WOOING A WIDOW.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue XVI, 19 October 1895, Page 495

WOOING A WIDOW.

BY

EWALD AUGUST KOENIG.

CHAPTER VIII. THE PROMISSORY NOTE. Tastefully dressed, Dora was awaiting Sonnenberg’s arrival in order to go to the opera under his escort. Her while opera cloak and her fan lav ready on a chair. Ernestine was occupied in perfuming her white kid gloves. Ernestine herself was plainly dressed in black eilk, with only a narrow lace ruflia around her neck and her long, thin wrists, and a crimson rose in her hair was the only ornament which she wore. There was yet an hour’s time, but Dora had intentionally completed her toilet so early, because she expected Sonnenberg to make his appearance, as usual, at twilight to have a cosy chat with her. Although she would not acknowledge it, this hour of friendly intercourse had. by this time, become almost a necessity for her. Sonnenberg had been most successful in gaining her favour and confidence. ” But on this occasion Dora waited in vain, and, by degrees, this annoyed and irritated her. Ernestine observed this with increasing satisfaction, although she pretended to have no suspicion of the cause of Dora’s illhumour. • You will have many an opera-glass directed toward you to night,’ she observed. *lt is well that people will at last see that you have given up Dornberg, and it would be better still if you would at once put an end to all possible future doubts.’ • And how could I do that?’ inquired Dora, with a constrained smile. •Only by your speedy engagement to another.’ Dora’s brown eyes flashed angrily. She raised herself from a careless posture and looked fixedly at her companion. • Do you, perhaps, also wish to make a proposition with regard to the gentleman whom I am to choose ?’ she asked, sarcastically. , ‘Ob no. indeed, not by any means, replied Ernestine. * I should never presume to advise you on that subject. I merely expressed an opinion. Whether you agree with that opinion or not is quite another question.' •Never I’ •Well, then that ends the matter. No, Dora, I shall never offer you any such advice. My own experience of married life would forbid mv doing so. Often have I called down the judgment of heaven upon those who persuaded me to make that unhappy marriage, and I am quite sure that the same has been the case with you. I only meant that such an engagement would be the best way of proving to the world that you wished to have nothing more to do with that misguided man.’ ‘ I must request you never to repeat that proposition to me.’ said Dora, in a trembling voice and with a stern look. ‘I have loved but once in my life, and I love Gustav still, in spite of his errors. I thought I loved my first husband when I was sold to him, but at that time I did not know what true love was. My heart awakened to it only when I met Gustav. And, say what you will—judge him as severely as you like —I shall never forget him and never believe in this terrible accusation which is resting upon him.’ ‘ That feeling does great credit to your heart,’replied Ernestine, with imperturbable composure. * but the verdict of the court will give the lie to your opinion after all. If my te-timony is required I shall not be able to conceal the fact that Herr Dornberg was very much excited that last evening, and that he smelt strongly of liquor. If I take an oath I shall be obliged to tell the whole truth.’

• Am I asking you to perjure yourself ?’ ‘ Ob, no, you are too noble minded for that. 1 only wish to remind you of his behaviour on that occasion ; his rage at your having discovered his secret doings and his coarse invectives against me as well as against your connections. If Herr Sonnenberg had witnessed that outburst he would never have defended him ; and, indeed, I think it very strange that he still takes his part.’ • Why? Is your hatred of that unhappy man so deep that only hie conviction can satisfy it ?’

• Certainly not, Dora ; I do not hate him — contempt has no room for hatred, you know. But it makes mo indignant that Sonnenberg continues to uphold you in your faith in his innocence ; you wtll never have peace in that way.’ Dora seemed about to give a testy answer, but she was prevented from doing bo by the entrance of the servant, who handed her a card.

• Colonel von Wartenfels requests a private interview,’ she read ; then, turning to the maid, she continued : * I shall be happy to see the colonel, and will join him in a few minutes.’

* A private interview?* asked Ernestine, in surprise. 'What does he want, I wonder? Be careful, Dora; the colonel will be sure to take the part of his fosterson, and will probably blame you. If he says an angry word to you. or annoys you in any way, just ring the bell and I will be with you at once.’ * You heard that he asked for a private interview,’ said Dora, coldly. ‘You will therefore be so good as to see that we are not interrupted.’ With this she left the room and in a moment stood before the chivalrous figure of the o*d soldier, who raised the hand which she extended to him to his lips. ‘Excuse the question, my dear madam,’ he said, 'but for certain reasons I am obliged to ask it. May Ibe sure that our conversation cannot bo overheard here?' Dora cast a quick look at the two doors and then led the way to a window, where, behind a small stand with exotic*, stood several arm chairs.

‘I know through Franciska that you do not believe in Gustav’s guilt,’ said the colonel, when he had seated himself, ‘and I need hardly assure you, i suppose, that I and my family do not believe in it either.’ • There are others, too, who defend him/ she remarked. • Yes, Sonnenberg, I know ; but I have my reasons for having even stronger doubts of that man’s sincerity than of Gustav’s guilt. We will come back to that, however,’ continued the old gentleman, taking a wallet from his pocket. • First, we will attend to more pressing matters. You felt yourself obliged to break your engagement with Gustav on account of a promissory note made out by him, and with regard to which he refused to give you any information.’ • He declared that he had pledged his word of honour not to do so.’ ‘ That was very honourable of him» madam I You would not believe him—’ ‘I felt outraged by the wording of the note.’ • Probably because you thought he bad given that note in pavmentof somegainbling debt?’ • Yes, that is what 1 believed ; and the passionate vehemence with which Gustav denied it only served to confirm me in that belief.’ ‘Y’ou were probably likewise confirmed in it by other persons who bore Gustav illwill,’ remarked the colonel. * Well, appearances were certainly against him. and in fact no one but he and one other knew what had prompted him, or rather obliged him, to give the note. Even Goldmann was in ignorance of it, although the scoundrel forced him to pledge your name as security for the debt. I only learned this a few days ago, and would have come to you at once if I could have handed you the money. May I ask you for the note now ?’ The old gentleman’s words had completely confused Dora ; she did not understand them at once. •I have destroyed it,’ she replied. 'Heavens, you ought not to have done that, madam !’ •As 1 paid the amount, the note was mine.’ • By no means, for it was not Dornberg who had to repay that loan, but my son.’ • Your son ?’ • To be sure ; but I forgot that you know nothing about that. My son was in great trouble on that day. For the first, and I am quite sure for the last, time in his life, he had been induced to gamble, and he did not dare confess his fault to me. If he had not paid that debt of honour by a certain time, he would have been obliged to resign, and if he had gone to a money lender he would have had to submit to conditions which might have poisoned his whole life. In his distress he applied to Gustav, and the noble fellow helped him and pledged his word that neither I nor anyone should ever learn anything about the matter.’ ‘Oh, that alters everything !’ cried Dora, with a long sigh of relief. • He would certainly not have pledged your name if Goldmann had not made his doing so a condition, and you are now aware that he did not do it frivolously, but from unselfish friendship.’ • I repeat that alters everything,’ replied

Dora, holding her hand to her heart, while a smile lit up her face like sunshine. *lf I had only had a suspicion of this, matters would never have gone so far.’

