ding it in cold blood, and taking it in connection with the other
strange particulars, he became convinced that he was engaged in perilous
affairs. For half a moment he had a doubt of Lady Vandeleur herself; for
he found these obscure proceedings somewhat unworthy of so high a lady,
and became more critical when her secrets were preserved against
himself. But her empire over his spirit was too complete, he dismissed
his suspicions, and blamed himself roundly for having so much as
entertained them.

In one thing, however, his duty and interest, his generosity and his
terrors, coincided--to get rid of the bandbox with the greatest possible
despatch.

He accosted the first policeman and courteously inquired his way. It
turned out that he was already not far from his destination, and a walk
of a few minutes brought him to a small house in a lane, freshly
painted, and kept with the most scrupulous attention. The knocker and
bell-pull were highly polished: flowering pot-herbs garnished the sills
of the different windows; and curtains of some rich material concealed
the interior from the eyes of curious passengers. The place had an air
of repose and secrecy; and Harry was so far caught with this spirit that
he knocked with more than usual discretion, and was more than usually
careful to remove all impurity from his boots.

A servant-maid of some personal attractions immediately opened the door,
and seemed to regard the secretary with no unkind eyes.

"This is a parcel from Lady Vandeleur," said Harry.

"I know," replied the maid, with a nod. "But the gentleman is from home.
Will you leave it with me?"

"I cannot," answered Harry. "I am directed not to part with it but upon
a certain condition, and I must ask you, I am afraid, to let me wait."

"Well," said she, "I suppose I may let you wait. I am lonely enough, I
can tell you, and you do not look as though you would eat a girl. But be
sure and do not ask the gentleman's name, for that I am not to tell
you."

"Do you say so?" cried Harry. "Why, how strange! But indeed for some
time back I walk among surprises. One question I think I may surely ask
without indiscretion: Is he the master of this house?"

"He is a lodger, and not eight days old at that," returned the maid.
"And now a question for a question: Do you know Lady Vandeleur?"

"I am her private secretary," replied Harry, with a glow of modest
pride.

"She is pretty, is she not?" pursued the servant.

"Oh,