I had not gone many paces when an arm was thrust into mine, and a hearty chuckling laugh at the surprise rang in my ear. I turned: it was Mr. Paul Booney, taking his morning's promenade of Paris, and now on his way home with an enormous bouquet for Madame, which she had taught him to present to her each day on her appearing in the drawing-room.

'Ah, Captain, the very man I wanted! We haven't had a moment to ourselves since your arrival. You must come and take a bit of dinner with us to-day—thank Heaven, we've no company! I have a leg of pork, smuggled into the house as if it was a bale of goods from Alexandria; nobody knows of it but myself and Tim.'

'Tim! why, have you brought Tim to Paris?'

'Hush!' said he in a low, cautious voice; 'I 'd be ruined entirely if Madame was to find him out. Tim is dressed like a Tartar, and stands in the hall; and Mrs. Rooney believes that he never heard of a civil bill in his life. But here we are.'

So saying, he opened a small wicket with a latchkey, and led me into a large and well-trimmed garden, across which we walked at a rapid pace, Paul speculating from the closed shutters of his wife's room that he needed not have hurried home so fast.

'She's not down yet—one o'clock as I'm a sinner! Come along and sit down in the library; I'll join you presently.'

Scarcely had Paul left the room when I began to think over the awkwardness of my position should I meet Miss Bellew. What course to follow under the circumstances I knew not; when just at the moment the door opened, and she entered. Not perceiving me, as I stood in a deep window-recess, she drew a chair to the fire and sat down. I hardly ventured to breathe. I felt like one who had no right to obtrude himself there, and had become, as it were, a spy upon her. A long-drawn breath burst from me; she started up. I moved slightly forward, and stood before her. She leaned her hand upon the arm of the chair for support; her cheek grew deadly pale, and a tremulous quiver shook her lip.

'Mr. Hinton,' she began; and then as if the very sound of her voice had terrified her, she paused. 'Mr. Hinton,' resumed she, 'I am sure—nay, I know—if you were aware of the reasons of my conduct towards you, you would not only acquit me of all blame, but spare me the pain of our ever meeting again.'

'I know them—I do know them,' said I passionately. 'I have been slandered.'

'No, you do not, cannot know what I mean,' interrupted she. 'It is a secret between my own heart and one who is now no more.'