He turned from me coldly, and in a
few minutes was in bed and apparently
asleep.
That night I tossed and tumbled
fearfully in my bed. The coolness and
confidence of Barrett had staggered my
convictions. I turned the matter over
in my thoughts, and wondered whether
it were possible that the memory of this
woman dwelling always on my mind
could have led me to identify her ap
pearance with that of another. I re
membered how two or three times with
in the past year I had caught sight of
faces in the street which had startled
me for a moment by a resemblance to
that of the woman whom I had seen
but for two minutes, but whose features
remained too deeply engraven in my
memory to allow of any mistake or un
certainty after a full examination of
those which had recalled them.
The next day I went about my work
as composedly as I could, and waited
for evening. As Barrett left the office
he said coldly, "Remember — eight
o'clock." I nodded, and at the hour
mentioned found myself slowly travers
ing the path I had trodden so quickly
the night before. The moon was ob
scured this evening, but it was not really
dark, and my heart beat wildly as I
saw the two figures approaching in re
lief against the sky. There was no mis
taking John Barrett, his figure and walk
were too marked. As they drew near,
I gathered in the other more distinctly.
I saw the form, the dress, the arrange
ment of hair, the blue eyes, the cold
look, the light complexion, but not the
resemblance of the night before. It was
enough : improbable as it had seemed,
I had deceived myself, and as Barrett
introduced me and mentioned the name
of Miss Brinsmade, I felt so abashed
and penitent that I could have gone
down on my knees on the spot and
begged pardon for my blunder. Not
knowing, however, whether John had
said a word to her on the subject, I
feared to broach it, and notwithstand
ing the efforts of both to remove my re
straint, I very soon sneaked off and
found my way home. On John's ar
"N
[Sept.
rival I was as profuse in apologies as he was cold in receiving them. He re peated the assertion that he had only taken the trouble of setting me right for the young lady's sake, not his own There was a subsequent coolness be tween us for some weeks, but it wore off in time. The fourth incident I have to tell is one of more importance. It occurred about six months after Lydia's disap pearance. One morning, coming out from breakfast and passing through the hall, I picked up a pocket-book. I did not recognize it, and as I was going to my room, took it with me, supposing that I should be able to identify it by the contents. The first thing that met my eye was a small sum of money. This afforded no indication, and I drew out the first paper my fingers touched. Judge my surprise when I saw the forged cheque, which I had thought safely stored in Mr. Ephraim's safe ! Of course I took the book to be his, and imagined that for some reason he had transferred the document to it. I was about to close it with the purpose of returning it to him, when some feeling which I cannot define impelled me to draw out the next paper. This, to my dumb sur prise, was a certificate of marriage, dated almost a year back, testifying that John Barrett and Lydia Pennypacker had, upon a day stated, been joined together in the bonds of holy matri mony. A tumult of thought rushed over me at this discovery. Now I could understand the apparent uneasiness on his part at my searches for the lost girl. Now I understood his frequent absences from the house, and his remark in reference to Miss Brinsmade, that "had he met her a few months sooner there was no knowing what might have hap pened." I revolved all this, and many smaller things bearing upon the matter, in my mind. The discovery relieved me of a heavy anxiety in regard to the welfare of Lydia, while it made me think better of John to find that he had taken the homeless girl and made her his wife. I felt that he must have done
