an attack on Percy by Davlin.

"But I will find it," she muttered. Then, as a new thought occurred to
her, she caught her breath. "Claire's lover is named Percy; can it be
the same? Why did not this occur to me sooner? Why did I not ask for
his first name, and a description of him? If this man and Edward Percy
should be one and the same! Pshaw! the name is not an uncommon one,
and it may be only a coincidence. But your face is a bad one, Edward
Percy, and I shall know it when I see it again."

The sun was not high in the heavens ere Madeline was astir, for her
nature was such that strong excitement rendered rest impossible.
Moving impatiently about the grounds, she saw a familiar form
approaching through the shrubbery, and hastened to meet it.

The black visage of Henry beamed with satisfaction as he made a
hurried obeisance and placed in her hand a letter, saying:

"Master was preparing for a two days' journey when this letter came.
He threw it into his desk, and bade me lock it, and bring him the key.
His back was turned, and I took the letter before I locked the desk.
It was a long one, and from _her_; I thought you might want to see
it."

"Right, Henry," said the girl, quietly, as she opened the letter. "You
will wait for it?"

"Yes, miss; it must not be missing when he comes."

"Certainly not."

She returned to the letter, and this is what she read:

OAKLEY, October 11.

LUCIAN, _Mon Brave_:

I am in a fine predicament--have made a startling discovery.
Mr. A----has been sick, and the mischief is to pay; and his
sickness has brought some ugly facts to light.

The old man is _not_ the sole proprietor of the Oakley
wealth. That girl who ran away so mysteriously, and has
never been heard of, will inherit at his death. He can
bequeath his widow nothing. Oh, to know where that girl is!
If she is alive, my work is useless, my time is wasted. I
think the old chap must have driven her to desperation, for
he raved in his delirium of her and her words at parting.
They must have been "searchers."

Well, to add to the general interest, Miss Arthur, aged
fifty or so, is here. She is a juvenile old maid, who has a
fortune in her own right, and so must be cultivated. She
dresses like a sixteen-year-old, and talks like a fool,
principally about a certain admirer, a "blonde
demi-god"--he