sings Scott.”

“Your wish shall be gratified.”

“When?”

At this moment Mr. Hawthorne entered the room, carrying in his hand two telegrams.

“Startling news!” he exclaimed.

“What is it, papa?” asked his daughter somewhat affrightedly.

“Nothing alarming, my dear.” Turning to me, “Your county member is dead.”

“Dead?” I cried.

“Dropped dead on the steps of the Carlton Club.”

“Is it Mr. Bromly de Ruthven?”