let me know. They took
her away at once. And now I follow--perhaps to find her dead."

Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected.

"Let us hope for the best," he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration.

The Levantine strove to smile.

"But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you!
Let me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more----"

Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement.

"I am quite alone," he said.

A tragic expression came into the Levantine's face.

"But, then----" she began.

It was impossible for him to tell her about "Catherine." He was,
therefore, constrained to subterfuge.

"I--I was suddenly overtaken by--by influenza," he said, in some
confusion. "The doctor recommended change of air, of scene."

"He suggested Algiers----"

"_Mon Dieu!_ It is like poor mamma!"

"Precisely. Our constitutions are--are doubtless similar. I shall take
this opportunity also of improving my knowledge of African manners
and--and customs."

A strange smile seemed to dawn for a second on Mademoiselle Verbena's
face, but it died instantaneously in a grimace of pain.

"My teeth make me bad," she said. "Ah, monsieur, I must go below,
to pray for poor mamma--" she paused, then softly added, "and for
monsieur."

She made a movement as if to depart, but Mr. Greyne begged her to
remain. In his loneliness the sight even of a Levantine whom he knew
solaced his yearning heart. He felt quite friendly towards this poor,
unhappy girl, for whom, perhaps, such a shock was preparing upon the
distant shore.

"Better stay!" he said. "The air will do you good."

"Ah, if I die, what matter? Unless mamma lives there is no one in the
world who cares for me, for whom I care."

"There--there is Mrs. Greyne," said her husband. "And then St.
Paul's--remember St. Paul's."

"Ah _ce charmant_ St. Paul's! Shall I ever see him more?"

She looked at Mr. Greyne, and suddenly--he knew not why--Mr. Greyne
remembered the incident of the diary, and blushed.

"Monsieur has fever!"

Mr. Greyne shook his head. The Levantine eyed him curiously.

"Monsieur wishes to say something to me, and does not like to speak."

Mr. Greyne made an effort. Now that he was with this gentle lady,
with her white face, her weeping eyes, her plain black dress, the mere
suspicion that she could have opened a locked drawer with a secret key,
and filched therefrom a private record, seemed to him