, communicating a report that the assassin of Arthur
Mountjoy had been seen in London, and was supposed to be passing under
the name of Carrigeen. Hugh would understand that the desperate
resolution to revenge the murder of his friend, with which Lord Harry
had left England in the past time, had been urged into action once
more. He had not concealed from Iris that she must be resigned to his
leaving her for awhile, if the report which had reached him from
Ireland proved to be true. It would be useless, and worse than useless,
to remind this reckless man of the danger that threatened him from the
Invincibles, if he returned to England. In using her power of
influencing the husband who still loved her, Iris could only hope to
exercise a salutary restraint in her own domestic interests, appealing
to him for indulgence by careful submission to any exactions on which
his capricious jealousy might insist. Would sad necessity excuse her,
if she accepted Mountjoy's offer to leave Paris, for the one reason
that her husband had asked it of her as a favour?

Hugh at once understood her motive, and assured her of his sympathy.

"You may depend upon my returning to London to-morrow," he said. "In
the meantime, is there no better way in which I can be of use to you?
If your influence fails, do you see any other chance of keeping Lord
Harry's desperate purpose under control?"

It had only that day occurred to Iris that there might be some prospect
of an encouraging result, if she could obtain the assistance of Mrs.
Vimpany.

The doctor's wife was well acquainted with Lord Harry's past life, when
he happened to be in Ireland; and she had met many of his countrymen
with whom he had associated. If one of those friends happened to be the
officious person who had written to him, it was at least possible that
Mrs. Vimpany's discreet interference might prevent his mischievous
correspondent from writing again. Lord Harry, waiting for more news,
would in this event wait in vain. He would not know where to go, or
what to do next--and, with such a nature as his, the end of his
patience and the end of his resolution were likely to come together.

Hugh handed his pocket-book to Iris. Of the poor chances in her favour,
the last was to his mind the least hopeless of the two.

"If you have discovered the name of your husband's correspondent," he
said, "write it down for me, and I will ask Mrs. Vimpany if she knows
him. I will make your excuses