R OMAYNE’S first errand in London was to see his wife, and to make inquiries at Mrs. Eyrecourt’s house.  The report was more favorable than usual.  Stella whispered, as she kissed him, “I shall soon come back to you, I hope!”

Leaving the horses to rest for a while, he proceeded to Lord Loring’s residence on foot.  As he crossed a street in the neighborhood, he was nearly run over by a cab, carrying a gentleman and his luggage.  The gentleman was Mr. Winterfield, on his way to Derwent’s Hotel.

Lady Loring very kindly searched her card-basket, as the readiest means of assisting Romayne.  Penrose had left his card, on his departure from London, but no address was written on it.  Lord Loring, unable himself to give the required information, suggested the right person to consult.

“Father Benwell will be here later in the day,” he said.  “If you will write to Penrose at once, he will add the address.  Are you sure, before the letter goes, that the book you want is not in my library?”

“I think not,” Romayne answered; “but I will write down the title, and leave it here with my letter.”

The same evening he received a polite note from Father Benwell, informing him that the letter was forwarded, and that the book he wanted was not in Lord Loring’s library.  “If there should be any delay or difficulty in obtaining this rare volume,” the priest added, “I only wait the expression of your wishes, to borrow it from the library of a friend of mine, residing in the country.”

By return of post the answer, affectionately and gratefully written, arrived from Penrose.  He regretted that he was not able to assist Romayne personally.  But it was out of his power (in plain words, he had been expressly forbidden by Father Benwell) to leave the service on which he was then engaged.  In reference to the book that was wanted, it was quite likely that a search in the catalogues of the British Museum might discover it.  He had only met with it himself in the National Library at Paris.

This information led Romayne to London again, immediately.  For the first time he called at Father Benwell’s lodgings.  The priest was at home, expecting the visit.  His welcome was the perfection of unassuming politeness.  He asked for the last news of “poor Mrs. Eyrecourt’s health,” with the sympathy of a true friend.

“I had the honor of drinking tea with Mrs. Eyrecourt, some little time since,” he said.  “Her flow of conversation was never more delightful—­it seemed impossible to associate the idea of illness with so bright a creature.  And how well she kept the secret of your contemplated marriage!  May I offer my humble congratulations and good wishes?”

Romayne thought it needless to say that Mrs. Eyrecourt had not been trusted with the secret until the wedding day was close at hand.  “My wife and I agreed in wishing to be married as quietly as possible,” he answered, after making the customary acknowledgments.