• He was pledged to secrecy, remember, and even my son did not learn the terms of the no’e. Now you know the truth, my dear madam, and here is the money.’ Dora made a motion as if she would reject the bills which he handed her. but his grave, firm look convinced her that she would offend him deeply by so doing ; she, therefore, took the money without a word. • You will understand that both I and my son naturally wish to have this matter treated with the greatest discretion,’ resumed the colonel, pulling at his long moustache. * And we are particularly desirous of such secrecy for reasons which I am not at liberty to tell you just now. But if the clearing of Gustav’s honour should demand an explanation, we are, of course, willing to give it.* • Would not Gustav’s counsel be the best person co decide about that?' asked Dora. • Y r ou are right ; and, as Doctor Kerner has my fullest confidence, we will leave it to his judgment. But may I ask you, dear madam, not to mention the subject to any one else.’ • Not even to Fannie ?’

• Oh, yes, Fannie is in the secret. 1 referred particularly to the persons whom you see most frequently.’ • And whom you do not trust?* • Not in the least.’

‘ Well, you may be right as far as Ernestine is concerned. She seems to have taken a dislike to my poor friend, and my brother and his family, too, would hardly rejoice in this disclosure. But Herr Sonnenberg is Gustav’s zealous defender. He is taking all possible pains to discover the real culprit.’ • Do you think so?’ asked the colonel, rather sarcastically. ‘ I do not. To me his actions seem only a mask intended to deceive you. I went to Goldman to tell him to his face that he was a scoundrel because he had broken his word and shown the note. Well, a true scoundrel will betray even a friend without a spark of shame, and so Goldmann betrayed to me that Sonnenberg had been the first to discover that promissory note.’ Dora stared at the old gentleman in dismay. She was not prepared for this disclosure, but she at once recognised its bearing.

‘Goldmann told you that?’ she said in astonishment. ‘ Sonnenberg was thetraitor? Then, indeed, the mask he is wearing now is a boundless effrontery.’ • Which, doubtless, has certain aims in view/ replied the colonel gravely. ‘By pretending to be carrying on investigations him s elf, he may wish to prevent your making inquiries, and it is not impossible that he tears those inquiries on his own account.

‘ \ ou don’t suppose that he himself—,’ said Dora in a low tone, casting a cautious glance at the door, behind which Sonnen berg’s voice was then heard. ‘lf there were any foundation for that suspicion—’ ‘ We shall have to drop the matter now, for we cannot exhaust it in a few words,’ the old gentleman interrupted her. ‘ And, moreover, I see that you are going out.’ ‘ Yes, to the opera ; but I would gladly give it up.’ ‘ Herr Sonnenberg is going with you ?' ‘ He asked my permission to do so yesterday. and I consented.’ ‘Then you must not withdraw, of course. He would blame me for it, and at once suspect that I warned you against him. A quarrel with him would hardly be for Gustav’s interest.’ • Do you fear him ?' • Certainly not. my dear madam. But as long as we have no proofs against him, we ought not to give words to any suspicion. I cannot tell what you think of Gustav now. or how you judge him. for you would still be- justified in blaming him for pledging you name ; but you might do him an important service by observing Sonnenberg closely. Fannie suspects the latter to be in league with your companion. She thinks she ha* proofs of it. Y r ou may draw your own conclusions from this supposition.’ • I can hardly believe that,’ replied Dora. ‘ Ernestine’s manner towards him is always cold and distant.’ • That may be a mask, too. In my opinion, Sonnenberg is an adventurer. You must talk it over with Fannie. She would have been here long ago, but I asked her to wait until I had settled this matter of the note.’ • It would be better for me to go to her,’ replied Dora. •At your house we can talk without fear of interruption, and if your suspicions are correct Ernestine ought to remain in ignorance of our interview.’

‘That will be better, indeed. When may we expect you ?’ ‘ To morrow, at eleven.’ • Very well. I will not keep you any longer, now. Then I may rely on your discretion !’ ‘ Quite as much aeon my gratitude !’ • Oblige me by guarding not only your speech, but also your looks, my dear madam. Those people will try hard to discover what I have been telling you. A bad conscience is never at rest—it scents danger everywhere.’ • Don’t be afraid/ she answered, while another sunny smile parsed over her face. * I can do or be anything for the sake of him who is dearer to me than all the world beside, now that I know how noble he is. I am sure he wou'd willingly make as great a sacrifice for me as he made for his friend.' ' You may rely upon that ; Gustav is incapable of any low action. The deuce. Excuse me, I am an old soldier—if 1 knew who had cast this blot on his honest name, I would—but I trust in God, and believe that he will bring the truth to light.’ ‘ That is my earnest hope/ replied Dora, gravely. With this the old gentleman took his leave. Dora closed the door after him ; then she turned and clasped her hands. 'Thank God/ she said, softly, 'that burden is taken from me ! I could shout for joy that I am free to love him once more. But I must be wary. My task now is to ensnare those hypocrites in their own nets. 1 know how I’ll do it : I’ll throw out the bait. I wonder if they will bite !’ She surveyed herself in the mirror, hastily giving a last touch to her toilet, and went to the boudoir, where Sonnenberg and Ernestine were awaiting her. With her eyes sharpened by the co'onel’s warning, it did got escape her notice that as she entered the room, Sonnenberg started slightly and Ernestine turned hastily away. There was no doubt in her mind that* a confidential conversation had been carried on hero in her absence. Sonnenberg, however, was in no wise disconcerted ; he came to meet her with a bow, and asked, in an interested tone : •I suppose the colonel brought you some good news ?’ At the same time Ernestine stole a glance at Dora’s slightly flushed face. You are light !’ replied the latter. * The colonel thinks he has found traces which, if followed up, will lead to the discovery of the real thief.’ • Indeed ? And what are they ?’ ' Unfortunately he was not at liberty to te’l me the particulars,’ continued Dora, while she furtively watched the expression of Sonnenberg’s face, which betrayed no* ther surprise nor dismay, but only incredulity and indifference. ' The colonel seems to look upon his discovery as an important secret as yet.’ • He is old, and old people aro often very childish in their ideas and their actions, observed Ernestine, with a sneer. ' I do not agree with you entirely in that opinion,’ said Sonnenberg, thoughtfully. ' I think it quite possible that the colonel has made some such discovery.’ Was that, too, a feint? Dora watched him closely, but she could find nothing in his face which could lead her to suspect that he did not think as he spoke. •No idea of it !’ cried Ernestine. *lt is very natural that he should think so. Dornberg is his foster-son, and he owes it to his honour to take his part. But I consider it impossible that others should believo such a thing. There is not a link missing in the chain of evidence on which the accusation against Dornberg is founded. We ought really to drop this subject once and for all, Dora. It only throws you into an excite merit which cannot be good for you.’ ' We cannot control our thoughts,’ replied Dora. 'lf Dornberg is innocent, as 1 firmly believe, ho de-erves my pity and my cordial sympathy. ‘ln spite of the promissory note !’ asked her companion ironically. ' Perhaps the colonel has given you some explanation of the matter?' asked Sonnenberg, with apparent indifference. •If he could have done so he would not have waited until now,’ replied Dora, in a similar tone. ' And if 1 still cared very much about it I should go to see Herr Gold mann.’

• By doing that you would onlv lower yourself in that felljw’s eyes,’ warned Ernestine.

‘ And what could ho tel I you ?’ added Sonnenberg, looking at his watch. • Nothing but that Dornberg had received the loan and made out the promissory note.

