gallery of photographs, in which his portrait had been so
mysteriously blurred or changed. But he and Karine Cunningham would in
all probability be man and wife at the end of six weeks; and six weeks
was, after all, but a short space in which to tear the mask from so
preternaturally clever a scoundrel.

I thought then (and even yet, I trust) that my resolution to save Karine
from this man, if I were able to do so, was not all selfishness.

Knowing nothing, yet suspecting much with haunting vagueness, it seemed
a horrible desecration to me that the beautiful, gentle girl should be
given up to Wildred. I had little enough hope for myself with her,
whatever might betide, for even had it been possible, under happier
circumstances, that she could have learned to care for me, she and her
friends would be sure to misunderstand and condemn my motives in working
against the man she had promised to marry.

Should I have the good fortune to show him to her and those in authority
over her, as the villain I believed him to be, I could not imagine
myself ever attempting to take selfish advantage of his downfall.

What I might do, or try to do, I told myself, must be without any hope
of future reward.

I had persuaded myself that the oftener I could see Karine, and impress
upon her the strength and disinterestedness of my friendship, silently
assuring her of my unforgotten resolve to help, the better it would be
for her. She had said once that she had "many acquaintances but no
friends," and she had seemed glad to welcome my friendship; so that now
I wanted her to see I did not mean to fail her--that, after all, it
might not be as she had thought, _too late_. At least, I succeeded
in convincing myself that these were my only motives in calling again
within the week on Lady Tressidy.

It was Thursday, and the family was to flit away to the country on the
following afternoon. I was informed of this by the footman, whose duty
it was to tell me that his mistress was superintending her packing at
the moment, but would be down almost immediately. Meanwhile, Miss
Cunningham was in Lady Tressidy's boudoir, and would see me.

I could scarcely believe in my good luck, and in her courage--or good
nature.

She had been writing at a little davenport by the window, but rose to
receive me, and extended her hand. To the other--the left--she had
transferred the pen, with the ink still wet, and so it was that as she
greeted me my eyes fell upo