"I will," answered Mr. Henry. "Is that you, Miss Rose?"
"She ran after me, naughty child! I am taking her home for punishment," returned Miss Brabazon, in a tone between jest and anger. "Good-night."
They parted. Raymond Trace was hastening after Mr. Henry, when he found his arm detained by his father in a firm grasp. "Let me go," whispered Raymond. "That's Mr. Henry. I can fall into conversation with him more naturally as we walk along, than if I made a formal call at his rooms."
"Who do you say it is?" breathed Mr. Trace.
"The German master, Mr. Henry."
"You are mistaken, Raymond; the moonlight is deceiving you. It is some years since I saw that young man's face, but I should recollect it amidst a thousand."
Trace stared. "My dear father, I assure you it is Mr. Henry. I ought to know him; I take my lessons from him daily."
"Do you! It is Arthur Paradyne."
"Who?" almost shouted Trace.
"Arthur Paradyne; the eldest son. In the summer preceding the crash at Liverpool, business called me to Heidelberg. I took a letter of introduction to young Paradyne from his father; he was then a junior master in the university, and I saw him often. He used to act as my interpreter."