ed deaths can't arrange these
little matters beforehand," said Lucian drily, and walked away, leaving
the unfortunate landlord still lamenting over his unlucky possession of
a haunted and blood-stained mansion.

Before going to No. 13, Lucian walked down the street leading into
Geneva Square, in order to meet Diana, who was due at eleven o'clock.
Punctual as the barrister was, he found that Miss Vrain, in her
impatience, was before him; for he arrived to see her dismiss her cab at
the end of the street, and met her half way down.

His heart gave a bound as he saw her graceful figure, and he felt the
hot blood rise to his cheeks as he advanced to meet her.

Diana, quite unconscious of having, like her namesake, the moon, caused
this springtide of the heart, could not forbear a glance of surprise,
but greeted her coadjutor without embarrassment and with all
friendliness. Her thoughts were too taken up with her immediate task of
exploring the scene of the crime to waste time in conjecturing the
reason of the young man's blushes. Yet the instinct of her sex might
have told her the truth, and probably it would have but that it was
blunted, or rather not exercised, by reason of her preoccupation.

"Have you the key, Mr. Denzil?" said she eagerly.

"No; but I have seen the landlord, and he has given us permission to go
over the house. A charwoman who is cleaning up the place will let us
in."

"A charwoman," repeated Miss Vrain, stopping short, "and cleaning up the
house! Is it, then, about to receive a new tenant?"

"Oh, no; but the landlord wishes it to be aired and swept; to keep it in
some degree of order, I presume."

"What is the name of this woman?"

"Mrs. Kebby."

"The same mentioned in the newspaper reports as having waited on my
unhappy father?"

"The same," replied Lucian, with some hesitation; "but I would advise
you, Miss Vrain, not to question her too closely about your father."

"Why not? Ah! I see; you think her answers about his drinking habits
will give me pain. No matter; I am prepared for all that. I don't blame
him so much as those who drove him to intemperance. Is this the house?"
she said, looking earnestly at the neglected building before which they
were standing.

"Yes," replied Lucian, ringing the bell, "it was in this house that your
father came to his untimely end. And here is Mrs. Kebby."

That amiable crone had opened the door while the young man was speaking,
and now stood eyeing