But if you wish to hear more about it 1 whall be happy to call there to-morrow and —*

‘Do you know him personally ?’ Dora quickly interrupted him. • No, I have not that honour,’ replied Sonnenberg. *1 have no relatione with such people.’ • Then you would not learn anything from him, either, and 1 no longer feel any interest in the matter. Whatever he might tell me would not alter the fact that Gustav made out a promissory note like that/ • That he did so,’ observed Ernestine, • proves that he was not worthy of your love, and you would do best not to think of him any longer.’ • Not to think of him ?’ repeated Dora. ‘That would be impossible.’ • I agree with you,’ rejoined Sonnenberg; 'one cannot forget so quickly. 1 can understand everything else, but not how Dornbergcould prove himselfsounworthy of a love which ought to have made him supremely happy.* At that moment the maid announced the carriage. Sonnenberg hung the opera-cloak over Dora’s shoulders, for which service she thanked him with a captivating smile. Soon after the carriage rolled away with them, and when, a while later, Dora was seated beside Sonnenberg at the opera, she revolved in her mind all that the colonel had communicated to her, as well as the hints which he had thrown out. Many opera glasses were directed toward her. Dora paid no attention to this ; she left it to her companion to return al) inquiring glances, and Ernestine took pleasure in assuming that duty. Now and then Sonnenberg would whisper something to his charming neighbour, and it was evident to her that he did so merely to exhibit, to those who cared to see. his intimate relations with her. She no longer suffered herself to be deceived. Her suspicions were awakened, and Sonnenberg now appeared to her, too, in the light of a fortune hunter who was endeavouring to step into Dornberg’s place. He had denied his acquaintance with Goldman without hesitation. That was a lie ; and that lie could only serve to confirm the colonel’s surmises. What if those surmises were correct. But was it possible or even conceivable that Sonnenberg bad committed that robbery ? She once more recalled to memory all that she had heard on the subject. Sonnenberg was at the Rolands* that evening. He had been seized with the nosebleed and had left the room. Every one thought be had gone home, when he suddenly reappeared just after the dis covery of the theft. Strange that the examining magistrate had attached no importance to this—indeed. had paid no attention to it. Where had Sonnenberg been in the interval? Had he really had the nosebleed, or had that, too, been a lie? Dora resolved to question Clement, the janitor, who knew all the circumstances.

And how about the understanding between Ernestine and Sonnenberg, of which Fannie said she had proofs ? Well, Dora herself had seen enough this very evening to make her suspect a confidential relation between them ; and. if such a league existed, then Ernestine, too, was an impostor, and no longer worthy of her trust.

She took up her opera glass mechanically and turned it upon a lady dressed in grey, who sat in a third tier box opposite her, and who, since the commencement of the performance, had been gazing at her so fixedly that it could not fail to attract attention. The music ceased, the act was at an end. Dora lowered her glass. • Do you know that lady in grey up there?’ she asked Sonnenberg, who was offering her a bonbonniere. He took her glass and turned it in the direction indicated. • I have not the ’pleasure,’ he replied, rather coldly. m dressmaker, probably, who has worked for you, and whom you have forgotten.’ • 1 think not. She seems to be a stranger, an Englishwoman. • Possibly,’ replied Sonnenberg, facetiously. ‘ and in that case your beauty is probably the magnet that attracts her eyes to you.’ • Are you a Batterer, too ?’ she asked in the same tone, helping herself to a bonbon. • 1 was not aware of that.’ • You are mistaken, my dear madam ; I only speak the truth.’ • You are, indeed, looking very handsome to night,’ whispered Ernestine, who sat behind them. • Thanks !’ replied Dora, indifferently. • I can’t understand why that lady should stare at me so incessantly.’ • Unfortunately, we cannot forbid he l ' being so rude,* said Sonnenberg, regretfully. Dora remained silent, but from that time she observed the lady in grey more closely and, a-< her glass was an excellent one, she soon recognised that hatred, anger and other kindred passions were depicted on that sharp, thin face.

Were they directed toward her or towards her escort? She could not remember ever to have seen the lady ; it was, therefore, hardly conceivable that the latter should have any reason to hate her. And if they were directed toward Sonnenberg, what could be his relations with this stranger ?

She conversed with him in order to be able to observe him furtively, but in spite of her watchful glances she could discover nothing which confirmed her suspicions. Sonnenberg remained perfectly calm and unembarrassed. He seemed to be giving hie whole attention to the music. Only once he raised his eyes to the box in which the lady sat, but his glance was cold and indifferent, and the next moment he turned to Dora again with a smile, in order to ask some unimportant question. But Dora did not allow herself to be deceived as easily as he might have thought. She had no doubt but that she was standing face to face with some dark mystery, which Theodor Sonnenberg either did not wish or did not dare to solve for her. If she could only speak to that lady 1 She felt convinced that, in that case, she would gain some information as to Sonnenberg’s past life, and most probably learn something which might give a firm foothold to the colonel’s suspicion. Could it be done ? How could she learn the lady’s name and address ? Dora thought the matter over quite a while, and at last believed she had found a way of accomplishing her end. She knew the box-opener personally ; all that she needed was an opportunity of saying a few words to her in private. Her plan was soon matured ; she would try it; and should it prove unsuccessful no harm would come of it. When the curtain dropped after the second act she asked Sonnenberg to take her to the foyer. Ernestine was about to accompany them, but Dora told her it was unnecessary. She complained of a slight dizziness and took Sonnenberg’s arm. * Pray, allow me to take you to the buffet and offer you a glass of wine,* he said, in a sympathising tone. ‘No, I would rather remain here in the corridor where it is quiet and cool. I shall feel better in a few minutes. But if I might ask a favour of you—’ She hesitated and gave him a look which made his blood flow faster. * You will make mo happy,’ he said, ‘ by expressing any wish that I can fulfil.’ * Might I trouble you to get me a small glass of claret?’ * With the greatest pleasure. But had I not better call your companion ? I shall have to leave you alone—’ ‘No, no,’ she hastily interrupted him. Ernestine’s talk would only make me feel, worse.’ Sonnenberg left her with a bow. Hardly was he out of sight when she quickly approached the box opener, who was standing near by. * Can you keep a secret ?’ she asked, softly. ‘Certainly, madam,’replied the woman. You may trust me entirely.’ ' Well, you will be satisfied with your reward in this case. No one must know of the commission which I am about to give you. Do you understand ? No one 1 Opposite our box, in the third tier, there is a lady whose name and address I wish to learn. Do you think you could ascertain them for me ?’

* Please describe the lady to me, madam.’ * She is young, very thin, with light, reddish hair. She is dressed in grey, with a grey hat and brown veil. One might take her for an Englishwoman.’ ‘That is enough,’ said the woman, with a nod. ‘ I shall find her. May I toll her that some one wants to know her addrose ?’ ‘lf you cannot obtain it in any other way you may do so ; but do not tell her who gave you the order. It is possible that she may make inquiries about me. In that case I give you permission to mention my name and to answer all her questions truthfully as far as I am concerned.’ * It shall be done as you wish, madam. And when may I bring you my answer tomorrow ?’ * Will any hour suit you?’ * I can come at any hour you like.’ •Very well, then. I shall expect you about ten o’clock. Hero is my handkerchief. You will bring it to me under pretences of having found it in the box. You will ask my maid to announce you to me, and will give the handkerchief to no one but me. If my companion should be present, and I cannot send her away without arousing her suspicions, you will not say a word about my commission. You had, therefore, better pin a paper with the name and address to the handkerchief. Have you understood me?' * Perfectly,' said the box-opener, with a comprehensive smile. *I am quite used to such commissions.’ ‘So much the better,’ said Dora. * I depend on you.’ With this she walked slowly away in the

direction from which Sonnenberg would leturn, and found that she wae just in time, for hardly a minute had passed befoie her escort stood befoie her, glass in hand.

