dy up, and its soft light was sleeping on the
little pond at the back of the grounds, while the stars seemed smiling
at their own sparkling rays gleaming up from the beautiful sheet of
water.

Jerome searched in vain for his book; it was nowhere to be found.
Nothing, save the bouquet that the lady had dropped and which lay
half-buried in the grass, from having been trodden upon, indicated that
any one had been there that evening. The stillness of death reigned
over the place; even the little birds, that had before been twittering
and flying about, had retired for the night.

Taking up the bunch of flowers, Jerome returned to his hotel.

"What can this mean?" he would ask himself; "and why should they take
my book?" These questions he put to himself again and again during his
walk. His sleep was broken more than once that night, and he welcomed
the early dawn as it made its appearance.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE HAPPY MEETING.

After passing a sleepless night, and hearing the clock strike six,
Jerome took from his table a book, and thus endeavored to pass away the
hours before breakfast-time. While thus engaged, a servant entered and
handed him a note. Hastily tearing it open, Jerome read as follows:--

"Sir,--I owe you an apology for the abrupt manner in which I addressed
you last evening, and the inconvenience to which you were subjected by
some of my household. If you will honor us with your presence to-day at
four o'clock, I shall be most happy to give you due satisfaction. My
servant will be waiting with the carriage at half-past three.

I am, sir, yours, &c, J. DEVENANT.
JEROME FLETCHER, Esq."

Who this gentleman was, and how he had found out his name and the hotel
at which he was stopping, were alike mysteries to Jerome. And this note
seemed to his puzzled brain like a challenge. "Satisfaction?" He had
not asked for satisfaction. However, he resolved to accept the
invitation, and, if need be, meet the worst. At any rate, this most
mysterious and complicated affair would be explained.

The clock on a neighboring church had scarcely finished striking three
when a servant announced to Jerome that a carriage had called for him.
In a few minutes, he was seated in a sumptuous barouche, drawn by a
pair of beautiful iron-grays, and rolling over a splendid gravel road
entirely shaded by trees, which appeared to have been the accumulated
growth of many centuries. The carriage soon sto