Zara was only a strong wish for a home and a wife and a family, and--as she put it--for a centre round which his life could revolve. Having arrived at this conclusion he decided to leave the girl alone, and wait until fortune brought him to the feet of his true mate. "And I must have some sort of mate in the world, anyhow," added Hench to himself, by way of comfort.     

       Henceforth the relations of the two were much more unembarrassed, for it was a brother and sister connection--frank and markedly comfortable. During the remainder of Madame Alpenny's absence, Hench took Zara about as usual, and she confided in him her love for Bracken, her plans for the accomplishment of that love, and her many difficulties with her mother. Madame Alpenny, it seemed, was by no means an angel, as she possessed a furious temper, and wasted all her money in gambling. She was an ill woman to cross, since her nature was vindictive and eminently determined to have its own way. Zara gave Hench to understand that if she could marry Bracken and pension her mother she would be truly happy. At present she was very miserable, and only the hope of escaping from her mother's clutches in the manner described enabled her to endure trouble. Hench, in his new       character of her brother, consoled her, and promised to do what he could to forward her aims. But he did not see at the present moment how he could do anything.     

       Madame Alpenny returned on the third day, but the other absentees still remained away. The old woman looked very satisfied with herself, and hinted that she had done good business which would improve Zara's position. She was markedly civil to Hench, and encouraged him greatly to pay attentions to her daughter. As the two now understood one another, to do this was easy--both for Hench to pay them and for Zara to receive them--but Madame Alpenny remained in the dark as to the true meaning of their comedy. Then, on the second day after her return, a surprising thing happened, with which she had to do. What it was Hench learned while sitting at a lonely breakfast. Madame Alpenny, who always took that meal in her own room, came down unexpectedly arrayed in a greasy dressing-gown and flourishing a newspaper in her hand. "Rhaiadr! Rhaiadr!" she called out excitedly. "What does it mean?" Hench looked at her in surprise. "Tumbling water, you told me," he said, after an astonished pause. "Don't you remember----?"     

       "No! 

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