Dora welcomed him with a smile and slowly drank the wine. * I am very grateful to you,' ehe said ; * that has lefreshed me wonderfully. Juat give the glass to the box opener ; we will go back now.’ They had hardlyresumed their seats when the last act began. Lohengrin sang hie farewell-song, to which Sonnenberg seemed to listen with delight, while Dora once more raised her eyes to the third-tier box. Still that same face, distorted by the conflict of evil passions I Still that burning look of hate, which rested alternately upon her ami upon Sonnenberg. Involuntarily she thought of the possibility that this person might confront her as she wae leaving the theatre, in order to give free vent to the storm raging within her, regardless of consequences. Who would protect her, in that case, from the hate and fury of ibis passionate woman ? She had not yet found an answer to this question when the curtain fell. Sonnenberg escorted her to the cloak100m and placed her wrap on her shoulders, after which they slowly descended the stairs, surrounded by a jostling crowd. Her fears were not realised ; the lady in giey did not appear. Greatly relieved, Dora entered her carriage. * Will you not ride with us ?’ she asked, as Sonnenberg closed the door. * If you wish it,’ he replied quickly. ‘Oh, no ;we will excuse you ! Till tomorrow, then, and, once more, many thanks, (food night I’ The horses started ; the carriage rolled quickly away. Sonnenberg stood looking after it for a few moments ; then pulling his hat over hie eyes, he followed it, and soon turned into a quieter street. *So she was there, too !' he said to himself, setting his teeth hard. * Another proof that she is resolved to cross my path and have her will. But I cannot and will not go back. I have a horror of the wretched life I should lead with that woman.’

As if inspired by a sudden resolve, he quickened his pace ; and, when he reached the house in which he lived, he stopped. * She’ll come,’be muttered ; * I know her. She never forgets.’ He walked up and down the street, and once, when the cutting night wind blow sharply in his face, he stamped his foot angrily, and turned up the collar of his overcoat. At last he saw her ; she came toward him with hasty steps. * Let us go in,’ she said breathlessly. * Some drunken men are following me.’ * I will see that they do not molest you.’ * And what good will it do if they knocK you down ; they are insolent fellows, who make no account of a human life.' Sonnenberg hesitated. ‘Come then,' he said testily. But ‘I must ask you to keep as quiet as possible until we reach my rooms. 1 have never yet received visitors by night, and would not like to gain the reputation of a roue.' He opened the door noiselessly with his nightkey, and, after they had entered it, closed it in the same manner. It was dark in the hall. They remained for a while standing by the door and heard the drunken fellows staggering past outside, swearing and laughing boisterously. * Give me your hand,’ he whispered ; * I shall have to lead you.’ She did as he told her, without hesitation, and he felt her hand, which was as cold as ice. trembling in his own. A few minutes later they entered his sitting-room. Sonnenberg locked the door and lit the lamp. Mary had remained standing by the door ; now ehe sunk into an armchair, quite exhausted. * Is this the courage of which you boasted last night?’ he asked, with a sneer, as he divested himself of his hat and overcoat and took a seat opposite her. ‘lf I try to get out of the way of a drunken man that does not prove that I have no courage,’ she replied. ‘ You carry a pistol ?’ * I do, and I should not hesitate for a moment to make use of it if my life were in danger; but as long as I can avoid doing so I prefer not to avail myself of this last resort.'

On the table at which they sat stood a bottle of wine and several glasses. Sonnen-

berg tilled one of the latter and drained it hastily. * Shall I fill a glass for you, too ?’ he asked. ‘From that bottle? You may,’ she replied, looking at him with flashing eyes. * A strange answer !’ he sneered. •Is your mistrust of me so great that you are afraid of my poisoning you ?’ * I consider you capable of anything.’ ‘That is very flattering for me.’ *lt is the truth. What I have seen tonight at the theatre can only confirm me in my mistrust.’ ‘Really? Well, you saw me in the company of a very handsome woman, that is all,’ he said, with a contemptuous shrug, while she drank the wine. Mary set down the glass, and the look which ehe now fixed upon him was so full of burning hatred that he was startled. * A young, handsome and rich widow,’ she replied, in a hissing voice. * They said you were engaged to her.’ * A short lime ago she was said to be engaged to another.* * Yes ; a man who committed a crime and is now in prison. Well, she may see her second fiance in prison, too. 1 know your plans now. My suspicions were correct. You intend, by a rich marriage, to secure for yourself the life of ease that you are longing for.’ ’Nonsense,’ he replied. • You seem to have met some sewing-woman in your box who entertained you with all sorts of gossip.* ‘ I know perfectly well to whom I applied for information,’ said she, emphatically. *1 repeat that I know your plans; but I also know that you are married, and 1 shall tell her of it.’ ■ How very amiable of you !’ ho retorted. Her eyes flashed, her face darkened with passion. ‘ I shall do it in order to cross your fine plans,’ ehe said. ‘You seem to think that when we are once divorced in England you can come back here and win your wealthy bride.’

* And if I did think so, why should you object ?’ he asked. * You wanted a divorce yourself.’ ‘Why should I object? Because you have made me miseiable—so miserable that I shall have to bear the burden as long as I live, and because I wish to revenge my-

self on you for that. I shall call on that lady to morrow and tell her about your past ; ehe will hear things of which 1 am quite sure she has no suspicion at present,’ * You will simply make yourself ridiculous,’ replied he, and tl-e calm indifference which he exhibited at the same time did not fail to make an impression on Mary. * Go to her if you like, and tell her everything bad you can think of about me ; she will listen to you, and ask you, in surprise, what your object is in doing so? She noticed, of course, that you stared at her the whole evening, and expressed the opinion that you were probably not quite right in your mind. Well, your abuse of me will only confirm her in that opinion. She can attribute it to nothing but jealousy on your part, which would seem all the more ridiculous to her, because there is not the slightest foundation for it.’ ‘As if I had not seen your lover like glances.'

* Oh, of course. Your mistrust and your jealousy could not fail to sharpen your eyes. You may suppose whatever you like, but I give you my word of honour that that lady has no idea of marrying or even of becoming engaged to any one, for she still loves that fellow in prison.’ * If that were the case, she would not have gone to the theatre with you.’ ■ You are apparently right there, but only apparently. Ido not deny that lam on friendly terms with the lady and her connections, and what right have you to reproach me for accompanying a lady who is a friend of mine to the theatre and conversing with her? If I had thought that I was wronging you by so doing 1 should have avoided it, for I could suppose that you would be at the theatre this evening for the purpose of wa’ching my movements. I had tod you that 1 was going there. And now enough has been said about thia childish nonsense. We will start for London to mot row.’ *1 shall go the day after,’ replied Mary, resolutely. Sonnenberg had refilled the glasses. Ho drew his hand over hie beard and said, with a mocking smile : ‘ You wanted to start yesterday.' * But I have changed my mind t, - lay, for I intend to have an interview with your friend before I go.’

