meerschaum tenderly upon the mantelpiece, and going into the next room,
returned presently with a cup of strong tea.

"Take this, George," he said, as he placed the cup on a little table
close to George's pillow; "it will do your head good."

The young man did not answer, but looked slowly round the room, and then
at his friend's grave face.

"Bob," he said, "where are we?"

"In my chambers, dear boy, in the Temple. You have no lodgings of your
own, so you may as well stay with me while you're in town."

George passed his hand once or twice across his forehead, and then, in a
hesitating manner, said, quietly:

"That newspaper this morning, Bob; what was it?"

"Never mind just now, old boy; drink some tea."

"Yes, yes," cried George, impatiently, raising himself upon the bed, and
staring about him with hollow eyes. "I remember all about it. Helen! my
Helen! my wife, my darling, my only love! Dead, dead!"

"George," said Robert Audley, laying his hand gently upon the young
man's arm, "you must remember that the person whose name you saw in the
paper may not be your wife. There may have been some other Helen
Talboys."