Miss Webster was agreeably surprised when she received her nephew Ralph’s answer to her letter in which she had told him of May Churchill’s marriage.

It was a quiet, ordinary letter, and mentioned that affair in the most commonplace manner.

“My dear Aunt Margaret,” Miss Webster read with a considerable feeling of relief. “I received your letter telling me of the marriage of your pretty young friend, and I am sure we will all join in wishing her every happiness. But what I don’t quite like about the matter is its secrecy. A secret marriage is, I think, always unfair to the woman; and I understood from you that this Mr. Temple was his uncle’s heir, by the will of his grandfather, in the event of the elder Mr. Temple leaving no children. Now, if this is so, why should your Mr. Temple be afraid of his uncle, and prefer to cast a slur on the woman he has married, when his uncle can really (I presume) eventually do him no harm? However, it is no affair of ours.

“The weather here has been all that we could desire, and if I was not afraid of boring you with the oft-told description of Alpine scenery, I could tell you of some wonderful bits of coloring from the effect of the sunshine on the snow. However, as I hope soon to see you, I will not write a long letter to-day. In another fortnight I must be back to town, and hard at work at the old grind.

“With love to yourself and Aunt Eliza,

“Yours affectionately,

”Ralph Webster.”

Miss Webster silently put this letter into her sister Eliza’s hand, and after Miss Eliza had read it she returned it with one of her usual gentle sighs.

“Dear boy!” she said, and that was all. Still both the sisters felt relieved, and were glad to think no great harm had been done. The way in which Ralph had taken the news in fact made it easier for them to answer their other letters which they had received from the bride and bridegroom. In his, John Temple asked Miss Webster very kindly to look out for a suitably furnished house in their neighborhood for May. This Miss Webster had done, but she could not hear of one that was to be let at once. There was a house in the same terrace, but it would not be vacant for two months. Could Mrs. John Temple wait that long, Miss Webster had inquired.

To this John answered no. He could not be absent longer from England than another fortnight, and he must see May settled in town before he left her. Again the sisters went out house-hunting, but were still unsuccessful. At last, half-nervously, Miss Webster proposed to Miss Eliza to ask May to come to them until she could see about a house for herself.

“I have thought about that, too,” answered Miss Eliza; “but I did not like to suggest it.”

“It seems so unkind,” said Miss Webster, “when her room is standing empty.”

The offer was therefore made, and was gratefully accepted both by John Temple and May.

“It is more than good of you,” wrote John, “but I will leave May to thank you herself.”

May’s letter was a pretty bride-like epistle, in which “dear John’s” name occurred and re-occurred in every other line. “I am quite, quite happy,” she wrote; “but how could I be otherwise when dear John is so good to me, and when I am with him, for that alone means happiness to me. We wander together about this wonderful city, and dear John shows me beautiful things of which I had never dreamed, and which but for him I should have never seen. I tell him he is like some prince in the fairy tales, who found his poor little country sweetheart in the green woods. I feel so unworthy of him, but he will never listen to this, and his generous, noble words are very dear and sweet to my heart. I will tell you some day what he says on the subject, though I know it is only his great goodness that makes him speak thus. Still he says I make him very happy, and I pray to God night and day that I may always be able to do so.”

“Sweet young creature!” said Miss Eliza, wiping away a tear as she read these tender, loving words.

Miss Webster also was not unmoved. But when Ralph Webster arrived they did not show him May’s letter.

“She is very happy,” Miss Webster said, gently, and then for the first time she noticed the change in her nephew’s appearance.

“Why, Ralph!” she exclaimed, and then paused.

“You are looking at my gray hairs,” said Ralph, quietly. “Yes, isn’t it funny? It must have been the air of Switzerland.”

Miss Webster said nothing, but she thought the more. Not only had the air of Switzerland sown many white hairs round Ralph Webster’s broad brow, but it had visibly lined and aged his face. He, in fact, was looking ill, and not like a man who had just returned from his holiday.

“I am glad to get back to my work,” he said, and he was. Work was good for him, and his strong, firm mind recognized this.

“And,” he said, presently, “when do the bride and bridegroom return?”

Then Miss Webster and Aunt Eliza told their little story. They had tried in vain to find a suitable house for Mrs. John Temple at the time she required one, as Mr. John Temple was obliged to be back in England almost immediately. But they had heard of a house that would be vacant in two months.

“And so, dear Ralph, we thought we could not help offering her a home here until she finds one to suit herself,” explained Miss Webster. “And we expect her to arrive the day after to-morrow.”

A dusky flush rose to Ralph Webster’s face.

“The day after to-morrow?” he repeated, “and—Mr. Temple?”