• And expose yourself to ridicule unnecessarily ? Don’t be a child, Mary.* • I want her to know that I shall not consent to a divorce.' ' Indeed I I am glad to hear it.* She stared at him and mechanically took up the full glass. ‘You are clad to hear it?' she asked, incredulously. •Certainly,’ ho replied ‘ Was it 1 who proposed a divorce, or was it you ? I intended to remain here only a short time longer, to reap what 1 had sowed. And that harvest you would have shared with me. Of course, that is out of the question now, since you have placed yourself in opposition to me. It is impossible for me to carry out my plans under these circumstances.’ Her eyes were still fixed upon him, full of doubt. Ho had spoken so calmly, just as if ho were expressing hie inmost conviction. ‘Then you would be willing to give up those plans?' she asked. ‘Can I do otherwise? You force me to it.’ • And how do you intend we shall live together in future?’ • 1 have not thought of that yet : it will be a wretched existence. But, come what may, I shall do my duty.’ ‘ You have not done it so far.’ • You cannot judge of that so long as you do not know the plans which I have been pursuing here.’ • Which, as you say yourself, you are not at liberty to explain to me.’ • I may be able to do so after a while,’ he replied, as he filled the glasses once more, anil cast a furtive glance at Mary’s face. ‘ You will see then that all your suspicions were entirely false, and that you have done me great injustice.’ ‘lf I could only believe you !’ she said thoughtfully. ‘ Will you start with me to morrow ?’ ‘ No, the day after.’ • So you still adhere to your purpose ?’ • Your question convinces me that you do not like that purpose,’ she answered, resuming her former irritated tone. • Well. I will give it up if you will introduce me to the young widow to-morrow as your wife. As you are on friendly terms with her, you will have no difficulty in finding a suitable opportunity.' Sonnenberg had at first contracted his brows at this proposition, but he soon regained his composure. • You obstinacy is childish,’ he replied. ■ There is no object—’ • I wish to make the lady’s acquaintance,’ she interrupted him. • And if I refuse to introduce you to her ?’ ‘ Then I shall call on her to-morrow. So you may do as you like. I shall not leave until I have spoken to the widow. Things will have to be very dilierent before I can trust you again. 1 cannot guess what you intend to do. You may change your mind again after we have reached London. I want to make sure of the future in any case. Nothing in the world can make me doubt what 1 have seen with my own eyes, and I consider it my duty to warn that lady against you.’ • What nonsense I’ • On the contrary, John, it is the truth, which cannot be denied. I also wish to learn, to-morrow, which of your names you have a right to. If you have married me under a false name you shall rue it.’ Sonnenberg had for some time been pacing testlessly to and fro. He now stopped before hie wife's chair, and said, carelessly : ‘You are tormenting yourself unnecessarily. If 1 have appeared here under a false name, I had my special reasons for so doing, which, however, are entirely different from what you suppose them to be. 1 will prove to you that you are wrong by introducing you to the lady to morrow. Are you satisfied ?' • Very well,’said Mary; ‘and how is it to be done ?’ • I will call for you about noon and take you to her house. I must insist, however, upon your not embarrassing me by mentioning the name of Brighton.’ ‘ Well, I consent. I will yield to you in that particular as well.’ • And now I think it is time for you to return to your hotel,’ continued Sonnenberg, consulting his watch. ‘ Did you go there after the theatre?’ ■ No !’ she replied, rising from her chair. •Then you have had no supper? You will hardly get anything at the hotel at this late hour. Those third-class houses close early—’ •It does not matter,' she interrupted him bitterly, as she drew her grey cloak around her. • Hunger doos not trouble me now that I have become used to it. Your wine is heavy, it has pone to my head.’ •That is because your stomach is empty,' he replied. • 1 know of a restaurant which will be open now, let us go there ’ • 1 thought you did not wish to be seen in my company here ?' • Now that I have decided to leave this place with you, such precautions aro no longer necessary. And when you have had

a good supper, you will look at our affairs in a more conciliatory spirit,* he added, buttoning his overcoat. * Have the goodness to follow me on tiptoe and not utter a sound as long as we are in the house. It would be extremely disagreeable for me to be asked tomorrow —*

‘ Make your mind easy ; I will not get you into trouble. Though it seems very strange that a wife should be obliged to steal out of her husband's house so secretly ; but—’ * The fault lies in the circumstances. When we are in our garret once more we shall be able to come and go as we like. Nothing else will satisfy you.’ * No. because I am determined not to be deceived by you any longer.’ ‘ And consequently you deceive yourself.’

'No matter. Want, care and misery have grown indifferent to me; all 1 demand is that you should share them with me in the future, for it is to you alone that I owe them. Ido not need your escort, however.’

‘ Have you forgotten those drunken fellows ?’

• Well, then, come ; I accept your olfer with thanks.’ He opened the door and led her down the stairs, and according to her promise she took pains to avoid making the slightest sound. Thue they left the house. He locked the street-door noiselessly, and offered her his arm, which she took ; then they walked away in silence. CHAPTER IX. THE LADY IN GKF.Y. Frau Winkler was still at breakfast when the box opener was announced, and soon after entered the room with the handkerchief in her hand. As Dora had anticipated, Ernestine was present The former requested her companion to get some change from the kitchen as she had nothing but gold pieces in her purse. ‘ Only one question,’ she said in a low voice, when Ernestine, after some hesitation, had left. * Is the address in the handkerchief ?' The woman nodded. • She gave it to me herself,’ she replied. Dora hastily landed her a gold piece, which she had scarcely pocketed when Ernestine returned and laid some loose silver on the table. ‘ Please give her the money,’ said Dora carelessly. • Thank you, my good woman. 1 am glad you are so honest.’ • Honesty is the best policy, ma’anc,’ replied the box-opener, demurely. ‘ I have tried to be honest all my life.’ ‘ I'm glad to hear it,' said Dora, dismissing her with a wave of the hand. ‘Continue in the same way. Good-bye.’ ‘ I have some errands to do this morning,’ she went on when the woman had left. ‘ I ought to have gone to the jeweller’s and to have seen about my new drees long ago ; but, with all these troubles, I have not felt in the mood for it.’ • I have told you again and again that you ought to rise above these things,’ replied Ernestine, whose grey eyes expressed unmistakable mistrust. • They only excite you, and vour depression lowers you in the eyes of others. I am very glad that you showed yourself at the opera last night. If I were you I would go often now, and also subscribe to the Philharmonic concerts.’ • And do you expect Herr Sonnenberg to be my escort on all such occasions?' asked Dora, with a quick, searching glance at Ernestine's thin face. 1 No, I was not thinking of that; but, if it wete the case, nobody would object to it.’ ‘ Would not those others, to whose opinion you wish me to defer, make comments upon it.’ ‘ Comments ? At the utmost they might suppose that you were engaged to him, and that is not a supposition that ought to vex you, for Herr Sonnenberg is a handsome and agreeable man and a thorough gentleman,’ Well, well, you are taking hie part very earnestly. I always fancied that you were not a very good friend of his.’ 4 He is no more to me than any other man and if I praise him, 1 only speak the truth. And, altogether, I am only thinking of your welfare, which, as you must know, I have very much at heart.' ‘ I think I can manage to take care of it myself,’ replied Dora, rising. • I hope Herr Sonnenberg will have sufficient sense not to cherish any hopes of the fulfilment of which he cannot be sure.* • W ell, most mon are inclined to cherish such hopes, and we cannot forbid their doing so,’ remarked Ernestine, with a smile. ‘ Herr Sonnenberg has not confided his thought on the subject to me, but I should not find it unnatural if he had considered the possibility of his supplying to you the place of a man who has proved himself unworthy of your love. I hardly think, however, that he will ever broach the matter to you ' 4 In that case it is quite superfluous to

discuss such a possibility,’ rejoined Dora. * He might receive an answer to his question which would not please him. But I must gn now, or I shall not get through before dinner.’ * Shall 1 go with you ?’ ‘ No, it is unnecessary, as I shall make no purchases for which I need your advice. Be so good as to have the rooms thoroughly aired and dusted while I am gone. Our old Katherine has grown very careless of late and needs stirring up a li.tle. Well, I can safely leave that to you.’ * If you do not mind the war which will follow such a stirring-up. We shall see nothing but cross looks for a week.* * We are quite used to that, you know ; and if we don’t want to see a cross face we can look bevond it,* said Dora, serenely. * We all of us have to do our duty, whether we are masters or servants." With this she left the room to prepare for her outing. She did not see the spite ful look which Ernestine sent after her. *1 belong to the servants too, I suppose,’ muttered the latter, as she gathered up the breakfast-dishes ; 4 did she mean to remind me of that. Heaven knows what has suddenly got into her head. I can’t help thinking, after all, that the colonel has done us some ill turn. 1 must be on my guard. Be they ever so wise they shall not spoil this game for me.' Dora reappeared, dressed for the street. The happy smile with which she had left the room still hovered around her rosy lips, and gave her lovely face an animated, arch expression. 4 lf Sonnenberg should call he will have to wait till I return,* she said. *1 hope you will have the kindness to entertain him till then.’ ‘Gladly, if he will be satisfied with my company,’ replied Ernestine. * Shall I send for a cab ?’ * Oh, no ; I should have to wait too long. I may find one on the way if I need it. Good-by.’

