dy Cameron and Mrs. Mencke remained in their rooms until evening, only
coming down to join the gentlemen after tea for a little while.

They were gathered in a small private parlor, where each seemed to
strive to assume a cheerfulness which no one felt.

Suddenly there came a sharp, imperative knock upon the door.

Lord Cameron arose to open it, and found himself face to face with a
young man several years his junior, and who would have been regarded as
strikingly handsome but for the worn and haggard look upon his face, and
the wild, almost insane expression in his restless eyes.

Vane bowed to him courteously, then inquired:

"Can I do anything for you, sir? Whom do you wish to see?"

"Lord Cameron, Earl of Sutherland," was the brief but stern reply.

"I am he," the young man began, when his visitor unceremoniously pushed
his way into the room, closing the door behind him.

At this act Wilhelm Mencke and his wife started to their feet, one with
a cry of surprise and dismay, the other with an oath of anger, while
both had grown deathly pale.

"Pardon me, sir, but are you not somewhat brusque and uncourteous in
your demeanor?" Vane demanded, with some hauteur. "Who are you, and what
do you want?"

"I want to meet the woman whom report says you are to marry or have
married. I want to meet her here and now, in your presence," was the
quick, passionate, quivering response.

Lord Cameron shuddered and grew white to his lips at this imperative
demand, and wondered if the man was mad.

"That is impossible," he said, in a husky voice. Then he added, in a
conciliatory tone, for something seemed to tell him that the man was in
great mental suffering, though he had not a suspicion of its cause: "But
pray explain why you make such a request. Who are you sir?"

"My name is Wallace Hamilton Richardson," tersely returned the stranger.

Vane Cameron recoiled as if the man had struck him a blow instead of
simply stating his name.

He was so much overcome by the announcement that those observing him
feared he was upon the point of fainting, strong man though he was.

"Wallace Richardson--from America?" he whispered, hoarsely.

"Yes."

"I--I thought you were dead! She believed you were dead!" the young lord
returned, with ashen lips.

"Dead!" repeated Wallace, wonderingly, his hitherto inflexible face
softening a trifle. "Oh, say it again--does Violet really believe that I
am dead?" and the eager, quivering tones ra