“Oh! Mr. Temple will not stay here at all, dear, at present. He proposes to bring his bride here on Thursday afternoon, and he will stay to dinner, and then start for the Midlands by the night train. You must come to dinner on Thursday, Ralph, to meet him.”

But Ralph shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I have a case to work up on Thursday which will take me until the small hours of the morning. Besides,” he added, “it would not do, you know, for me to meet them, as I am not supposed to know that they are married at all.”

“I forgot that,” replied Miss Webster, nervously. “Dear me, dear me; these secret marriages are very trying!”

“Perhaps I will look in on Friday,” continued Ralph Webster, “and by that time you must find out how I am to address her—by her maiden or her married name.”

This was a complication that poor Aunt Margaret had never reckoned on.

“Yes, we must find out,” she said; “we must ask Mr. John Temple; really it is very awkward.”

But when Thursday arrived, and the sisters saw the bride’s sweet, happy face, they forgot at first to make any inquiries on the subject. May was looking quite charming; her dress, her beauty, even her manner was improved. She was indeed a lovely young woman that the kindly sisters took in their thin arms, and pressed their faded lips against her rosy ones. As for John Temple, he also looked exceedingly well, and his gray eyes rested again and again on the beautiful face of his fair bride with unmistakable affection.

He remained to dinner at Pembridge Terrace, but explained how he was obliged to start on his journey to Woodlea Hall almost immediately afterward. May knew this, but her face saddened a little when John repeated it, and her lips quivered.

“My uncle would never forgive me if I disappointed him,” said John, and then the little party began talking of other things.

“And how is Mr. Webster?” presently asked May. “Has he returned from abroad yet?”

This question at once reminded the sisters of their nephew’s wish to know by what name he should address May, and they looked at each other significantly; and then Miss Webster—the stronger minded of the two—after a little nervous hesitation spoke.

“Yes, he has returned, and is very well,” she said; “and—oh! my dear Mrs. John Temple, there is something I wish to ask you.”

“What is that?” answered May, smiling.

“Well, you see it is rather awkward—but—but I believe it was your wish, and—your husband’s for your marriage at present to be kept a secret?”

“Certainly,” said John Temple, rather quickly.

“And—my nephew knew Miss Churchill, you know, Mr. Temple, before her marriage, and when he meets her again—” hesitated Miss Webster.

“He had better know her as Miss Churchill still,” answered John, gravely. “For both our sakes, Miss Webster, for the present our marriage must be kept an absolute secret.”

Miss Webster stirred uneasily, and May blushed deeply, and also made a slight restless movement.

“It is absolutely necessary,” repeated John; “but if you wish, May, that Miss Webster’s friends should know you are married, why not take another name?”

“We will talk of it afterward,” said May, gently.

“But, my dear,” he answered, and he looked at his watch as he spoke, “we shall not have very long to talk of anything this evening. I must go upstairs and look after my traps, if Miss Webster will excuse me, for the cab I ordered will be here in half an hour. You had better come with me, May.”

So the two left the room together, and when they were alone John put his arm around May’s waist and drew her to his breast and kissed her face.

“I know this must seem hard to you, darling, about the name—and having to part so soon—but you see, it would never do to offend my uncle.”

“Oh! no, no, John!” replied May, fondly, and she flung her arms round his neck as she spoke. “Do you think I would wish to do you any harm? You who have been so good to me, and married me when I was so different in every way to you? Of course, your uncle naturally would resent your marriage to me, but the only thing is—”

“What, dear?”

“I think I should rather be known to be married among Miss Webster’s friends; you see when people are not married—”

“Young men are rather apt to fall in love with a very pretty girl, eh, May? Is that what you mean? Well, darling, perhaps you are right; call yourself Mrs. Somebody-else—or no, a brilliant idea has struck me; call yourself Mrs. John!”

“Oh, yes, that will do!” cried May, smiling. “Mrs. John! that is charming—then I will bear John’s name still—my own John!”

She nestled closer to him, and John Temple murmured something about “being unworthy,” of which May took no heed. Then in wifelike fashion, she began packing what he required, and he stood watching her with a strange dimness in his eyes, which, however, May did not see. She was thinking all the time how good and noble he was; how he had risked his inheritance for her sake; for May did not know that the Woodlea estates were in truth strictly entailed on John Temple, in the event of the present owner, Mr. Philip Temple, leaving no children. She might have heard this at the time of young Phil Temple’s death, but girl’s ideas on such subjects are very vague. But she knew John’s marriage with her would offend his uncle, and therefore it behooved her for his sake to keep it a secret as long as his uncle lived.

