"I had forgotten him—I did not But I heard of him-to-day." Then why

had a flavour that required study. expect ever to hear of him again. "Father! He is alive? "You seem very impatient, Helen. What can it signify to—Me? I was distracting my mind in company with a Russian friend of mine -for I have friends, Helen-Sergius Sergievitch by name: the finest player of dominoes, after myself, whom I know. He has the more luck, but then I have the more science—and in the long run, science is sure to tell. I have but poor luck, God knows but bah! Patience, Science, and Gustave Renouf against the world!"

...

"Patience--yes. But you were speaking of-you had heard ——” "Of Roland Fanshaw. True. It is not easy to keep trifles in mind. You remember he invented a screw which, unluckily for him, as I could have told him if he had not been always too conceited to ask me, had been invented before. . . . Sometimes I have thought that he did not like to ask, because he knew pretty well what the answer would be. . . . But never mind that now. I am told he has become a great, rich man. But I don't envy him, Helen. A good conscience is the best treasure, and pride will have a fall. I would not take all his money for the mere dust and sweepings of my ideas. Nobody thinks, before me, of my ideas. But they will think enough of them afterwards, when Roland Fanshaw lies forgotten in the grave."

"He is become rich-he is become great ?" asked Helen, turning pale. "I-I knew he would become great." For the first time since Roland had left her, her father heard her sigh.

"He was always a great-fool. The way to become rich quickly is easy enough—any blockhead who likes can be a millionaire. I could be one in a week, if it were worth while, and if there weren't nobler things to live for."

"Father, tell me everything you have heard. You need not be afraid."

"Ah, I thought you couldn't have been grieving all this while about a man like that. When he is poor, he comes where he can find-ideas. I'll tell you all I know. Roland Fanshaw has taken to finance he has become a great man in stocks and shares. He mixes with princes and countesses and lives in style. And here am I!"

Helen shook her head, with another sigh. "No," said she; "I thought I was going to hear of him at last-that he is dead or living -but I was wrong. He was no money-maker-in that way. Andhe might have left us if he was poor and we rich, but he rich and we poor-no!"

"What-you don't believe? Then, what do you believe?" "That there are two Roland Fanshaws," said Helen.

It was so much the last thing her father had looked for her saying that he could only shrug his shoulders angrily, and wonder of what sort of stuff women could be made. There had been nothing strange

to him in the news that a man on suddenly growing rich should have thrown over his old friends, and should think better of his fancy for the daughter of an artisan, so far as marriage was concerned. How was he to argue with a girl who was unable to understand the first axioms of the science of human nature?

But to her the picture was as impossible as if it were she herself of whom it had been painted. She knew that she had known Roland, and never better than when she had seen him for the last time-a few hours before, if this impossible story were true, he had taken the first step into wealth and whatever honour may go therewith. Though she had never studied human nature, she had learned Roland's, and knew at least that men do not change their whole natures, if such a thing is ever done, in a few hours. It was unlikely enough that there should be two Roland Fanshaws in the world. But it was ten thousand times more likely than that the same Roland should be two different men.

Even if she had possessed the means of inquiring into such an impossible identity between the poor student and the rich financier, she would not have inquired. What would be the use, when the only result would be to prove conclusively that the two were not one ?

Not all, however, was the exchange of good coffee for worthless news that came from Gustave Renouf's mental distraction. He did not extend his own connection as a draughtsman and designer, but, to some extent, he did extend his daughter's as a needlewoman. Sergius Sergievitch, for example, who was in the service of a foreign lady of quality, and who was on good terms with his lady's femmede-chambre, obtained his friend's daughter a good deal of work in exchange for those lessons in dominoes in which, somehow, the teacher always lost and the pupil always won. Perhaps the lady of quality paid more than Helen's father ever received, and perhaps Helen's father received something more than he ever paid Helen. But, considering the number of middle-men and middle-women concerned, the work was exceptionally well worth taking; nor was it done the worse for the heavy heart with which the needle was plied. Perhaps woman's work may not be so good a cure for a heartache as man's. But even needlework keeps down tears ;

they might fall upon the stuff, and would certainly interfere with the eyes.

She had to go some

It was on this lady's work that Helen was engaged when she heard the story that she could not believe. About a week later, it was out of hand, and she had to carry it home. distance, a very long way indeed for her, who could not afford to spend pence upon riding. But far as it was, she was not one of those people who are always meeting with adventures or coincidences wherever they go, and the expedition promised to be one of the most ordinary kind. I dare not say that Roland was absent from her thoughts, for that would mean that she was no longer living. But he was certainly no nearer to them than he was always, when, soon after leaving her employer's door, she saw, seated in an open carriage by the side of a strangely brilliant and handsome woman— Roland !

