peaking the commonplaces of the drawing-room."

"There's an immense amount of truth in that," said Jack, "and I begin
to understand and appreciate your position."

"Never, while I live," said I, earnestly, "will I forget the face of
that woman as I held her fainting form in my arms, and cheered her, and
dragged her back to life; never will I forget the thrilling tones of
her voice, as she implored me to leave her and save myself; but yet, as
I live, I don't think that I could recognize her face or her voice if I
were to encounter her now, under ordinary circumstances, in any
drawing-room. Do you understand?"

"Dimly," said Jack; "yes, in fact, I may say thoroughly. You have an
uncommonly forcible way of putting it too. I say, Macrorie, you talk
just like our chaplain."

"Oh, bother the chaplain!"

"That's the very thing I intend to do before long."

"Well, it'll be the best thing for you. Married and done for, you
know."

"Nonsense! I don't mean that. It's something else--the opposite of
matrimony."

"What is it?"

"Oh, never mind, I'll let you know when the time comes. It's a little
idea of my own to countermine the widow. But come--don't let's wander
off. Your business is the thing to be considered now--not mine. Now
listen to me."

"Well."

"Let's put your case in a plain, simple, matter-of-fact way. You want
to find a person whose name you don't know, whose face you can't
recognize, and whose voice even is equally unknown. You can't give any
clew to her at all. You don't know whether she lives in Quebec or in
New York. You only know she is a woman?"

"A lady," said I.

"Oh, of course--a lady."

"And an English lady," I added. "I could tell that by the tone of her
voice."

"She may have been Canadian."

"Yes. Many of the Canadian ladies have the English tone."

"Well, that may be all very true," said Jack, after some moments'
thought; "but at the same time it isn't any guide at all. Macrorie, my
boy, it's evident that in this instance all the ordinary modes of
investigation are no good. Streets, churches, drawing-rooms,
photographic saloons, hotel registers, directories, and all that sort
of thing are utterly useless. We must try some other plan."

"That's a fact," said I, "but what other plan can be thought of?"

Jack said nothing for some time.

He sat blowing and puffing, and puffing and blowing, apparently
bringing all the resources of his intellect to bear upon this great
problem. At