By and by they heard a cab stop at the house-door, and the bell rang, and they knew their parting hour had come. May clung to John, and her eyes were wet with tears when they went down-stairs together, and a few minutes later he was gone! And a great blank seemed suddenly to fall on the heart of the poor young bride.

But she tried not to show this, and presently said she was tired with her journey, and asked Miss Webster’s leave to retire to bed. She kissed both the sisters before she left them, and thanked them in her pretty way for giving her for the present the shelter of their roof.

“And Miss Webster,” she said, still holding Miss Webster’s kindly hand, “I talked over the name with John—I mean the name I am to be called by—and we fixed on Mrs. John. You see there is nothing extraordinary in that, and it is still John’s name. I can not take his full name on account of his uncle, as we must run no risks; but I will be Mrs. John. Do you think you can remember Mrs. John?”

“Yes, my dear, I can remember,” answered Miss Webster, and she kissed May’s fair face again. “And it is better that you should be known as a married woman.”

“Much better,” said May, and then she left the sisters and retired to her own room to think there and pray for John with all her heart.

The next day, of course, she wished to write to John, but he had told her not to do so unless Miss Webster directed her letter. And it seemed almost too soon to ask Miss Webster to do this. Still she wrote, telling him all her sweet thoughts, and prattling to him on paper as she had done when nestling by his side. This letter would be sent the next day, she decided, after she had added this and that to it. Then after lunch she went out to walk with Miss Eliza, and when they returned they found Ralph Webster sitting in the dining-room with his Aunt Margaret.

Miss Webster had by this time told Ralph Webster that it had been decided that their young guest had for the present to bear the name of “Mrs. John.” Ralph had listened in somewhat grim silence, and when May and Aunt Eliza appeared Miss Webster rose in a little flurry.

“This is Mrs. John, Ralph,” she said, hastily.

Ralph Webster rose quietly and held out his hand.

“How are you, Mrs. John?” he said. “I hear I have to congratulate you.”

“Yes,” answered May, with a charming blush, taking his hand; “I have been married since I saw you last.”

“So my aunt has been telling me. Well, I did not forget the edelweiss, and have three separate packets of it at this moment in my coat pocket which is hanging in the hall.”

May had forgotten about the edelweiss. But she did not tell Mr. Webster this, and accepted her portion of the ice-flower smilingly. She thought he looked graver and older, but supposed he had been working very hard. She said something about this after dinner in the drawing-room, and Ralph Webster admitted it was true.

“Yes,” he said, “I have rather an important case coming on to-morrow, and have been burning the midnight oil over it. And as it is about jewelry I suppose it would interest you ladies. I do not know whether you have ever heard of Miss Kathleen Weir, the actress?”

May, to whom he addressed this question, shook her head.

“An actress?” echoed Miss Webster.

“Yes, and I am told a very fascinating and handsome young woman. But I shall see her to-morrow, as I am junior in the case, and have to examine the witnesses.”

“And are you for the prosecution or the defense?” asked May.

“For the prosecution. It is, in fact, rather a remarkable case. It seems Miss Kathleen Weir is a lady who owns a great number of diamonds, or rather, supposed she did. Well, a month or so ago she was either hard up, or she had a mind to change some of her diamonds for something else. At all events, she took what she supposed to be a valuable diamond brooch and earrings to the jeweler, of whom they had been purchased, for the purpose of disposing of them. The jeweler and his assistants examined the stones, and told her they were everyone paste—not diamonds at all in fact. The cases were theirs, and the settings, but the diamonds had been removed and replaced by false ones. They at first supposed Miss Weir had wished to impose on them, but the rage she flew into soon satisfied them that this was not the case. She entreated one of the jewelers to return with her to her flat to examine the rest of her diamonds. A nice discovery awaited her; half, nay more than half, were gone, and paste diamonds had been substituted in place of the real ones.”

“What a dreadful thing!” exclaimed May.

“Dreadful for Miss Weir at least. These diamonds were worth thousands of pounds, and someone must have stolen them. The question was who did it, and the affair had been in the hands of the detectives ever since. Now they have got hold of someone, and Miss Weir’s confidential maid, a certain Miss Margaret Johnstone, has to be put on her trial to-morrow for robbing her mistress. I am told there is a strong defense, but I think we hold the trump card.”

“We shall be interested in the result,” said May.

“Half the women in London will be interested. There is, I believe, an extraordinary fascination in jewels to your sex, and in diamonds in particular. However, by this time to-morrow Miss Margaret Johnstone will probably know this to her cost. But now I must go; I have my notes to look up on the case. Good-night, Mrs. John; good-night, Aunt Margaret and Aunt Eliza.”

