hing of the loneliness of his own situation. Wallace's
illness, and the care which he had been forced to give him, he now
realized had been a great blessing to him, for it had prevented, in a
measure, his brooding over his own troubles.

Vane had made thoughtful provision for his friend's voyage, supplying
him with everything he could think of to make his passage comfortable
and pleasant, and the two men, after taking an affectionate leave of
Lady Isabel, who also had become very fond of Wallace, drove away to
catch the express for Liverpool.

As they were passing through one of the busy thoroughfares of the city,
their progress was hindered for a few moments by a blockade of vehicles.

While waiting for an opportunity to advance, another carriage, going in
the opposite direction, slowly passed them--for the stream of teams was
not blocked on the other side of the street--and when it was directly
opposite them the face of a woman looked forth from the window for an
instant, then the coach passed on, and she was lost to view.

An agonized cry had burst from Wallace at that moment, and that, with
his fixed stare at the passing carriage, caused Lord Cameron also to
glance that way; but he only caught a fleeting glimpse of the outline of
a delicate face framed in golden hair, then it vanished beyond his
sight.

"Violet!" gasped Wallace, with ashen lips, and trembling violently from
head to foot. "Did you see her? Oh, let me out, quick! quick! I must
find her!"

He was terribly agitated and unnerved, almost frantic, in fact, and Lord
Cameron greatly feared another attack such as had previously prostrated
him.

He reached out his hand, and pushed him firmly yet kindly back upon his
seat.

"Be quiet, Richardson!" he said, with gentle authoritativeness. "It
could not have been Violet. It was but a delusion, a fancied
resemblance, or a trick of the imagination. Violet is dead. Did I not
see her with my own eyes? Did I not care for her, and lay her to rest
beneath the shade of that grand old beech?--while you yourself have seen
her grave."

"Oh, but it--the face--was so like--so like!" murmured Wallace, still
fearfully overcome.

"My friend," Vane continued, while he tried to control his own startled
nerves, "you must not allow yourself to be so unnerved by a fancied, or
even a real resemblance to the loved one whom you have lost. It is not
unlikely you may meet it again some time, but you must bear it bravely.
This