With these words eha nodded pleasantly to her companion and left tho room. ‘ If the only knew .where I am going, she eaid to herself, as she left the house. * Intrigue against intrigue ; we’ll see who carries off the victory in this contest.*

With rapid steps she took the way to Colonel von Wartenfel’e residence, where she found herself impatiently expected. Fannie hastened to meet her, and Dora held her in a long embrace. *1 may allow myself to love him again. Do you know what that means?’ she cried. * 1 am so glad, so happy, that no words can express it. I would like to shout for joy and yet I have to I'.ck up all my rapture in my heart.’ * Patience 1’ replied Fannie, with a low sigh. ‘All is still dark before us, but let us hope that the dawn is not far off, and that light will soon break in upon us. If Gustav could have spoken and enlightened you as to'lihe promissory note you would not have broken your engagement, nor would he have gone to Roland's that night, or thought of leaving town.’

* An unfortunate chain of accidental circumstances, which all seemed to testify against him,' said Duia, as they seated themselves. ‘We will not despair, however, my dear child. On the contrary, these difficulties ought to increase our courage and our perseverance. And now tell me what you suspect, what you have discovered and what you have done in the matter.* Fannie at once enumerated all the grounds for suspicion against Sonnenberg. She spoke of the confidential interview between him and Ernestine which she had witnessed, and ended by repeating the conversation which she and her uncle had held with D.ictor Kerner with regard to these matters. And then Dora told her about the lady in grey and her strange conduct at tho opera, and finally showed her the paper

given her by the box opener, on which was written in large, plain characters : Mrs Mary Brighton, From London. Black Eagle Hotel. During tho interview and before Dora had commenced her report, the old colonel entered tho room. He was about to place his pipe in a corner ; but Dora, smiling, signed to him not to incommode himself on her account, and be therefore took a seat and went on smoking in silence, now and then showing by a look or a nod, that he was listening with undivided attention. * And you cannot remember ever to have ?eei> the lady before?' be asked, when Dora ceased. ‘No, she was an entire stranger to me, and I am sure she could not have known me either.’ * It seems probable, therefore, that her strange stare was directed at Sonnenberg ?’ * 1 must suppose so, in spite of the indif lerence with which he denied any acquaintance with her.’ ‘The deuce! That might lead to an important discovery.’ * Don’t be too sure, uncle dear,’ said Fannie, doubtfully ; *it may amount to very little. That lady may be a former sweetheart of Sonnenberg’s whom he has deserted ; but what could we learn from her, even if that were the case?' * Possibly more than you think, replied Dora, confidently. *A woman who has been deserted by a man generally thirsts for revenge, and such a sentiment might ailord us a deep insight into Sonnenberg’s past life. Much depends upon our learning something on that subject, on our discovering something which we can follow up.’ •Of course,' said the colonel. *lf we can prove to Judge Hartmann that Sonnenberg is an adventurer with a doubtful record, we shall have gained a great deal. Once the probability of a suspicion is estab lished, that suspicion itself will follow. I have not been idle in the meantime,’ he continued, enveloping himse f in thick clouds of smoke. * I have investigated in all directions, and last night I discovered a gentleman who was pre-ent at the wedding entertainment at Roland’s. After dinner some of the guests were taking their coffee in Frau Roland’s boudoir, and among those present were Sonnenberg, Roland and the man in question. On this occasion Roland told his guests that he had an unusually large sum of money in his safe, and, in the course of the conversation, he a'so mentioned that there was a third key to the safe in the drawer of his writing desk.' * Ah, that is important, very important,’ cried Fannie, with sparkling eyes. ‘ Did the gentleman attach any suspicion to that circumstance ?’ ‘ No,’ replied the colonel. ‘ I suppose he did not venture to express any, and such a possibility may not even have occuried to him at all. You know everyone thinks that the thief has been discovered.’ ‘Then we had better inform Judge Hartmann of that incident.’ * And accuse Sonnenberg in doing so ?’ asked Dora, thoughtfully. ‘ What proofs can you give for such an accusation ? None whatever. And mere surmises, my dear, are not valid in law.’ * Then we must tell Doctor Kerner of it,’ replied Fannie, quite impatiently. ‘ I did so last evening,’ said the colonel. ‘ The doctor admits that this discovery may be of importance, but he warns us not to be over hasty.’ ‘ And I agree with him,’ observed Dora, gravely. ‘lf your surmises are correct, Fannie, Sonnenberg is a very dangerous character, and in that case we may consider him capable of anything. We must be extremely cautious. We ought not to speak until we have certain proofs.’ * I feel that you are right; but, at the same time we cannot help wishing to speedily liberate Gustav.* *lf that were in our power it should be done this very day,’ replied tho colonel ; ‘ but it can't be made short work of. Frau Winkler is right. We may expect the worst from a fe low like Sonnenberg. If he should scent danger he would be off in a trice ; and once he is gone there’ll be an end to all investigations, and we may be sure of Gustav’s conviction. That is the danger which we must avoid above everything. Madam, may Ibe allowed to ask an indiscreet question ?’ * Certainly,’ Dora answered, looking at him expectantly. * Has Sonnenberg ever said anything to you which might imply that he has designs upon your hand ?’ ‘ No.’ * But you think he has then !' ' Yes. I have thought so since this morning when Ernestine hinted at the possibility of my becoming engaged to him.’ ' Well and good ; that shows pretty plainly that be has confided his plane to your companion and secured her assist-

ance for their execution. You will not deny that ?' * By no means, my dear sir.’

The old gentleman nodded, well satisfied. He paced to and fro slowly ; the expression of his face grew more and more calm and serene.

* Then we have the means of keeping him here,' he said. *lt may be disagreeable to you, my dear madam, but if you have forgiven my dear boy, you will, I am sure, be willing to make this sacrifice. You must allow Sonnenberg to believe that there is a possibility of his wishes being fulfilled; indeed, it would even be expedient for you to encourage him in that belief.’

‘That will be a hard task,' replied Dora, in a low voice, while her delicately-penciled eyebrows were slightly contracted ; * but if it is abso'utely necessary I will undertake it.’

* I will merely direct your attention to the fact that Sonnenberg will probably leave town immediately if he finds that he cannot gain his end. If you once convince him of that, and you might de so by some thoughtless remark, nothing will keep him here, and he will no longer delay to make sure of his booty.’ * Yes, you are right,’ said Dora, and her mouth assumed a resolute expression : * it must be done ; he must be kept here until we have succeeded in finding proofs against h.m. Well, you may leave that to me; words and glances cost nothing, and women, you know, are adepts in the art of dissimulation.’

