Later in the day Mr. Sharpley found his way to Hurst Court, and paused before Number 10. Though a selfish man, he was not without feeling, and the miserable quarters in which he found his sister excited his pity. He made inquiry of some of the lower tenants, and soon stood at his sister's door. Without waiting to knock, he opened the door and stepped in.

The sick woman looked up mechanically, supposing it to be a neighbor who had been kind to her. But when she recognized her brother, she uttered a feeble cry of joy.

"Oh, Robert, have you come back?" she cried. "How long it is since I have seen you!"

He was shocked at her wan and wasted appearance.

"Helen," he said, taking a seat beside the bed, "you look very sick."

"No, Robert, not very sick. It is only the effect of overwork and scanty food."

"That is enough. How long have you been sick?"

"A fortnight. Things looked very dark for me. I feared my poor children would starve, but this morning a noble boy, whom Providence must have sent to me in my extremity, gave me two sovereigns, and they will last me till I am well. But where have you been, Robert?"

"I have been to America."

"And did you—did you see anything of my husband?" she asked, fixing her eyes anxiously upon him.

"Do you think of him still? He does not deserve it. He has treated you like a scoundrel."

"I know he has not treated me right, Robert, but he is the father of my children. Then you did not find him?"

"I obtained a clew," said Sharpley, evasively. "It may or may not lead to anything. I am about to leave London now on a journey connected with that clew. If it results in anything, I will let you know."

"Where are you going?"

"On the Continent. I cannot say precisely where, but you will hear from me. But what a hole you are living in," and he looked around him in disgust at the bare walls and naked condition of the miserable room.

"I don't mind it, Robert. I feel glad to have the shelter of any roof."

"Have you been so poor?"

"So poor that I could not well be poorer."

"Come, this must be remedied. I am not rich, but I can do something for you. To-morrow morning I will move you to a better room. Do you think you can bear to be moved?"

"Yes, brother. You are very kind," murmured the sick woman, not aware that her brother's motives were complex, and that his chief reason for the removal was not dictated by sympathy or pity.

"Then I shall be here to-morrow at ten, with a cab. You must all of you be ready. By the way, do you know any of the people in the house?"

"Yes; they are poor, but some of them have been kind to me."

"Don't let them know where you are moving to?" said Sharpley.

"Not let them know!" repeated Mrs. Craven, in surprise. "Why not?"

"I have a reason, but I don't want to tell you."

"I don't understand it, Robert. What harm can it do?"

Sharpley bit his lip. He was annoyed by her persistency, but he was not prepared to give the real reason. Fortunately, a plausible explanation occurred to him.

"Listen, sister," he said. "You have an enemy."

"An enemy!"

"Yes, who is trying to find you out. He has a clew, and if you remain here he may succeed."

"But how can I have an enemy, and what could he do to me?"

"Suppose he should kidnap one of your children?"

The suggestion was made on the spur of the moment, but the effect was immediate. The poor woman turned pale—paler even than before—and trembled.

"Say no more, Robert," she answered. "I will promise."

"You promise to let no one of your neighbors know where you are going?"

"Yes. But, Robert, is it my husband—is it Mr. Craven who is in search of me?"

"Ask no more," said Sharpley. "You may know some time, but I have told you all I wish you at present to know. But I must be going. To-morrow, at ten, remember."

"I will be ready."

"Cleverly managed!" said Sharpley to himself. "I must take care that that boy does not meet my sister again. The name has already struck him. If he sees her again he may come to suspect the truth, and suspicion once aroused, he may suspect me."

He didn't at once return to the hotel, but going to a part of London two miles distant, engaged a somewhat better lodging for his sister. The next morning he went to Hurst Court, and, finding her ready, moved her at once to her new home.

"How kind you are, Robert!" she said.

"I would do more if I had the means. I may be richer soon. I have a good prospect before me, but it requires me to go away for a time."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I cannot tell. It may be a month; it may be two or three. I have paid the rent of this lodging for three months in advance. There is the receipt."

She looked at it mechanically, then handed it back.

"This is not the receipt," she said. "The name is wrong."

"How is it wrong?"

"It is made out to Mrs. Chipman."

"It is the right paper."

"But my name is not Mrs. Chipman."

"Yes, it is."

"What do you mean, Robert?" asked his sister, lifting her eyes in surprise.

"Just what I say. I want you to be Mrs. Chipman."

"But why should I give up my name?"

"Do you remember what I told you yesterday—about the man who was on your track?"

"You didn't say it was a man."

"Well, I say so now."

"Well, Robert?"

"He will find it harder to trace you if you change your name."

"If you think it right, Robert, I will be guided by your advice."

"I do think it best for reasons which I cannot fully explain. You must tell your children, also."

"I will do so."

"Have you any of the money that boy gave you?"

"I have nearly all."

"Here are three sovereigns more. With your rent paid for three months, if you use it economically, you will not again be reduced to destitution."

"I shall feel rich with so much money," said Mrs. Craven, smiling faintly.

"Take care that you are not robbed."

"I will be careful. But it seems strange to me that I should have occasion for any fears."

"Before the three months are over, I shall probably be back in London. I will come to you at once, and let you know if I have heard anything."

"Thank you, Robert. Good-by, then, for the present."

"Good-by. I hope you will soon be well."

"I shall. It was anxiety for my children that was wearing upon me. Now, thanks to your kindness, I am easy in mind. But, brother, there is one question I forgot to ask. How came you to know that I lived at Hurst Court?"

Sharpley was posed for a moment, and knew not what to say. He could not, of course, tell the truth; but he was a man fertile in suggestions, and he was silent for a moment only.

"I employed a detective," he answered. "These London detectives are wonderfully sharp. He soon found you out."

"And you took all this trouble about me," said Mrs. Craven, gratefully, not for a moment doubting the accuracy of the story.

"Is it strange that I should take the trouble to find my only sister? But I cannot delay longer. Good-by, Helen."

He stooped and lightly touched her cheek with his lips, and hurried from the room.

"There," he said to himself, after reaching the street; "I have cut off all possibility of a second meeting between Frank and my sister during the brief remainder of our stay in London. When I come back it will be alone!"

Four days afterward they left London for Paris. The day before, Frank made his way again to Hurst Court, meaning to leave a little more money with Mrs. Craven, questioning her at the same time about her husband, whom he could not help connecting in some way with his step-father. But his visit was made in vain. Mrs. Craven had disappeared, and not one of the tenants could say where she had gone: but all agreed that she had been taken away in a cab by a tall gentleman. It seemed mysterious, but no suspicion as to the identity of the gentleman entered Frank's mind.

"I hope she has found a friend able to help her," he said to himself, and then dismissed the subject from his mind.