“Then, sir, as I hear that you have influence, can you get me a situation as one of the nurses who are going out thither, so I hear?”

“Get you a situation?  Yes, of course, if you are competent.”

“Thank you, sir.  Perhaps, if you could be so very kind as to tell me to whom I am to apply in town; for I shall go thither to-night.”

“My goodness!” cried Mark.  “Old Mark don’t do things in this off-hand, cold-blooded way.  Let us know who you are, my dear, and about Mr. Thurnall.  Have you anything against him?”

She was silent.

“Mary, just step into the next room.”

“If you please, sir,” said the same gentle voice, “I had sooner that the lady should stay.  I have nothing against Mr. Thurnall, God knows.  He has rather something against me.”

Another pause.

Mary rose, and went up to her and took her hand.

“Do tell us who you are, and if we can do anything for you.”

And she looked winningly up into her face.

The stranger drew a long breath and lifted her veil.  Mary and Mark both started at the beauty of the countenance which she revealed—­but in a different way.  Mark gave a grunt of approbation:  Mary turned pale as death.

“I suppose that it is but right and reasonable that I should tell you, at least give proof of my being an honest person.  For my capabilities as a nurse—­I believe you know Mrs. Vavasour?  I heard that she has been staying here”

“Of course.  Do you know her?”

A sad smile passed over her face.

“Yes, well enough, at least for her to speak for me.  I should have asked her or Miss St. Just to help me to a nurse’s place:  but I did not like to trouble them in their distress.  How is the poor lady now, sir?”

“I know who she is!” cried Mary by a sudden inspiration.  “Is not your name Harvey!  Are you not the schoolmistress who saved Mr. Thurnall’s life? who behaved so nobly in the cholera?  Yes!  I knew you were!  Come and sit down, and tell me all!  I have so longed to know you!  Dear creature, I have felt as if you were my own sister.  He—­Mr. Thurnall—­ wrote often about all your heroism.”

Grace seemed to choke down somewhat:  and then answered steadfastly—­

“I did not come here, my dear lady, to hear such kind words, but to do an errand to Mr. Thurnall.  You have heard, perhaps, that when he was wrecked last spring he lost some money.  Yes!  Then it was stolen.  Stolen!” she repeated with a great gasp:  “never mind by whom.  Not by me.”

“You need not tell us that, my dear,” interrupted Mark.

“God kept it.  And I have it; here!” and she pressed her hands tight over her bosom.  “And here I must keep it till I give it into his hands, if I follow him round the world!” And as she spoke her eyes shone in the lamplight, with an unearthly brilliance which made Mary shudder.

Mark Armsworth poured a libation to the goddess of Puzzledom, in the shape of a glass of port, which first choked him, and then descended over his clean shirt front.  But after he had coughed himself black in the face, he began:—­