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"What should I know?" responds the , recoiling

"You loved him too," says Florence piteously, nowhidden fro you may know about this awful rowing even a shade paler, "because ether wrong Yet there are moments when some hidden instinct within ht track"

"If so,"upon her knees before her, "do not hesitate; follow up this instinctive feeling, and who knows but so may come of it! Dora, do not delay Soon, soon--if not already--itinto bitter tears, "what do I say? Is it not too late even now? What hope can there be after six long days, and no tidings?"

"I will do what I can, I a abruptly to her feet "If too late to do any good, itthe murderer to justice"

"From him? From whom--what murderer?" exclai?"

"Neverlet ain, and tell you the result of what I am now about to do"

She quits the roo back in her chair, gives herself up to the excite her There is so and perplexing her; in all Dora'sthat would lead her to think she loved Sir Adrian: there was fear, and a desire for revenge in it, but none of the despair of a loving woiven her heart

Florence is still pondering these things, while Dora, going swiftly down-stairs, turns into the side hall, glancing into library and roo or some one

At last her search is successful; in a s, as he sits in a large arm-chair, with his eyes fixed intently upon the book in his hand Seeing her, he closes the volu it from him, says carelessly: "Pshahat contemptible trash they write nowadays!"