and another down her own straight little nose--a diversion that made
them laugh together, although Randolph secretly felt that the young
girl's quiet heroism was making his own trials appear ridiculous. But
her allusion to Callao and the boy's name had again excited his fancy
and revived his romantic dream of their common benefactor. As soon as
they could get a more perfect shelter and furl the umbrella, he plunged
into the full story of the mysterious portmanteau and its missing owner,
with the strange discovery that he had made of the similarity of the
two handwritings. The young lady listened intently, eagerly, checking
herself with what might have been a half smile at his enthusiasm.

"I remember the banker's letter, certainly," she said, "and Captain
Dornton--that was the name of Bobby's father--asked me to sign my name
in the body of it where HE had also written it with my address. But the
likeness of the handwriting to your slip of paper may be only a fancied
one. Have you shown it to any one," she said quickly--"I mean," she
corrected herself as quickly, "any one who is an expert?"

"Not the two together," said Randolph, explaining how he had shown the
paper to Mr. Revelstoke.

But Miss Avondale had recovered herself, and laughed. "That that bit of
paper should have been the means of getting you a situation seems to me
the more wonderful occurrence. Of course it is quite a coincidence that
there should be a child's photograph and a letter signed 'Bobby' in
the portmanteau. But"--she stopped suddenly and fixed her dark eyes on
his--"you have seen Bobby. Surely you can say if it was his likeness?"

Randolph was embarrassed. The fact was he had always been so absorbed
in HER that he had hardly glanced at the child. He ventured to say this,