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Updated: June 21, 2025


Him," said the child, turning round to point. Then she cried out blankly, "Oh, him's gone!" Miss Boucheafen glanced behind her hastily. The seat by which the gay-colored ball had lain was empty. She opened the paper, and read within it, written in a blood-red color, the one word "Absolved!"

No I could not recognize him." "Nor could I, unfortunately." "And yet you saw him?" "I saw him, yes but only well enough to know that he was young, tall and dark. And such a description would apply equally well to a hundred men within a stone's throw of the house at the present moment." "True," admitted Alexia Boucheafen, calmly.

He had meant to tell her what he had to tell quietly and coolly, make light of the thanks which only embarrassed him, and so go back soberly to his book and cigar again. But he met her eyes, heard her voice, and the resolve was gone. He never knew what it was that he said to Alexia Boucheafen in what words he clothed his passion, in what phrases he pleaded.

"How did he become possessed of them here?" "My brother!" she cried, laughing. "He is not my brother; his name is Boucheafen no more than mine. My name! I have almost forgotten what it is, I have borne so many that are false; were I to tell you it you would be no wiser. Where, you ask, did he get the chemicals? From your laboratory. We stole them; look, examine, and you will find them missing!"

Tom, Floss, and Maggie, flinging pieces of bun to voracious ducks, were delighted far too absorbed to remember their governess; and Ellen, finding herself fully occupied in keeping their hats on their heads and themselves outside the railings that surrounded the lake, had also forgotten Miss Boucheafen completely.

He was amazed, and stood for a few moments, after the door had closed behind them, quite silent, and looking at Alexia Boucheafen. A month had passed since the night of the attempted murder in Rockmore Street, and, although during that time she had lived under his roof, George Brudenell knew no more of this girl than her name.

She had drawn from her breast the tiny roll of red-marked paper; and, holding it upon the palm of her hand, was looking at it with a curiously intent and bitter smile. "Good!" said Gustave Boucheafen, with satisfaction; and he went out and left her.

Doctor Brudenell, paying his visit to the governess's sitting-room the next evening to bid his nephews and niece good-night, found there, not the children, but a stranger. His momentary look of surprise vanished as he recollected; and, while he spoke a few rather embarrassed words of greeting and welcome, he keenly scanned Gustave Boucheafen.

For, slowly and reluctantly, George Brudenell had by this time made up his mind that, with every desire to like this handsome young Gustave Boucheafen, he could not do so.

"I will finish the story to-morrow, perhaps," said Miss Boucheafen, quietly; "go to bed now. See Mrs. Jessop is waiting for you." They went without a murmur indeed, they hardly looked sulky, but walked off in the wake of Mrs. Jessop, very unlike Laura's children, the Doctor thought.

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