he bearer of
ill news, Flossy! Is anything wrong at Beechfield?"

"Oh, dear, no! I came up to see my dentist," said Flossy carelessly,
"and I thought that I would give you a call _en passant_. So these are
your rooms? Not at all bad for a bachelor!"

"That is high praise from you, I suppose," said Hubert, smiling faintly.

"But you do not look at all well, Hubert. What is the matter with you?
You look terribly fagged!"

Her remark was justified by his appearance. His face had a drawn look
which added ten years to his age; his eyes seemed almost to have sunk
into his head. He made an impatient gesture, and looked away.

"I have not been very well," he said; "but there is no need to speak
about it. I am very busy, and I want rest--change of scene and air."

"Why not come down to Beechfield?"

He gave a slight but perceptible shudder.

"No," he said briefly, and then stood leaning against his writing-table,
and was silent.

"Hubert," said his sister, a little more quickly than usual, "I said
that I wanted to see my dentist, but I had another reason for coming to
town. Can you tell me where I can find a file of the _Times_ newspaper
for the early months of the year 187-?"--she mentioned the year of
Sydney Vane's death and the trial of Andrew Westwood.

"You want--the trial?" said her brother, with an evident effort. She
bowed her head.

"Why?"

"I have forgotten one or two points in the evidence. I want to recall
them to my mind."

He stood looking at her silently.

"It doesn't matter," she said, feigning indifference, and rising as if
to take her leave; "I can see the papers in a public library, no doubt.
The General would not have a copy left in the house. I will go
elsewhere."

"It is needless," Hubert answered, in a gloomy tone. "I have kept copies
myself. Wait a moment, and I will bring them to you."

"I thought that you would probably possess them," said Flossy softly, as
she settled herself once more in her comfortable chair.

He went into another room, and soon returned bearing in his arms a
little pile of papers, yellow indeed with age, but, as Mrs. Vane
noticed, completely free from dust. It was evident that some one else
had been very lately perusing them; but she made no comment on the
subject.

"Go on with your writing," she said, beginning to take off her gray
gloves with admirable coolness. "I can find what I want without your
aid."

He gave her a long look, then set the papers on a