Like two roses on one stalk, don't-cher-know! Can't tell which is which!" The mother of the girls hesitated a moment.

She was not quite sure that she liked the "tone" of his lordship's speech.

Finally she replied somewhat stiffly:-- "My eldest daughter is named Elizabeth, my lord, and her sister is Grace." "Elizabeth and Grace! Charming!" murmured Wrotham, leaning a little more confidentially over the counter--"Now which--which is Grace ?" At that moment a tall, shadowy form darkened the open doorway of the inn, and a man entered, carrying in his arms a small oblong bundle covered with a piece of rough horse-cloth.

Placing his burden down on a vacant bench, he pushed his cap from his brows and stared wildly about him.

Every one looked at him,--some with recognition, others in alarm,--and Helmsley, compelled as he was to keep himself out of the general notice in his corner, almost started to his feet with an involuntary cry of amazement.