The friendship that had sprung up between Claire Keith and Mrs. Ralston, grew and strengthened as the days went by.

Claire's enthusiasm had overflowed in more than one letter to Olive. The oft-repeated wish that her new friend and her much loved sister might meet, had at last drawn from that somewhat preoccupied sister a very cordial invitation to bring Mrs. Ralston to New York.

When this invitation came, Claire, feeling that it was now time to unfold to her friend the sad pages of Olive's history, sought her for that purpose. But as she deemed that the time had not yet come for telling anyone of the hoped-for lifting of the cloud, especially as to do so she must tell too of Madeline, she refrained from mentioning the names of the actors in that miserable drama.

Mrs. Ralston was deeply interested in the story of Olive's sorrow; and having heard it, she felt a stronger desire than before to see this beautiful, sad-hearted sister, who was so beloved by Claire. Bending down she kissed the fair face, flushed with the excitement Claire always felt when recounting her sister's wrongs, and those of Philip Girard, and said, tenderly:

"Thank your sister in my name, my darling. And tell her that I will certainly avail myself of her kind invitation, at some future time."

Claire's eyes danced eagerly. "Oh, I wish we could go now—at least, soon."

Fate chose to grant Claire's desire in a most unexpected manner, for while they were still sitting, talking, in the semi-twilight, the library door opened and a servant announced Mr. Allyne, to see Mrs. Ralston. At once Mrs. Keith and her daughter arose to leave the room. But Mrs. Ralston said, earnestly:

"Pray, do not go; there can be no need for a private interview."

And as at that moment Mr. Allyne himself appeared on the threshold, the ladies all advanced to welcome him, and, this ceremony being over, resumed their seats.

"I have just received this letter from Mr. Lord," said Mr. Allyne, after some moments of general conversation. "Read it, and then tell me your opinion of its contents."

The lady took the letter, looking the while somewhat anxious. As she read, the look of apprehension deepened. When at last she dropped the letter, her hands were trembling visibly, and her face was pale and agitated. For a moment she sat in silence, her eyes full of fear and her hands working nervously. Then she seemed to recover herself by a powerful effort of will. Taking up the letter, she placed it in the hand of Mrs. Keith, saying: "Read it, dear friend."

Mrs. Keith took the letter and read:

New York, Dec. 7th.

Wm. Allyne, Esq.,

Dear Sir:—A man assuming to be a lawyer called on me this afternoon, and requested information regarding our friend, Mrs. Ralston. If I am not much mistaken he is in reality a detective—I think I remember him in the Mallory case—and is, doubtless, looking up evidence in regard to the lady's second and most unfortunate marriage, either at the instigation of her vagabond husband or some of his supposed heirs.

If you know the present address of Mrs. R., it would be well to communicate with her, as some of her old servants are now in this city, at service, and this fellow might ferret out something through them.

Having no authority to act in the matter, I could do no more than baffle this man's inquiries so far as I was concerned, much as I desire to serve the lady when I know the way.

One thing: the fellow evidently believes in the story of her death.