I.  
"The present becomes the future.
Yes! but the present does not again become the past;
Time goes forward forever--we cannot return on his footsteps,
For the laws of the universe are unalterable, unchangeable and .
 
 
II.
"Yet when I see you before me,
I am inclined to doubt all that has existed since the shaping of
    the earth from .
For you appear as you did in those far-distant days,
When love and sin made up the sum of our lives.
 
 
III.
"!
Vanish again into the darkness from whence my memory hath
    called thee!
As a God I have re-created thee--as a God I thee to
    disappear.
I live the present, the future--but the past I will not renew.
Lest such as you should turn the past into the present."
 
 
In a private of the Langham Hotel sat Mr. Silas P. Oates, of New York City, millionaire, who had come to England with his wife and daughter to spend his money, secure a titled husband for his only child, and look round generally.
 
He had made his money in a somewhat unexpected way by dealings in stocks and shares, besides which he had bought a clever invention cheaply of the inventor--a poor man--and by of and pushing had boomed it into a big success. A far-seeing man was Mr. Oates, none too , who regarded his fellow-men as so many sheep to be shorn of their rich fleece; but he always kept to the letter if not the spirit of the law, and therefore regarded himself as a keen business man, who had made his enormous fortune honestly. All his little tricks, his taking advantage of his fellow-creatures when they were in difficulties, and his unscrupulous, unblushing lying, he designated under the collective name of business; and however scandalous his dealings might appear to God, they certainly appeared to his brother business men, who mostly acted the same way.
 
Therefore Silas was called "a sharp business man." All his twistings and turnings and and sailing close to the wind went to pile up the dollars; and however he might have ruined less clever men than himself, however he imposed, , and swindled the public, he was generally admitted in the Land of Freedom to be a 'cute man, who was a representative of the great god Mammon. Charity, according to the Bible, covers a multitude of sins, but money occupies a much higher place nowadays in the covering process, and all the doubtful ways by which he had acquired his fortune disappeared in the eyes of the world under the golden cover of the fortune itself.
 
This worthy product of the nineteenth century was a short, thin, active little man, with a parchment-coloured skin, dark hair, moustache, beard, , and eyes, and a quick, delicate restlessness about him, like a bright-eyed bird. He was dressed in a quiet gray suit, wore no jewellery, not even a watch-chain, and was always on the alert to see something to his advantage. Outwardly, he was a quiet, respectable, decent little fellow, who, as the saying goes, would not harm a fly; inwardly, he was an blackguard, who called his evil doing "business," who always kept well within the law, and had dethroned the in favour of himself. His past was bad and , so much so that it would hardly bear looking into by a man with a conscience; but even though Mr. Oates had no conscience, he did not indulge much in retrospection: not that he , but simply looked upon such dreaming as a waste of time.
 
At present he was happy. He had made a lot of money, he had a pretty wife for whom he cared nothing, a charming daughter for whom he cared a great deal, and was now going to show the Old World what the New World could do in the way of making a splash. It was a very enviable frame of mind to be in, and one quite beyond the reach of an honest man, who would have been disturbed at the memory of how he had made his money. But Silas only thought how pleasant it was he had made so much money, for the making of which he had to thank no one--not even God, who, in His mercy permitted this worm to reap the golden reward of a life of legitimate legalised .
 
Mr. Oates, therefore, was happy, and thought no one could upset that happiness in any way; but he found out his mistake when the waiter brought in a card , "Mrs. Belswin."
 
"Well, sir," drawled Silas, looking doubtfully at the card, "this lady wants to look me up?"
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"Mrs. Belswin!" soliloquised the American in deep thought. "I can't fix her nohow. Ask the lady to step this way."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
The alert, active waiter disappeared, and Mr. Oates pondered. He did not know the name; he had only arrived in England the previous day, and was unacquainted with any one. What then did this strange lady want with him? Luckily, Mrs. Hatty K. Oates had gone out shopping with her daughter, else the situation might have been awkward for Silas, whose domestic hearthstone was not quite free from rows caused by . His wife, however, was away, and would not be home for the next few hours, so Mr. Oates, feeling rather curious as to the business of his fair visitor, was by no means sorry that he had a chance of passing his afternoon in feminine society.
 
His visitor entered the room by the waiter; then the latter , closing the door carefully after him, leaving the pair alone. The lady was dressed in black, and wore a heavy crape veil, which suggested mourning to the astute Silas; and after he had gathered as much as he was able from a keen glance at this draped veiled figure, he politely placed a chair for her.
 
"You wish to see me, madam?" he asked, resuming his own seat.
 
"I do, for a few minutes. I am an old friend of yours."
 
Mrs. Belswin's voice was by the veil, and moreover Silas had not heard it for nearly twenty years, so he did not recognise his visitor in the least, and was puzzled by the concluding part of her speech.
 
"An old friend!" he said doubtfully, smoothing his chin. "From the States?"
 
"Yes; down 'Frisco way."
 
"Oh!"
 
Mr. Oates started. He had many acquaintances down 'Frisco way, but they could hardly be called friends, as they very much of his method of doing business.
 
"I've got an eye for faces," said Silas, in a manner, "so if you put up that veil I've no doubt I can fix you."
 
"I'm afraid I shall startle you."
 
"I'm not easily startled, madam. My nerves are in good working order."
 
"Are they? Then I'll put them to the test."
 
Mrs. Belswin suddenly threw back her veil and forward so that her face was in the strong light, whereupon Silas gave a like a wild Indian, bounded from his chair and .
 
"I'm afraid you over-estimate the working order of your nerves, Silas," said Mrs. Belswin, ; and then leaning back in her chair, waited for Mr. Oates to make the next move in the game.
 
"Great Scott! It's Mrs. Pethram. I thought you were dead!"
 
"And wished it too, I've no doubt," said Mrs. Belswin, bitterly. "Well, are you not glad to see me?"
 
"No!" replied Silas, truthfully; "I'm sorry."
 
"Ah! you've learned to speak the truth since I saw you last," observed the lady, raising her eyebrows, "otherwise you're not much changed. The same ugly little monkey with whom I ran away from New Zealand. I've often wondered why I did run away with you," pursued Mrs. Belswin with charming candour, "and now I see you again I wonder more than ever."
 
Silas grinned in an uneasy manner. He would have preferred her to be less cool, to pay more to his position, but she seemed as as ever, and he almost expected to have something damaging flung at his head, as had been her custom in the old days. It was a very disagreeable position, so Silas rose to the occasion, and immediately set to work to her coolness, and find out how he could this unwelcome visitor from the past.
 
"I see you're still in the vinegar line," he said easily, resuming his seat. "I guess you did turn me over for a bit. It takes a............