During this conversation the woman had produced the letter.

"There it is," she cried, handing it to Topandy.

"A lady's handwriting!" exclaimed Topandy, glancing at the direction.

"What, you can tell by the letters whether it is the writing of a man or
a woman?" queried the beautiful lady, throwing a curious glance at the
writing.

Lorand looked at it, too, and it seemed to him as if he had seen the
writing before, but he could not remember where.

It was a strange hand; the characters did not resemble the writing of
any of his lady acquaintances, and yet he must have seen it somewhere.

You may cast about and reflect long, Lorand, before you discover whose
writing it is. You never thought of her who wrote this letter. You never
even noticed her existence! It is the writing of Fanny, of the jolly
little exchange-girl. It was Desi who once showed you that handwriting
for a moment, when your mother sent her love in Fanny's letter. Now the
unknown hand had written to Topandy to the effect that a young man would
appear before him, bespattered and ragged. He was not to ask whence he
came, or whither he went; but he was to look well at the noble face, and
he would know from it that the youth was not obliged to avoid
persecution of the world for some base crime.

Topandy gazed long at the youthful face before him. Could this be the
one she meant?

The story of the Parliamentary society of the young men was well known
to him.

He asked no questions.

* * * * *

After the first day Lorand felt himself quite at home in Topandy's home.

Topandy treated him as a duke would treat his only son, whom he was
training to be his heir; Lorand's conduct toward Topandy was that of a
poor man's son, learning to make himself useful in his father's home.
Each found many extraordinary traits in the other, and each would have
loved to probe to the depths of the other's peculiarities.

Lorand remarked in his uncle a deep, unfathomable feeling underlying his
seeming godlessness. Topandy, on his side, suspected that some dark
shadow had prematurely crossed the serenity of the young man's mind.
Each tried to pierce the depths of the other's soul--but in vain.

Her ladyship had on the first day confided her life secret to Lorand.
When he endeavored to pay her the compliment of kissing her hand after
supper, she withdrew her hand and refused to accept this mark of
respect.

"My dear boy, don't kiss m