She might disbelieve stories pieced together out of the pips of dominoes, but she could not disbelieve her own eyes. For her eyes were at one with her heart, and how could that be disbelieved? The carriage in which he rode, and the lady he was with, spoke of wealth and grandeur, and all the more to one who went out so little and who lived so humbly. Assuredly it was he, dressed like a man of fashion, and appearing entirely at home. And he wore a flower-he who had once vowed never to touch a blossom unless it had come from her hand. Had not flowers become sacred things between them the things that make a sacrament of a vow?

Would he see her? In her agitation she hardly knew whether this was to be hoped or feared. But, before she could decide whether to pass and take her chance, or whether to turn her back to the carriage and gaze intently into the nearest shop window, their eyes had met; he saw her as plainly as she saw him. She could not look away, her eyes were held by his as a lodestone holds steel. It was Roland. Would he not instantly stop the horses, leap from the carriage, and, in one moment, make all things clear? He did nothing of the kind. She saw the look of recognition, but his eyes made no further sign. The fine gentleman was the first to avert his face as the carriage drove on, and the seamstress was left to go her own way alone.

And then, at last, and not till then, Helen knew all. No more suspense, but no more Faith; that was the worst. It would have been better that she had died. She could not disbelieve what she had seen. Roland was living, thank God for that, and well.

Nay, she might, if she could, thank God that he had obtained his heart's desire. But that these things had been the desire of his heart-gold, and a fine coat, and fine company, and not the love that she had given him-she could find no thanks for that; even she knew that, for the sake of the worst, he had thrown the best away. She dared not dwell upon the black depth of hypocrisy that, when they had last met, had caused her to misread him so.

Nay, the best thanks any heart could give were for the proof that there were not two Roland Fanshaws in the world. The worst of it was that there was one.

CHAPTER VIII.

FROM HAND TO HAND.

"ILONA," said Roland, as soon as they had left the carriage and were alone in the room where he had first seen her, "believe me or not, as you like, but I have no secret-none. Do you think I would not tell you everything if there were anything to tell? I am Fortune's Favourite, that is all."

"From those who love me-Deeds, not words," said Countess Lenska. "I don't want to know your secret, not for the sake of knowing it, that is to say. What use would it be to me? I never play. I never touch a card. I am not on the Bourse, and if I were, I should not know what to do. But Eve was curious, and she was an ancestress of mine. And how can I trust you if you do not trust me?"

"If there was anything to trust you with! Of course, I know that any man who trusts a woman is set down as a fool. But I should be a fool not to trust you. You and I are one--your wits and my fortune were made to join together and rule the world."

"Well, never mind. But remember that I find out most things, and for what I find out for myself I have no call to pay. Never mind your secret, if you will not tell. Let us talk of other things." "I will tell you my secret. It is simply this-that I have none. How does any man become rich? Simply by not caring how much others lose. I am a little bolder than others, that is all. could find any man bolder than myself, he would beggar me."

If I

"My friend, you are bold. That I own. And you are not likely to find any man bolder than yourself-for you defy me. But I said, let us talk of other things."

1

"Then, Ilona, we will talk of-you."

What Gustave Renouf had heard was true. Roland Fanshaw had, at first in the most marvellous manner, started on the road to riches. But the start is so all-important, that there was nothing marvellous in his having reached the goal. With the capital he had obtained from poor Frank Standish and from Lord George Lennox and his friends, he could hardly fail, being the man he was, to double and treble it very soon. He still played at the tables, and still, with unimportant reverses of fortune, won. But his great gains were made elsewhere, in regions where he needed no jackals. Realms of finance into which a mere Arsenieff could not pretend to follow him were becoming familiar with the name of Roland Fanshaw. It was only natural that he should be talked of over dominoes, considering how closely the Renoufs and their friends echo the fame given by a wider world. Fame! He had won it-more widely by far than inventors of screws can win it for the little while that passes before somebody else invents a better. He had won the glory of being a rich man who would be richer still. As yet, he had conquered all but Ilona. But that mattered little; she also would be won in time. His passion for her had not abated by a shade; and not less had it grown for her than if she had been the purest of the

pure.

"Very well, then," said the Countess, "we will talk of—Me.... I have brains as well as beauty. I am worth talking of, my friend. Yet you seem to think I am not a woman, but a child. I ask for your trust; you give me none."

"Once more, dearest Ilona, there is nothing I know that I would not tell."

"Then-tell me how that Opal comes upon your hand."

"Why not? How do rings come on men's hands?"
"You will not even tell me that?"

"Indeed, there is nothing to tell. Whether I bought it, found it, won it—can I remember trifles like those? Perhaps that is the talisman of my fortune-who knows?"

"Well, I will blame no man for not trusting a woman. You would not be so fortunate if you were not so wise."

"Ilona, of all the women on earth, there is none so mistaken as you. I have no secrets-none. Look into my heart and see. There is nothing there that I would hide from you. There are women, perhaps, who would not like what they might find. You are not one of those. You know what life means-pleasure for the end, gold for the price, wits for the winning. Do you take me for a