ied. He made
dives here and there, without system, without settlement. At last,
looking at his watch, he jumped up; it was half-past eleven.

"Some other time, Waters--some other time; the man must wait," he said
to the astonished but patient person beside him. "If Lord Evelyn calls,
tell him I shall look in at the Century to-night."

"Yes, sir."

Some half-hour thereafter he was standing in Park Lane, his heart
beating somewhat quickly, his eyes fixed eagerly on two figures that
were crossing the thoroughfare lower down to one of the gates leading
into Hyde Park. These were Natalie Lind and the little Anneli. He had
known that he would see her thus; he had imagined the scene a thousand
times; he had pictured to himself every detail--the trees, the tall
railings, the spring flowers in the plots, and the little rosy-cheeked
German girl walking by her mistress's side; and yet, now that this
familiar thing had come true, he trembled to behold it; he breathed
quickly; he could not go forward to her and hold out his hand. Slowly,
for they were walking slowly, he went along to the gate and entered
after them; cautiously, lest she should turn suddenly and confront him
with her eyes; drawn, and yet fearing to follow. She was talking with
some animation to her companion; though even in this profound silence he
could not hear the sound of her voice. But he could see the beautiful
oval of her face! and sometimes, when she turned with a laugh to the
little Anneli, he caught a glimpse of the black eyes and eyelashes, the
smiling lips and brilliant teeth; and once or twice she put out the
palm of her right hand with a little gesture which, despite her English
dress, would have told a stranger that she was of foreign ways. But the
look of welcome, the smile of reward that he had been looking forward
to?

Well, Mr. Lind was in America; and during his absence his daughter saw
but few visitors. There was no particular reason why, supposing that
George Brand met Natalie in the street, he should not go up and shake
hands with her; and many a time, in these mental pictures of his of her
morning walk with the rosy-cheeked Anneli, he imagined himself
confronting her under the shadow of the trees, and perhaps walking some
way with her, to listen once more to the clear, low vibrations of her
musical voice. But no sooner had he seen her come into Park Lane--the
vision became real--than he felt he could not go up and speak to her. If
he had