n look, and opening a door behind
his office desk vanished like a conjuror tricking himself through a
hole.

She waited patiently for a couple of minutes--and then the clerk came
back, with traces of excitement in his manner.

"Yes--Mr. Bulteel will see you. This way!"

She followed him with her usual quiet step and composed demeanour, and
bent her head with a pretty air of respect as she found herself in the
presence of an elderly man with iron-grey whiskers and a severely
preoccupied air of business hardening his otherwise rather benevolent
features. He adjusted his spectacles and looked keenly at her as she
entered. She spoke at once.

"You are Mr. Bulteel?"

"Yes."

"Then this is for you," she said, approaching him, and handing him the
packet she had brought. "They are some papers belonging to a poor old
tramp named David, who lodged in my house for nearly a year--it will be
a year come July. He was very weak and feeble and got lost in a storm on
the hills above Weircombe--that's where I live--and I found him lying
quite unconscious in the wet and cold, and took him home and nursed him.
He got better and stayed on with me, making baskets for a living--he was
too feeble to tramp any more--but he gave me no trouble, he was such a
kind, good old man. I was very fond of him. And--and--last week he
died"--here her sweet voice trembled. "He suffered great pain--but at
the end he passed away quite peacefully--in my arms. He was very anxious
that I should bring his papers to you myself--and I promised I would
so----"

She paused, a little troubled by his silence. Surely he looked very
strangely at her.

"I am sorry," she faltered, nervously--"if I have brought you any bad
news;--poor David seemed to have no friends, but perhaps you were a
friend to him once and may have a kind recollection of him----"

He was still quite silent. Slowly he broke the seals of the packet, and
drawing out a slip of paper which came first to his hand, read what was
written upon it. Then he rose from his chair.

"Kindly wait one moment," he said. "These--these papers and letters are
not for me, but--but for--for another gentleman."

He hurried out of the room, taking the packet with him, and Mary
remained alone for nearly a quarter of an hour, vaguely perplexed, and
wondering how any "other gentleman" could possibly be concerned in the
matter. Presently Mr. Bulteel returned, in an evident state of
suppressed agitation.

"Will you