FERDINAND LEFROY, the man who had in truth been the woman's husband, had, during that one interview which had taken place between him and the man who had married his wife, on his return to St. Louis, declared that his brother Robert was dead. But so had Robert, when Peacocke encountered him down in Texas, declared that Ferdinand was dead. But Peacocke knew that no word of truth could be expected from the mouths of either of them. But seeing is believing.

He had seen Ferdinand alive at St. Louis after his marriage, and by seeing him, had been driven away from his home, back to his old country. Now he also saw this other man, and was aware that his secret was no longer in his own keeping.

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"Yes, I know you now. Why, when I saw you last, did you tell me that your brother was dead? Why did you bring so great an injury on your sister-in-law ?"

"I never told you anything of the kind."

VOL. CXXVIII.-NO. DCCLXXVII.

"As God is above us you told me so."

"I don't know anything about that, my friend. Maybe I was cut. I used to be drinking a good deal them days. Maybe I didn't say anything of the kind,-only it suited you to go back and tell her So. Anyways I disremember it altogether. Anyways he wasn't dead. And I ain't dead now." "I can see that."

"And I ain't drunk now. But I am not quite so well off as a fellow would wish to be. Can you get me breakfast?"

"Yes, I can get you breakfast," he said, after pausing for a while. Then he rang the bell and told the girl to bring some breakfast for the gentleman as soon as possible, into the room in which they were sitting. This was in a little library in which he was in the habit of studying and going through lessons with the boys. He had brought the man here so that his wife might not come across him. As soon as the order was given, he

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