again. Peregrine wrung his hands in despair. No sign of life showed itself in the stranger; but at the moment when, in his dreadful distress, he had found a bottle of Cologne water, and was about to rub her temples with it, she jumped up from the sofa quite fresh and sound, exclaiming, "At last we are alone! At last I may explain why I followed you to the bookbinder's —why I could not leave you to-night! Peregrine! give up to me the prisoner whom you have confined in this room. I know that you are not at all bound to do so; I know that it only depends upon your goodness; but I know, too, your kind affectionate heart; therefore, my good, dear Peregrine, give him up—give up the prisoner!"
"What prisoner?" asked Peregrine, in the greatest surprise. "Who do you suppose is a prisoner with me?"
"Yes," continued the stranger, seizing Peregrine's hand, and pressing it tenderly to her breast —"yes, I must confess that only a noble mind can abandon the advantages which a lucky chance puts into his hands, and it is true that