'You will have to practice the same dissimulation toward your companion.’ ‘ I do not forget that, but I shall have no mercy on her when the day of reckoning comes.’ ‘ Bravo 1’ exclaimed the colonel. *So that is all settled. You will delude Sonnenberg so as to keep him here and watch him and Frau Hennig; while we, Fannie, Doctor Kerner and I, will seek for proofs. If we have anything to communicate to one another, we will meet here. At your house, inadam, there would be danger of our being overheard, and then all would be lost. I don't know but that we ought to inform Roland of our suspicion. He must, of course, be very anxious to recover tho whole amount stolen, and for that reason, perhaps—’ * No, let us not do that 1’ Dora quickly interrupted him. ‘Sonnenberg certainly pretends to be very indignant at my connections, but I think he dissembles in that, too, and I even suspect that they wish me to marry him.’ * Well, then, we will leave that hornet's nest alone. Does your brother agree with them ?’ ‘The councillor?’ asked Dora, disdainfully. *He does nothing but dance to hie mother-in-iaw’s fiddle ; we cannot count upon his help. No, colonel : in my opinion there are enough persons in the secret now, and the only one whom it might be well to add to their number would be a skilful official of the criminal police. Fannie, will you be so good as to send for a cab, and get yourself ready to go out with me ? I should like to have you accompany me to the Black Eagle.’ * But do you think it quite prudent to look up that lady there ?’ ‘Why not? I suppose I may ask her why she stared at me so last night? I should not be afraid to do so even in .Sonnenberg’s presence.’ ‘I don’t see any risk in your going there,' said the colonel ; • and if the lady has reasons for hating Sonnenberg she will not betray your visit.’ Fannie hastily left the room and the old gentleman resumed his walk. ‘ We have spoken to Doctor Kerner about a detective,’ he said, * but he does not quite enter into the idea, and prefers, for the present, to make inquiries with regaid to Sonnenberg’s antecedents as well as his present circumstances.’ ‘ I hope confidently that we shall find out something now. The lady’s face so evidently expressed the deepest hatred.’ •Which possibly was merely caused by jealousy.’ * That may be ; but it is just on that jealousy that I build my firmest hopes. If we can find only one spot on Sonnenberg’s past record, and furnish convincing proof that he is an adventurer, we shall have gained a great deal. Don’t you think so?’ ‘Well, we cannot tell,' replied the ol I gentleman. *As I said before, if the fellow smells powder he will be oft, never to return, and then nothing can be proved against him. So we cannot be cautious enough.’ * 1 shall do my part, you may be sure,’ said Dora, rising. *I am ready to make any sacrifice, however great, in order to restore liberty and honor to my beloved Gustav and thus regain my own happiness.’ At this moment Fannie entered the 100 m in her hat and cloak ; the cab was already at the door. The colonel would gladly have accompanied the ladies, but he yielded gracefully to Dora’s objection that an escort was unnecessary. Tiio cab rolled away. Tbe noise In the

streets and the rattling of the wheels made a conversation impossible. The Black Eagle was soon reached. It was situated on a quiet stieet and, although a third-class hotel, was well frequented, owing to its excellent accommodations and table.

As the cab drew up before the house the head waiter rushed from the dining-room, hie napkin hanging gracefully over his arm, and received the ladies with a low bow. * We have a fine room, with two beds, on the first floor,’ he said, with a questioning glance. ‘ Pray do not trouble yourself,’ said Dora, pleasantly. *We merely came to call on a lady.' * Oh, excuse me, madam. May I ask the name of the lady you wish to see?’ ‘Mrs Brighton, from London.’ The head waiter rut bed his smoothly shaven chin with hie chubby hand, and looked at the ladies with an embarrassed air. * Mrs Mary Brighton, from London ?’ he repeated. Are you well acquainted with the lady, madam ?’ * May I ask you to explain your object in asking that question ?’ * Well, no one can blame us for wanting to know what has become of guests who take French leave.’ ‘ You do not mean to say—’ ‘ That Mrs Brighton has left without saying good-bye ? Yes. that is what lam forced to think. But will not the ladies come into the house? There is a strong draught here. We are used to it, but you might catch cold.’ He opened the door of the dining-room as he spoke, and Dora and Fannie entered.

The bead waiter led them to a corner and provided them with chairs. ‘You do not seem to have any other explanation for her disappearance either, ladies?’ he went on. ‘lean hardly think anything has happened to her, although I must admit that there is such a possibility. Mrs Brighton ordered the porter to get her a ticket for the opera for last night.’ ‘ For a seat in a third tier box ?’ asked Dora, impatiently. ‘That may bo. The porter will know. After dinner yesterday she asked for her bill and paid it, but said nothing about leaving—not even when she got jnto the cab to go to the theatre. ‘ That is very strange,’ observed Dora, with increasing concern. * Had she no luggage ?’ * Good gracious ! Luggage ?’ asked the fat little man, passing his hands over his short, bristling hair. • No, madam, not to speak of. An empty valise, a nightgown, a comb, and a toothbrush—that is all there is upstairs.’ * But she would not be likely to have left those articles behind her if she had gone away,' replied Dora. * Particularly as she had paid what she owed here.’ * That is so,’ he replied briskly ; ‘ but she may have had other reasons for decamping.’ *Gr she may return in the course of the day.’ ‘ That is quite possible. Would you like me to let you know in that case ?’ ‘ Yes, 1 should, but—’ Dora stopped ; her eye fell upon a police officer who had just entered the room and was approaching them with rapid steps. ‘I suppose you are the landlord or the head-waiter of this hotel?’ he said to the little man, who hastily threw his napkin over his shoulder. * The head-waiter, at your service,’ he replied, with u searching look at a short, slight gentleman, who stood behind the officer with his hands in his pockets, and returned the waiter’s questioning glance with a good-natured smile. ‘ What can 1 do for you, sir?’ ‘Do you know this card ?’ asked the officer, handing him a damp slip of paper, the writing of which was almost obliterated. * It is one of your billheads, but there is no name on it ; the date and number of the room are illegible.’

The head-waiter stared at the paper for a while, and then went to his desk to consult the ledger. * May 1 ask where you found this paper?’ he said.

* It was found io the pocket of a dead lady who was taken from the river a while ago,’ was the rather blunt answer. ‘Good God, Mrs Brighton!' exclaimed the head waiter, with arched eyebrows, turning to Dora, who had grown deadly pale. ‘ You know I said, madam, that she might have met with an accident, but I did not think of anything like this •' * Please describe the lady to me,' said the officer, opening hie notebook. ‘ She was thin, plain - featured, had reddish hair, and was dressed in grey.’ ‘ Correct. What did you say her name was ?’

Mrs Mary Brighton, from London,’ replied Dora, although the question had not been addressed to her, but to the head waiter.

