e was looking at
the windows; the blind was up in the study, and Miss Gladys was there
with Mr. Cunliffe; he had made her laugh about something. It was a warm
night, and rather wet, and the window was open; I was just shutting it
when I caught sight of him, and nearly called out; but he turned away
quickly, and hid himself in the shrubbery, and though I went out to look
for him I was too late, for I could see him walking down the road.'

'You are sure it was Mr. Eric.' Oh, the look of intense relief on Mr.
Hamilton's face! He must have believed him dead all this time.

'I am nearly sure, sir. I saw him again in town. I was passing the Albert
Memorial when I looked up at one of the fine houses opposite, and saw a
young workman on the balcony with a painter's brush in his hand: the sun
was shining full on his face. I saw him plainly then.'

Mr. Hamilton started from his seat. 'If this be true!--my father's son
gaining his bread as a house-painter!'

'It is true,' I whispered; 'for I saw him myself, and told Gladys.'

'You saw him!--you!' with an air of utter incredulity.

'Yes; and I tried to speak to him. He was so like the picture in Gladys's
room, I thought it must be Eric. But he would not hear me, and in a
moment he was gone. The men called him Jack Poynter, and said he was a
gentleman, but no one knew where he lived. Oh, I have tried so hard to
find him for you, but he will not be found.'

'And you did not tell me of this,' very reproachfully.

'Gladys would not let me tell you,' I returned: 'we could not be sure,
and--' But he put up his hand to stop me.

'That will do,' in a tone of suppressed grief that went to my heart. 'I
will not wrong you if I can help it; no doubt you did it for the best;
you did not willingly deceive me.'

'Never! I have never deceived you, Mr. Hamilton.'

'Not intentionally. I will do you justice even now; but, oh,'--and here
he clinched his right hand, and I saw the veins on it stand out like
whip-cord,--'how I have been betrayed! Those I have trusted have brought
trouble and confusion in my household; and, good God! they are women, and
I cannot curse them.'

I saw Leah quail beneath this burst of most righteous indignation.
The blinding tears rushed to my eyes as I heard him: in spite of his
sternness, he had been so simple and so unsuspicious. He trusted people
so fully, he was so generous in his confidence, and yet the woman he
loved had played him false, and the pitiful c