and received from him the cut direct!  So, you see, affairs are not progressing very favourably; and the worst is, I am in total ignorance of the real effect of my interview with Miss Markland upon her own mind.  She may yet retain the communication I made as her own secret, or have revealed it to her father.  His reception of the matter, if aware of what occurred, is a problem unsolved.  I can, therefore, only say, keep as cool as possible, and wait as patiently as possible a few days longer, when you shall know the best or the worst.”

A mad imprecation fell from the lips of Mr. Lyon, as he threw this letter from him.  He was baffled completely.  Two more days of wearying suspense went heavily by, and then another letter came to the impatient waiter.

“This place,” so Leach wrote, “will soon be too hot to hold me, I’m afraid.  If not mistaken in the signs, there’s something brewing.  Twice, to-day, I’ve been inquired for at the hotel.  To-morrow morning early I shall prudently change my quarters, and drop down to Washington in the early cars.  A little change in the external man can be effected there.  On the day after, I will return, and, under cover of my disguised exterior, renew operations.  But I can’t flatter you with any hope of success.  It’s pretty generally believed that Willet is going to marry Fanny Markland; and the match is too good a one for a poor girl to decline.  He is rich, educated, honourable; and, people say, kind and good.  And, to speak out my thoughts on the subject, I think she’d be a fool to decline the arrangement, even against your magnificent proposals.  Still, I’m heart and hand with you, and ready to venture even upon the old boy’s dominions to serve a long-tried friend.  There is one significant fact which I heard to-day that makes strong against you.  It is said that Mr. Willet is about making a change in his business, and that Markland is to be associated with him in some new arrangements.  That looks as if matters were settled between the two families.  In my next letter I hope to communicate something more satisfactory.”

On the day after receiving this communication, Lyon, while walking the floor in one of the parlours, saw a man pass in from the street, and go hurriedly along the hall.  The form struck him as strangely like that of his friend from whom he was hourly in expectation of another letter.  Stepping quickly to the door of the room, he caught a glimpse of the man ascending the staircase.  To follow was a natural impulse.  Doubt was only of brief continuance.

“David!” he exclaimed, on reaching his own apartment.  “In the name of heaven! what does this mean?”

“That you are in danger,” was replied, in a tone that made the villain’s heart leap.

“What?” The two men retired within the apartment.

“I fear they are on our track,” said Leach.

“Who?”

“The law’s fierce bloodhounds!”

“No! impossible!” The face of Lyon grew white as ashes, and his limbs shook with a sudden, irrepressible tremor.