“Dreadful!  Your journey was useless then?”

“Not precisely.  I saw the pretended former wife:  a splendid woman, and as much Eleanor Wickham of Dorsetshire as I am.  They mean, however, to show fight, I think; for, as I left the place, I observed that delightful knave Richards enter the house.  I took the liberty of placing seals upon the desks and cabinets, and directed the butler and other servants to see that nothing was disturbed or removed till Mrs. Harlowe’s—­the true Mrs. Harlowe’s—­arrival.”

The funeral was to take place on the following Wednesday; and it was finally arranged that both of us would accompany Edith to Fairdown on the day after it had taken place, and adopt such measures as circumstances might render necessary.  Mr. Ferret wrote to this effect to all parties concerned.

On arriving at the house, I, Ferret, and Mrs. Harlowe, proceeded at once to the drawing-room, where we found the pretended wife seated in great state, supported on one side by Mr. Richards, and on the other by Mr. Quillet the eminent proctor.  Edith was dreadfully agitated, and clung frightened and trembling to my arm.  I conducted her to a seat, and placed myself beside her, leaving Mr. Ferret—­whom so tremendous an array of law and learning, evincing a determination to fight the matter out a l’outrance, filled with exuberant glee—­to open the conference.

“Good-morning, madam,” cried he, the moment he entered the room, and quite unaffected by the lady’s scornful and haughty stare:  “good-morning; I am delighted to see you in such excellent company.  You do not, I hope, forget that I once had the honor of transacting business for you?”

“You had transactions of my business!” said the lady, “When, I pray you?”

“God bless me!” cried Ferret, addressing Richards, “what a charming Italian accent; and out of Dorsetshire too!”

“Dorsetshire, sir?” exclaimed the lady.

“Ay, Dorsetshire, to be sure.  Why, Mr. Richards, our respected client appears to have forgotten her place of birth!  How very extraordinary!”

Mr. Richards now interfered, to say that Mr. Ferret was apparently laboring under a strange misapprehension.  “This lady,” continued he, “is Madame Giulletta Corelli.”

“Whe—­e—­e—­w!” rejoined Ferret, thrown for an instant off his balance by the suddenness of the confession, and perhaps a little disappointed at so placable a termination of the dispute—­“Giulletta Corelli!  What is the meaning of this array then?”

“I am glad, madam,” said I, interposing for the first time in the conversation, “for your own sake, that you have been advised not to persist in the senseless as well as iniquitous scheme devised by the late Mr. Harlowe; but this being the case, I am greatly at a loss to know why either you or these legal gentlemen are here?”

The brilliant eyes of the Italian flashed with triumphant scorn, and a smile of contemptuous irony curled her beautiful lip as she replied—­“These legal gentlemen will not have much difficulty in explaining my right to remain in my own house.”