the third volume of a very interesting novel, and
had most unwillingly laid down her book at the young dressmaker's
unseasonable request. Like many other stout people, Miss Mewlstone was
more addicted to passivity than activity after her luncheon; and,
being a creature of habit, this departure from her usual rules
flurried her.

"Dear, dear! to think of your wanting to try on that French merino
again!" she observed; "and the other dress fitted so beautifully, and
no trouble at all. And there has Miss Middleton being calling just
now, and saying they are expecting her brother Hammond home from India
in November; and it is getting towards the end of September now. I
was finishing my book, but I could not help listening to her,--she has
such a sweet voice. Ah, just so--just so. But aren't you going to open
your parcel, my dear?"

"Never mind the dress," returned Phillis, quickly. "Dear Miss
Mewlstone, I was sorry to disturb you; but it could not be helped.
Don't look at the parcel: that is only an excuse. My business is far
more important. I want you to put on your bonnet, and come with me
just a little way across the road. There is some one's identity that
you must prove."

Phillis was commencing her task in a somewhat lame fashion; but Miss
Mewlstone was still too much engrossed with her novel to notice her
visitor's singular agitation.

"Ah, just so--just so," she responded; "that is exactly what the last
few chapters have been about. The real heir has turned up, and is
trying to prove his own identity; only he is so changed that no one
believes him. It is capitally worked out. A very clever author, my
dear----"

But Phillis interrupted her a little eagerly:

"Is that your tale, dear Miss Mewlstone? How often people say truth is
stranger than fiction! Do you know, I have heard a story in real life
far more wonderful than that? Some one was telling me about it just
now. There was a man whom every one, even his own wife, believed to be
dead; but after four years of incredible dangers and hardships--oh,
such hardships!--he arrived safely in England, and took up his abode
just within sight of his old house, where he could see his wife and
find out all about her without being seen himself. He put on some sort
of disguise, I think, so that people could not find him out."

"That must be a make-up story, I think," returned Miss Mewlstone, a
little provokingly; but her head was still full of her book. Poor
woman! she w