and Sir Everard was two-and-twenty, and very susceptible to a beautiful
woman's tears.

"Very much excuse, my poor girl," he said, warmly. "I am the last on
earth to blame you for flying from a detested marriage. But there is
no need to wear this disguise longer, surely?"

"No; no need. But I have had no opportunity of changing it; and if I
do not succeed in finding my nurse at Plymouth, I don't know what will
become of me."

"Have you not her address?"

"No; neither have I heard from her in a long, long time. She lived in
Plymouth years ago with her married daughter, but we never
corresponded; and whether she is there now, or whether indeed she is
living at all, I do not know. I caught at the hope as the drowning
catch at straws."

Sir Everard looked at her in that thoughtful pause. How beautiful she
was in her dark, glowing girlhood--how friendless, how desolate in the
world.

"It would be the wildest of wild-goose chases, then," he said, "knowing
as little of your nurse's whereabouts as you do, to seek her in
Plymouth now. Write first, or advertise in the local journals. If she
is still resident there, that will fetch her."

"Write! advertise!" Sybilla Silver repeated, with unspeakable
mournfulness; "from whence, Sir Everard?"