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door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper
story was brightly illuminated. As we looked, we saw
a dark blur moving across the blind.

"There is that creature!" cried Grant Munro. "You can
see for yourselves that some one is there. Now follow
me, and we shall soon know all."

We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared
out of the shadow and stood in the golden track of the
lamp-light. I could not see her face in the darkness,
but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of entreaty.

"For God's sake, don't Jack!" she cried. "I had a
presentiment that you would come this evening. Think
better of it, dear! Trust me again, and you will
never have cause to regret it."

"I have trusted you too long, Effie," he cried,
sternly. "Leave go of me! I must pass you. My
friends and I are going to settle this matter once and
forever!" He pushed her to one side, and we followed
closely after him. As he threw the door open an old
woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his
passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant
afterwards we were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro
rushed into the lighted room at the top, and we
entered at his heels.

It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two
candles burning upon the table and two upon the
mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a desk,
there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face
was turned away as we entered, but we could see that
she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long
white gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a
cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned
towards us was of the strangest livid tint, and the
features were absolutely devoid of any expression. An
instant later the mystery was explained. Holmes, with
a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a
mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a
little coal black negress, with all her white teeth
flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst
out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but
Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his
throat.

"My God!" he cried. "What can be the meaning of
this?"

"I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady,
sweeping into the room with a proud, set face. "You
have forced me, against my own judgment, to tell you,
and now we must both make the best of it. My husband
died at Atlanta. My child survived."

"Your child?"

She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "You
have never seen this open."

"I understood that it did not open."

She touched a spring, and the front hinged back.
There was a portrait within of a man strikingly
handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing
unmistakable signs upon his features of his African
descent.

"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and
a nobler man never walked the earth. I cut myself off
from my race in order to wed him, but never once while
he lived did I for an instant regret it.

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