

"Great God!"

He did not hear the words, nor did he see the candlestick drop from her hand, leaving her in darkness. He slammed the street-door behind him, and, resuming his seat on the cab, drove westwards.

A few minutes afterwards, a lodger coming home to the house in which Mrs. Lenoir resided, found her lying senseless in the passage. He was an old man, and had not strength to raise her. Knowing that she was more intimate with Lizzie than with any other person in the house, he knocked at the girl's door, and, waking her, told her of Mrs. Lenoir's condition. Lizzie hurriedly threw on her clothes, and hastened to the suffering woman. Assisted by the man, she carried her to her room, and Mrs. Lenoir was soon in bed, attended by the most willing and cheerful of nurses. The care Lizzie bestowed on her was not bestowed in vain, and when Mrs. Lenoir opened her eyes, she saw a bright fire burning in the room, and the girl standing by her bedside, with a cup of hot tea in her hands. Mrs. Lenoir drank the tea eagerly, and took the bread and butter which Lizzie's gentle persuasion induced her to eat. Lizzie asked no questions; she was learning how to manage the strange woman, whose secret sorrow had made so deep an impression upon her tender heart.

"You are feeling better, Mrs. Lenoir?"

"Much better and stronger, thank you, Lizzie. You are very kind to me, my dear."

"If you will let me, I will sleep with you."

Mrs. Lenoir offered no resistance to the proposal, and presently the girl and the woman were lying side by side.

"Don't mind waking me, Mrs. Lenoir, if you want me."

"No, my dear. Lizzie, you will not betray the confidence I am going to place in you. It will relieve me to speak it."

"Oh, I can keep a secret, Mrs. Lenoir."

"I believe," said Mrs. Lenoir very slowly, "that I have this night seen the face of my daughter."

"Then, you have a daughter!" cried Lizzie in a tone of delight.

"A daughter, my dear, whom I have not seen since she was a little child--and who they told me was dead. But I have seen her--I have seen her, if there is truth in nature! After all these years I have seen her--when she most needs a mother's care and counsel. I am praying now for the hours to pass quickly that I may fold her to my heart."

"Is she coming to you to-morrow, Mrs. Lenoir?"

"There is my misery. She knows nothing of me, and I am in ignorance where she lives. But I am promised--I am promised! God will help me--He will surely help me, after my long years of anguish!"

She said not another word, and Lizzie was soon asleep; but Mrs. Lenoir lay awake through the greater part of the night, with a prayer in her heart as fervent as any ever whispered to Heaven from the depths of tribulation. Towards morning, nature asserted her claim, and slumber fell upon her troubled soul.

It was almost noon when she awoke; and Lizzie was bustling about the room.

"I am going to stop with you till you're better," said the girl; "perhaps I can help you. I'll take care not to be in the way if I'm not wanted."

Mrs. Lenoir accepted the service, feeling the need of it at this crisis. She was up and dressed, and breakfast was over, when Lizzie's quick ears took her out of the room. She returned immediately.

"A gentleman is asking for a woman he saw home last night to this house. It must be you by his description."

"Let him come in, Lizzie."

Lizzie looked at Ned Chester with admiration. In her eyes he was every inch a gentleman, with his fine clothes, and gold chain, and diamond ring on his ungloved hand.

"This is Mrs. Lenoir," she said.

"Mrs. Lenoir!" he repeated. "Ah, well, I didn't know the name. Are you better?"

He had commenced speaking in a free and familiar tone, such as a man adopts who is addressing one for whom he has no great feeling of respect, but before he had uttered even these few words his tone altered. Mrs. Lenoir had taken unusual pains with her dress, and she presented so different an appearance from that which he expected--she looked so gentle and lady-like--that he was compelled into a more deferential and respectful manner.

"I am glad you are come," said Mrs. Lenoir; "I was afraid you might forget your promise, or that it had been given lightly."

"What promise?" he asked.

"That I should see her again--the young lady who was with you last night."

"Oh, the Duchess!" he exclaimed involuntarily, and the next moment biting his lips at the betrayal.

"The Duchess!" echoed Mrs. Lenoir, in amazement.

"A pet name," he said quickly. "You shall see her again, as I promised. But I have come on a different matter. I lost a silver cigar-case last night. Have you got it?"

Mrs. Lenoir rose, and gazed at him in perplexity and fear.

"I will swear I had it about me as I assisted you home. When you left me in the passage I took off my overcoat, and it dropped out of my pocket perhaps. I don't mean anything worse than that. Did you find it?"

"I don't understand you; I have not seen it. Lizzie, did you see anything in the passage when you came down to me last night?"

"No," replied Lizzie, who had listened to the conversation with intense curiosity.

Ned Chester considered in silence, uncertain for a moment how to act. The cigar-case, which had been a gift to his master, Arthur Temple, bore on it an inscription which might betray him, and he thought it not unlikely that Mrs. Lenoir intended to retain it, so that she might compel the fulfilment of his promise. There were obvious reasons why he could not run the risk of making the theft public, for he entertained no doubt that Mrs. Lenoir had robbed him. Since the previous night he had had reason to suspect that his position was growing perilous. His young master's manner had suddenly changed towards him, and he had almost determined not to return to Mr. Temple's house. With this partially-formed resolve in view, he had seen the Duchess a short time before his visit to Mrs. Lenoir, and proposed flight to her. He had taken good care of himself with res............