and had been living--or starving--on the proceeds ever since. The occupant of the "top floor back" was known as Miss Arnott. She had returned to her maiden name. She paid six shillings a week for the accommodation she received, which consisted of the bare lodging, and what--ironically-- was called "attendance." Her rent had been settled up to yesterday, and she was still in possession of twenty-seven shillings.

When she reached her room she became conscious that she was hungry--which was not strange, since she had eaten nothing since breakfast, which had consisted of a cup of tea and some bread and butter. But of late she had been nearly always hungry. Exhausted, mentally and bodily, she sank on to the side of the bed, which made a more comfortable seat than the only chair which the room contained; and thought and thought and thought. If only certain puzzles could be solved by dint of sheer hard thinking! But her brain was in such a state of chaos that she could only think confusedly, in a vicious circle, from which her mind was incapable of escaping. To only one conclusion could she arrive--that it would be a very good thing if she might be permitted to lie down on the bed, just as she was, and stay there till she was dead. For her life was at an end already at twenty-one. She had put a period to it when she had suffered herself to become that man's wife.

She was still vaguely wondering if it might not be possible for her to take advantage of some such means of escape when she was startled by a sudden knocking at the door. Taken unawares, she sprang up from the bed, and, without pausing to consider who might be there, she cried,--

"Come in!"

Her invitation was accepted just as she was beginning to realise that it had been precipitately made. The door was opened; a voice--a masculine voice--inquired,--

"May I see Miss Arnott?"

The speaker remained on the other side of the open door, in such a position that, from where she was, he was still invisible.

"What do you want? Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Gardner--Edward Gardner. I occupy the dining-room. If you will allow me to come in I will explain the reason of my intrusion. I think you will find my explanation a sufficient one."

She hesitated. The fact that the speaker was a man made her at once distrustful. Since her marriage day she had been developing a continually increasing distaste for everything masculine--seeing in every male creature a possible replica of her husband. The moment, too, was unpropitious. Yet, since the stranger was already partly in the room, she saw no alternative to letting him come a little farther.

"Come in," she repeated.

There entered an undersized, sparely-built man, probably between forty and fifty years of age. He was clean-shaven, nearly bald--what little hair he had was iron grey--and was plainly but neatly dressed in black. He spoke with an air of nervous deprecation, as if conscious that he was taking what might be regarded as a liberty, and was anxious to show cause why it should not be resented.

"As I said just now, I occupy the dining-rooms and my name is Gardner. I am a solicitor's clerk. My employers are Messrs Stacey, Morris & Binns, of Bedford Row. Perhaps you are acquainted with the firm?"

He paused as if for a reply. She was still wondering more and more what the man could possibly be wanting; oppressed by the foreboding, as he mentioned that he was a solicitor's clerk, that he was a harbinger of further trouble. With her law and trouble were synonyms. He went on, his nervousness visibly increasing. He was rendered uneasy by the statuesque immobility of her attitude, by the strange fashion in which she kept her eyes fixed on his face. It was also almost with a sense of shock that he perceived how young she was, and how beautiful.

"It is only within the last few minutes that I learned, from the landlady, that your name was Arnott. It is a somewhat unusual name; and, as my employers have been for some time searching for a person bearing it, I beg that you will allow me to ask you one or two questions. Of course, I understand that my errand will quite probably prove to be a futile one; but, at the same time, let me assure you that any information you may give will only be used for your advantage; and should you, by a strange coincidence, turn out to be a member of the family for whom search has been made, you will benefit by the discovery of the fact. May I ask if, to your knowledge, you ever had a relation named Septimus Arnott?"

"He was my uncle. My father's name was Sextus Arnott. My grandfather had seven sons and no daughters. He was an eccentric man, I believe--I never saw him; and he called them all by Latin numerals. My father was the sixth son, Sextus; the brother to whom you refer, the seventh and youngest, Septimus."

"Dear, dear! how extraordinary! almost wonderful!"

"I don't know why you should call it wonderful. It was perhaps curious; but, in this world, people do curious things."

"Quite so!--exactly!--not a doubt of it! It was the coincidence which I was speaking of as almost wonderful, not your grandfather's method of naming his sons; I should not presume so far. And where, may I further be allowed to ask, is your father now, and his brothers?"

"They are all dead."

"All dead! Dear! dear!"

"My father's brothers all died when they were young men. My father himself died three years ago--at Scarsdale, in Cumberland. My mother died twelve months afterwards. I am their only child."

"Their only child! You must suffer me to say, Miss Arnott, that it almost seems as if the hand of God had brought you to this house and moved me to intrude myself upon you. I take it that you can furnish proofs of the correctness of what you say?"

"Of course I can prove who I am, and who my father was, and his father."

"Just so; that is precisely what I mean--exactly. Miss Arnott, Mr Stacey, the senior partner in our firm, resides in Pembridge Gardens, Bayswater. I have reason to believe that, if I go at once, I shall find him at home. When I tell him what I have learnt I am sure that he will come to you at once. May I ask you to await his arrival? I think I can assure you that you shall not be kept waiting more than an hour."

"What can the person of whom you speak have to say to me?"

"As I have told you, I am only a servant. It is not for me to betray my employer's confidence; but so much I may tell you--if you are the niece of the Septimus Arnott for whom we are acting you are a very fortunate young lady. And, in any case, I do assure you that you will not regret affording Mr Stacey an opportunity of an immediate interview."

Mr Gardner went; the girl consented to await his return. Almost as soon as he was gone the landlady--Mrs Sayers--paid her a visit. It soon appeared that she had been prompted by the solicitor's clerk.

"I understand, Miss Arnott, from Mr Gardner, who has had my dining-room now going on for five years, that his chief governor, Mr Stacey, is coming to call on you, as it were, at any moment. If you'd like to receive him in my sitting-room, I'm sure you're very welcome; and you shall be as private as you please."

The girl eyed the speaker. Hitherto civility had not been her strongest point. Her sudden friendly impulse could only have been induced by some very sufficient reason of her own. The girl declined her offer. Mrs Sayers became effusive, almost insistent.

"I am sure, my dear, that you will see for yourself that it's not quite the thing for a young lady to receive a