the words that he spoke next.

"Clear your mind of jealousy," he said, "and you will understand me
well enough. I agree with you that I am bound to provide for my
widow--and I mean to do it by insuring my life."

THE END OF THE SECOND PERIOD

THIRD PERIOD

CHAPTER XXIII

NEWS OF IRIS

AFTER his interview with the Irish lord, Mountjoy waited for two days,
in the expectation of hearing from Iris. No reply arrived. Had Mr.
Vimpany failed to forward the letter that had been entrusted to him?

On the third day, Hugh wrote to make inquiries.

The doctor returned the letter that had been confided to his care, and
complained in his reply of the ungrateful manner in which he had been
treated. Miss Henley had not trusted him with her new address in
London; and Lord Harry had suddenly left Redburn Road; bidding his host
goodbye in a few lines of commonplace apology, and nothing more. Mr.
Vimpany did not deny that he had been paid for his medical services;
but, he would ask, was nothing due to friendship? Was one man justified
in enjoying another man's hospitality, and then treating him like a
stranger? "I have done with them both--and I recommend you, my dear
sir, to follow my example." In those terms the angry (and sober) doctor
expressed his sentiments, and offered his advice.

Mountjoy laid down the letter in despair.

His last poor chance of preventing the marriage depended on his being
still able to communicate with Iris--and she was as completely lost to
him as if she had taken flight to the other end of the world. It might
have been possible to discover her by following the movements of Lord
Harry, but he too had disappeared without leaving a trace behind him.
The precious hours and days were passing--and Hugh was absolutely
helpless.

Tortured by anxiety and suspense, he still lingered at the hotel in
London. More than once, he decided on giving up the struggle, and
returning to his pretty cottage in Scotland. More than once, he
deferred taking the journey. At one time, he dreaded to hear that Iris
was married, if she wrote to him. At another time, he felt mortified
and disappointed by the neglect which her silence implied. Was she near
him, or far from him? In England, or out of England? Who could say!

After more weary days of waiting and suffering a letter arrived,
addressed to Mountjoy in a strange handwriting, and bearing the
post-mark of Paris. The signature revealed that his correspondent was