* You were a friend of the lady's, madam ?’ ‘ Not at all. ’ 'Or acquainted with her?’ ‘ Not even that. I came here to make her acquaintance.’ ‘ For particular reasons ?’ ‘ For the simple reason that the lady attracted my attention last evening at the opera,’replied Dora. ‘ She sat opposite me in an upper box and hardly took her eyes off me ; that struck me as very singular, and, consequently, 1 resolved to call on Ireland ask what was her object in staring at me so.‘ ‘A strange reason, don’t you think so?’ said the officer, turning to the thin, elderly gentleman, who stood behind him. ‘l?’ replied the latter. ‘What have I to do with this affair ?’ As he said this, his clean - shaven extremely good natured face still retained its pleasant smile und he calmly drew from his pocket a very plain snuff-box, from which he helped himself. ‘lt is a reason which is easy to understand,' rejoined Dora, without c mcealing her displeasure at the doubt implied. *1 asked the box opener to obtain tho lady’s address for me. She gave it to me this morning, and when I came here I heard that the lady had not yet returned.’ * Have you any information to give 011 the subject ?’ continued the officer, once more addressing the head waiter, who was turning over the leaves of the ledger. * Did you notice anything unusual in the lady ?’ * Not that I know of,’ was the answer. ‘ When did she arrive ?’ ‘ Day before yesterday, after dinner.’ ‘ Did she mention the object of her coming ?’ * No, for we did not ask her. We are not inquisitive here. At our hotel every guest can live as he likes.’ * Did she ask after the address of any person residing here on whom she intended to call ? Or did she have any visitors ?' * Neither. Nobody came to see her, and she only went out twice, both times in the evening. Night before last she was probably also at some theatre, for she did not return till after midnight.’ • Alone?’ * Alone and on foot. Such things are not surprising in a travelling Englishwoman ?’ ‘And did she not go out at any other time ?’ • No ; she spent the whole of yesterday in her room,’ • Writing letters ?’ • Possibly ; I cannot tell.' • Did she have any money ; the officer continued. ‘ Much luggage, or any jewellry ?’ • She must have had money, for she asked for her bill and paid it yesterday noon. I saw no heavy luggage nor any jewellry. We have rarely had a lady here with so little luggage as this one. It is all in her room upstairs. You can see for yourself?' • I will, later on. So she wore no jewellry, either ?'

* Not as far as 1 know,' replied the bead waiter, raising his eyebrows. ‘ But you a«k as if you suspected some crime. I hope the poor lady has not met with foul play ?' At this question Dim and Fannie also looked at the officer in anxious expectation. He shrugged his shoulders evasively. ‘Nothing can be determined about that yet,' he sail. ‘There must be a potmortem examination first. It may prove to be a case of suicide. One of your servants had better go back with me to identify the body.’ ‘The porter can go. He knew the lady.’ ‘Very well. Then you know nothing from which it might be inferred that the lady took her own life?’ * Nothing whatever.’ * And no letter was found in her room ?’ ' I am sure the chambermaid would have given it to me.’ * Well, wo will go and look,’ said the officer, proceeding toward the door, and the head water followed him without delay. The ladies and the kindly old gentleman remained alone in the dining-room. ‘An everyday occurrence!’ remarked the latter. * Do you think so?' asked Dora, aroused from her reflections. ‘ Probably a case of disappointed love. Good heavens I What follies love causes people to commit I’ 'You may be right,’ was Dora’s rejoinder, while the old gentleman once more took his snuff-box and twirled it between hie fingers, ‘ She may have come here to look for a faithless lover and may not have found him.’ ‘ Or, perhaps, she saw him in your company, madam.' ‘ From what do you infer that?’ ‘From the strange manner in which you say she stared at you.* * 1 am a widow, sir.’ * That does not affect the probability of my supposition.’ ‘ Well, perhaps I attach too much importance to that staring,’ continued Dora, who did not wish to mention Sonnenberg's name. 'She may have done it uninten tionally while she was thinking of suicide.’Just then the officer and tho head waiter returned. They had found nothing in Mrs Brighton’s room which could throw any light on the matter in qu-stion. Dora and Fannie re entered their cab just as the officer, with the porter, left the hotel for tho purpose of having the body identified. Noone hid thought of inquiring for the names of the ladies. * What do you say now ?' asked Fannie, sadly, as they drove away rapidly. Dora looked thoughtfully out of the window. The quivering of her firmlyclosed lips betokened her inward agitation. ‘What should Isay?’ she replied. ‘lt is quite possible that the old gentleman is right, and that disappointed love drove the poor woman to her death. It may be that she was Sonnenberg's mistress, and that when she saw mo with him last night she thought all was lost for her.’ ‘ln such a case, however, hate asserts its rights and demands satisfaction. The woman would certainly have enlightened you as to Sonnenberg’s character in order to revenge herself on him, before taking such a step.' * That, too, is merely a supposition, Fannie. At such times of utter despair no one reflects long ; life has suddenly become a burden, and the wish to cast it off overcomes every other feeling.’ * And if a crime bas been committed ?' Dora looked up in horror. * Must it necessarily have been he who committed it?' she asked. * Do you consider that impossible ?' ‘ 1 beg of you, Fannie, let us not discuss this subject any farther, at least not now. Tnere is no reason for oi<r doing so, before we know whether the poor woman committed suicide or was murdered.* * And I cannot help telling you that 1 suspect the latter to be the case,’ replied Fannie with convincing confidence. ‘The police officer’s questions seemed to point to that.’ * And if so, I repeat, need it have been Sonnenberg who did it? Cannot the lady have had other acquaintances here whom she met after the opera ? Is it not possible that she was attacked by thieves on her way home, who killed her in order to rob her? If Sonnenberg had known her, would he not have called on her at the hotel ?' * They may have met alter leaving the theatre.* * And you really think Sonnenberg would have at once resorted to this horrible means of ridding himself of her?' * We cannot tell with what she may have threatened him. In the mind of such a man resolutions are quickly formed and as quickly carried out ' Dora remained lost in thought for a long while, and looked out into the street deep in silence. * You may be right,' she said at last. * At any rate we must await the result of

the po»t mortem examination, and if that proves that a crime has been committed, the authorities will take the matter in hand. Wo can do nothing.’ • Have you already forgotten our suspicion of Sonnenberg ?' asked Fannie, reproachfully. * Are all investigations to cease now ?’ • By no means ; but, above all, let us remember the colonel’s very wise warning. You can seek for proofs in secrot; I cannot do so. Ernestine’s keen eyes are watching me constantly, and it may be that just now only a very trifling occasion is needed to induce Sonnenberg to leave town at once. How horrible if ho were really a murderer, and I had to receive him, nevertheless, as a welcome friend. And yet it must be done. And I shall even have to be doubly agreeable and attentive to him in order to dispel any doubts on his part and to encourage his hopes.’ • That will certainly be a difficult task.’ ‘Not so much difficult as disagreeable ; but I shall accomplish it. I do not suppose that we can keep our inquiries about Mrs Brighton secret ; it is not improbable that I may be involved in the investigation which must take place, and so it seems beet that I should speak openly of the matter, without connecting any surmises with it. Sonnenberg cannot find anything surprising in my going to see Mrs Brighton, and I shall take the opportunity to watch him closely and see what impression the news makes on him.’ • Yes, indeed,’ replied Fannie, with animation ; ‘and the result of your observations may furnish us with a new clue. Of course, I cannot keep this event a secret from uncle either : he will ask me what we have found out.’ ‘ Why should you keep it secret ? Just talk to him unreservedly about it. He will agree with me that we ought to exercise the utmost caution in this matter, as well as in others. Here we are at your house. Please tell the driver where to take me. I’ll see you soon again, dear. Don’t lose courage ; all may come right yet.’ • Let us hope so,' said Fannie, returning the pressure of Dora's hand. • When may I expect you ?’ • As soon as 1 have learned anything new. I dare not come too often. You know I have always taken Ernestine with me until now. She will think it strange if Igo out without her. If you have anything to tell me, just drop me a line and I will come to you. Remember me to the colonel and keep up a stout heart.’ ( 7’o be f ontinued.)