canned its columns,
forgetting that there could be no report of the case until the
appearance before the magistrate; but the absence of any mention of an
arrest, following the message which the old gentleman had given her,
confirmed her relief and encouraged her. Notwithstanding, she found it
almost impossible to eat; but she drank a cup of tea, gathered her
papers together, and went down to the Museum. For the first time she
found her work difficult; for she could not dismiss the young man and
his tragic fate from her mind. Staring at the blank paper, she went over
all the details of the strange scene, and, standing out from them all,
was the expression in his face, in his eyes, as he had paused at the
bend of the stairs and looked at her.

Something in that expression haunted her as she had never been haunted
by anything in her life before, and she was weighed down by the sense of
a burden, the burden of a man's life, destiny; she could not forget that
she had sent him away, that if she had waited and he had remained, he
would have learned that he had no longer reason to fear, that "it was
all right."

She was disturbed in her reverie by the arrival of a young man, who
seated himself in the next chair at her desk; she turned to her book and
papers and began to work; but now a fresh difficulty arose in the
conduct of the young man beside her; the attendant had brought him a
pile of books, and the young fellow was turning them over, in a restless
way, thrusting his hands through his hair, fidgeting with his feet and
muttering impatiently and despairingly.

Celia glanced at him involuntarily. She saw that he was young and
boyish-looking; there was a look of perplexity and worry in his blue
eyes, and muttering a word of apology he rose and went quickly to the
inner circle, the rotunda, where the patient and long-suffering
superintendent stands to be badgered by questions from the readers
needing the assistance of his wonderfully-stored brain. In a minute or
two the young man came back, accompanied by an attendant bearing another
pile of books.

"I don't know whether you'll find what you want," he said; "but it's all
I know of it." He looked at Celia as he spoke, and added, "Oh, perhaps
this young lady can help you; she does antiquarian work."

The young man coloured and raised his eyes appealingly to Celia.

"Oh, I couldn't trouble you," he said, humbly.

"What is it?" she asked. "I shall be glad to help you, if I