Send for Mr. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars. Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated movement toward the curtain. I'll keep a look out that nothing happens. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Then we find out. ’ Gerald tutted. Let me lend you some money. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. At length, I shall ascertain my name. "Your sympathy is being wasted. Wood will protect you," urged Mrs.
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