He left the house a few moments later, after his aunts had pressed him to return the following evening to tell the news about the trial. And he did this, entering the drawing-room at Pembridge Terrace the next night about nine o’clock with a slight flush on his somewhat haggard face.

“Well,” he said, quietly, but still with the air of a man who has gained something he had fought for, “we have won our case.”

“Do tell us all about it, dear!” cried his aunts in chorus.

“Will it bore you?” asked Ralph Webster, looking at May.

“No, indeed, it will not,” she answered.

“I will make it as short as possible, then. The case of the prosecution was simple enough so far. Miss Kathleen Weir discovered that more than half her diamonds had been stolen and false ones substituted. She discovered this, as I told you, by taking some of them to a jeweler’s to dispose of—the defense made a point of this, as you will hear. Well, Miss Weir gave evidence that no one ever went into her jewel-case but her confidential maid, Margaret Johnstone. This woman had been in her service five years, and she completely trusted her. She admitted she sometimes left money lying about, but it was never touched. Margaret Johnstone used to take off Miss Weir’s jewels on her return from the theater, and restore them to the case, and bring them out the next day when they were required. Generally Miss Weir carried the key of her jewel-case with her, but sometimes she forgot it, and she remembered one night in particular Margaret Johnstone telling her she had done this. No suspicion, however, entered her mind as regards her maid. But no one else had access to the jewels, and when she discovered her loss she naturally told her story to the police, and Margaret Johnstone was arrested.

“The defense was peculiar. Margaret Johnstone admitted taking Miss Weir’s diamonds to a certain somewhat contraband diamond dealer, but by her mistress’ orders. This diamond dealer gave evidence. The woman on trial had from time to time brought diamond ornaments to him for sale. He was suspicious at first, he said, but Margaret Johnstone gave distinct answers. The diamonds belonged to her mistress, Miss Kathleen Weir, the actress, and she was short of ready money, and wished to sell the diamonds for the best price she could get, and have false diamonds substituted in their place in the same settings. He still hesitated, and requested the maid to bring a letter from her mistress authorizing him to carry out this project. This Margaret Johnstone did, and the dealer produced the letter in court, which Miss Weir swore was never written by her, but the handwriting slightly resembled her own.

“After this constant transactions took place between the diamond dealer and the maid. The dealer swore that he had paid thousands to Margaret Johnstone and received receipts for the money signed Kathleen Weir. He swore also he never doubted that he was dealing with the real owner of the jewels. ‘Many ladies,’ he said, ‘did the same thing, and the diamonds their husbands and friends gave them at their marriage were frequently exchanged in after years for fictitious ones.’

“Then the counsel for the defense pointed out that Miss Weir herself admitted she was going to try to dispose of some of her diamonds when the so-called fraud was discovered. This looked as though she was in the habit of doing so, and so on. This was the defense, but of course I have not told it in legal language. All the time, however, as I told you yesterday, I was sure we held the trump card, which was that in one of the woman’s boxes, after she was arrested, a half-finished letter was found. It was to a lover in Australia, asking him if he had received safely the eight hundred pounds she had forwarded to him by the last mail. ‘She will never be the wiser,’ Margaret Johnstone had written to the lover, ‘and the paste do quite as well for her as the real.’

“The handwriting of this letter, and the letter signed Kathleen Weir, held by the diamond dealer, and the receipts also signed Kathleen Weir, were then submitted to experts. These men decided they were all really written by the same person. To make a long story short, Margaret Johnstone totally broke down under cross-examination, and began crying hysterically.

“‘It was the devil tempted me!’ she finally cried, and so no doubt it was, but he played her a scurvy trick, for she got a sentence of eight years’ penal servitude for listening to his voice.”

“Oh! poor creature!” said May, pitifully.

“My sympathies, I confess, lie with Miss Kathleen Weir,” continued Ralph Webster, smiling. “She has lost her diamonds, worth thousands of pounds, which she will never see again, and she might have had a very awkward reflection cast on her honesty. But I admit I am prejudiced in her favor, for just before I started to come here a note in the prettiest language imaginable was handed to me from Miss Kathleen Weir. My modesty forbade me to bring it, or to repeat all she had written. But she paid me a great many compliments on my ‘masterly cross-examination’—please remember I am quoting—which, no doubt, she said, ‘elicited the truth from that wretched woman.’ And, moreover, she wanted me to go to see her to-morrow afternoon, and I mean to go.”

“Oh! Ralph, to see an actress!” said Miss Webster, in dismay.

“Oh! do go,” cried May, laughing. “I am dying to hear all about her.”

“I will go,” said Ralph Webster, slowly, not knowing that the hand of Fate was leading him into a pitfall beset with doubt and anxieties from which there was no escape.