sed, the marriage,
by special license, of Archibald-Alexander-John Scott and Rose Cameron,
both of Lone, Scotland.

"The mystery deepens," said the duke as he pointed to the register.

"It is incomprehensible," answered the detective.

"That is my name," added the duke.

"Some imposter must have assumed it," suggested the officer.

"Then the imposter, in taking my name, must have also taken my face and
form, voice and manner, for though, upon my soul, I never married Rose
Cameron, there are two honest women who are ready to swear that I did!"
whispered the duke, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes; for there were
moments when the absurdity of the situation overcame its gravity.

The duke then thanked the curate for his courtesy and left the church,
attended by the detective.

"Where shall I tell the cabman to drive?" inquired Setter, as he held the
door open after his employer had entered the cab.

"To Elmthorpe House, Kensington. And then, get in here, with me, if you
please, Mr. Setter. I have something to say to you," answered his grace.

The detective gave the order and entered the cab.

The duke then made many suggestions, drawn from his own intimate
knowledge of the tastes and habits of the duchess, to assist the
detective in his search.

"You may safely leave the whole affair in my hands, sir. I will act with
so much discretion that no one in London shall suspect that the Duchess
of Hereward is missing. For the rest, I have no doubt that we shall soon
find out the retreat of her grace. A young lady, dressed in elegant deep
mourning, and travelling unattended, would be sure to have attracted
attention and aroused curiosity, even in the confusion of a crowded
railway station. We are safe to trace her, your grace," said Detective
Setter, confidently.

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN THE CONVENT.

Salome was tenderly nursed by the nuns during the nine days in which her
fever raged with unabated violence.

At the end of that time, having spent all its force, the fever went off,
leaving her weak as a child, in mind as well as in body.

As soon as she was convalescent the abbess had her carefully removed from
the infirmary in which she had lain ill, to a spacious chamber, with
windows overlooking the convent garden--a gloomy outlook now, however,
with its seared grass and withered foliage, shivering under the dreary
November sky.

The room was very clean and very scantily furnished; the walls were
white