m that I was here?"

"I did, sir; I said his Worship's cousin from London had just come. No
harm, sir, I hope?"

"Not a bit--glad you did," said Brent. "He'll expect me."

He said good night to the man and walked forward to Alderman Crood's
door. It was like the house to which it gave entrance--very high and
broad, a massive affair, topped by a glass transom, behind which a
light, very dim and feeble, was burning. Brent felt for and rang a bell,
and heard it ring somewhere far off in the house. Then he waited; waited
so long that he was about to ring again, when he heard a bolt being
withdrawn inside the big door; then another. Each creaked in a fashion
that suggested small use, and the need of a little oil. The door opened,
and he found himself confronting a girl, who stood holding a small lamp
in her hand; behind her, at the far end of a gloomy, cavernous hall a
swinging lamp, turned low, silhouetted her figure.

Something about the girl made Brent look at her with more attention than
he would ordinarily have given. She was a tallish girl, whose figure
would have been unusually good had it been properly filled out; as it
was, she was thin, but only too thin for her proportions--her thinness,
had she been three inches shorter, would have passed for a graceful
slenderness. But Brent took this in at a glance; his attention was more
particularly concentrated on the girl's face--a delicate oval, framed in
a mass of dark hair. She was all dark--dark hair, an olive complexion,
large, unusually lustrous dark eyes, fringed by long soft lashes, an
almost dark rose-tint on her cheeks. And in the look which she gave him
there was something as soft as her eyes, which were those of a shy
animal--something appealing, pathetic. He glanced hastily at her
attire--simple, even to plainness--and wondered who she was, and what
was her exact status in that big house, which seemed to require the
services of a staff of domestics.

Brent asked for Alderman Crood. The girl glanced towards the end of the
hall and then looked at him doubtfully.

"What name?" she inquired in tones that were little above a whisper.

"My name's Brent," the caller answered, in a clear, loud voice. Somehow,
he had a suspicion that Crood was listening at the other end of the
cavernous hall. "I am Mr. Wallingford's cousin."

The girl gave him a curious glance and motioning him to wait, went away
up the hall to a door which stood partly open, revealing a lighted