one to see the--invalid. There has been
much talk about it."

"Come, we must go!" I cried. "He must not get there before us!"

But a sudden light gleamed in the notary's eyes.

"Wait, messieurs!" he cried. "A moment. But a moment. Ah, I remember
it now--it was the link which was wanting, and you have supplied
it--Holladay, a millionaire of America, his wife, Madame Alix--she did
not live in the villa, then, messieurs. Oh, no; she was very poor, a
nurse--anything to make a little money; her husband, who was a
fisherman, was drowned, and left her to take care of the children as
best she could. Ah, I remember--one a mere baby!"

He had got down another book, and was running his finger rapidly down
the page--his finger all a-tremble with excitement. Suddenly, he
stopped with a little cry of triumph.

"Here it is, messieurs! I knew I could not be mistaken! See!"

Under the date of June 10, 1876, was an entry of which this is the
English:

"Holladay, Hiram W., and Elizabeth, his wife, of the city of New York,
United States of America; from Celeste Alix, widow of Auguste Alix,
her daughter Celeste, aged five months. All claim surrendered in
consideration of the payment of 25,000 francs."

Mr. Royce caught up the book and glanced at the back. It was the
"Record of Adoptions."

CHAPTER XVIII

The Veil is Lifted

In a moment we were hurrying along the street, in the direction the
notary had pointed out to us. Martigny was already out of sight, and
we had need of haste. My head was in a whirl. So Frances Holladay was
not really the daughter of the dead millionaire! The thought compelled
a complete readjustment of my point of view. Of course, she was
legally his daughter; equally of course, this new development could
make no difference in my companion's feeling for her. Nothing, then,
was really changed. She must go back with us; she must take up the old
life----But I had no time to reason it all out.

We had reached the beach again, and we turned along it in the
direction of the cliffs. Far ahead, I saw a man hurrying in the same
direction--I could guess at what agony and danger to himself. The
path began to ascend, and we panted up it to the grassy down, which
seemed to stretch for miles and miles to the northward. Right before
us was a little wood, in the midst of which I caught a glimpse of a
farmhouse.

We ran toward it, through a gate, and up the path to the door. It was
closed, but we heard from wit