hands. Then with an effort she drew herself up, and without a word or a single movement to show that she even recognized his presence, she passed on up the street.
Frank Onslow stood for a few moments watching her retreating figure, and then went across the street and turned the next corner on his way to the post-office, for which he had been inquiring when he met his wife. At the door he was stopped by a cheery voice and an outstretched hand:
"Onslow!"
"Castleton!" The two men shook hands warmly.
"I see you did not get my telegram," said Lord Castleton. "It is waiting for you at the post-office."
"What telegram?"
"To tell you that I was on my way here from London. I went in your interest, old fellow. I thought you would like full particulars—the newspapers are so vague."
"What papers? My interest? Tell me all. I am ignorant of all that has passed for the last six weeks." A vague, shadowy fear began to creep over his spirits. Castleton's voice was full of sympathy as he answered:
"Then you have not heard of—but stay. It is a long story. Come back to the yacht. I was just going to join you there. We shall be all alone,
