de
toward her, "do with me as you like! Let me be fool unspeakable!"

"And do you promise?" said Lady Catharine, rising and advancing toward
him. Her face was sad and appealing. Her eyes swam in tears, her lips
were trembling.

Sir Arthur held out his hand. The Lady Catharine extended both her own,
and he bent and kissed them, tears springing in his eyes. For a time the
room was silent. Then the girl turned, her own lashes wet. She stepped
at length to a cabinet and took from an inner drawer a paper.

"Sir Arthur, look at this," she Said.

He took it from her and scrutinized it carefully.

"Why, this seems to be a street bill, a placard for posting upon the
walls," said he.

"Read it."

"Yes, well--so, so. 'Five hundred pounds reward for information
regarding the escaped felon, Captain John Law, convicted of murder and
under sentence of death of the King's Bench. The same Law escaped from
Newgate prison on the night of'--hum--well--well--'May be known by this
description: Is tall, of dark complexion, spare of build, raw-boned,
face hath deep pock-marks. Eyes dark; hair dark and scanty. Speaketh
broad and loud.' How--how, why my dear Lady Catharine, this is the last
proof that thou'rt stark, staring mad! This no more tallies with the
true John Law than it does with my hunting horse!"

"And but few would know him by this description?"

"None, absolutely none."

"None could tell 'twas he, even did they meet him full face to face--no
one would know it was Mr. Law?"

"Why, assuredly not. 'Tis as unlike him as it could be."

"Then it is well!" said Lady Catharine.

"Well? Very badly done, I should say."

"Oh, my poor Sir Arthur, where are your wits? 'Tis very well because
'tis very ill, this same description."

"Ah, ha!" said he, a sudden light dawning upon him. "Then you mean to
tell me that this description was misconceived deliberately?"

"What would you think?"

"Did you do this work yourself?"

"Guess for yourself. Montague, as you know, was once of a pretty
imagination, ere he took to finance. If he and the poet Prior could
write such conceits as they have created, could not perhaps Montague--or
Prior--or some one else--have conceived this description of Mr. Law?"

The young man threw himself into a seat, his head between his hands.
"'Tis like a play," said he. "And surely the play of fortune ever runs
well enough for Mr. Law."

"Sir Arthur," said Lady Catharine, rising uneasily and standing be