And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. Been making herself at home all right. ‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. "So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I can neither read nor write it. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off. You steered and I rowed stroke. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. “I don’t know. His father and mother are gone now. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers.
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