"People will talk," he said aside.

"Let them," returned Von Rosen. He was experiencing a strange new joy
of possession, which no possibility of ridicule could daunt. However,
his joy was of short duration. The baby was a little over three
months old, and had been promoted to a crib, and a perambulator, had
been the unconscious recipient of many gifts from the women of Von
Rosen's parish, and of many calls from admiring little girls. Jane
had scented the danger. She came home from marketing one morning,
quite pale, and could hardly speak when she entered Von Rosen's
study.

"There's an outlandish young man around here," said she, "and you had
better keep that baby close."

Von Rosen laughed. "Those people are always about," he said. "You
have no reason to be nervous, Jane. There is hardly a chance he has
anything to do with the baby, and in any case, he would not be likely
to burden himself with the care of it."

"Don't you be too sure," said Jane stoutly, "a baby like that!"

Jane, much against her wishes, was obliged to go out that afternoon,
and Von Rosen was left alone with the baby with the exception of a
little nurse girl who had taken the place of Mrs. Bestwick. Then it
was that the Syrian man, he was no more than a boy, came. Von Rosen
did not at first suspect. The Syrian spoke very good English, and he
was a Christian. So he told Von Rosen. Then he also told him that the
dead girl had been his wife, and produced letters signed with the
name which those in her possession had borne. Von Rosen was