THE IRON HAND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XL, Issue 12260, 2 May 1903, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE IRON HAND.

7 S=== -~T~*~ "W JSHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY J. MACLAItEN COBBAN, •»«thor of "Pursued by the Law." " The Last Aliie." "The Angel of the Covenant," "The Mystery of the Golden Tooth," etc., etc.

COPYRIGHT.

. . SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. ttmiters I. AND ll.—The scene opens In a mriosity shop at Finboroiigh, where an old Oilman is wishing to buy an ancient steel Kiln But it is already sold to the mana--8 T«f tlio County Bank, Mr. Lidmore. Alter fhl eer.tleinan s departure Lefroy informs his Lite IX "that Mr. Lidmore has brought the -.flAt'l't; They plan to leave for London, ffTaf'erwards go out for a stroll. During th r following night the gauntlet is stolen. Tn the morning Lefroy is awakened by hear- & voice" He thrusts his head out of the windo* and finds that tho conversation is Sdne place in the room overhead between mo men one of them Mr. Lidmore. and it. inneenis himself. The superintendent of noTico ioins the two men. and Lefroy hears mot* The hank safe has been robbed, and £30000 stolen. The bank manager gives dofoili of how he bought tho steel gauntlot, and of how it was found caught in the grip «f tho -intent lock. Lefroy is suspected, and iao hiVwifo as is accomplice. He rouses hh wife, and gives her ten minutes to get reiflv An ostler in tho coach.vard below is harnessing a mare in a high trap to carry £ Lidmorc's " friend" to Redbeck-a distwee of twenty miles. Lefroy orders a trap for himself and proffers to ho id the mares i„, d while the ostler goes to the bar. Lefroy c£tq hi' wife and child into the trap, springs In himself, and thev are off! Soon they hear cr : of "Stop thief!" CHAPfERS Iff. AND IT.—The young couple »t clear away. They visit Lefroy's old mirse Martha," who lives at a farm on tho moorland. There the baby is left in the eood woman's care, while Julia goes up to London alone. Lefroy returns with the mare and gives himself up. The following day he eoes before the magistrates. All the evidenco is against him, and he is committed for trial at the next assizes. In the afternoon he is taken to the county town to gaol. A girl gets <u'o the same compartment, and when the '•wo policemen who have Lefroy in charge hive fallen asleep she informs the prisoner that err father, Tippy Haynes, and others, are in the robbery. CHAFrSH3 V. AND VI. -Lefroy lies in gaol some six weeks. A briefless barrister, named Townshend. undertakes his case. Lefroy relates his rencontre with Sal Haynes. and. the barrister pays her a. special visit, but the girl denies the whole thing. When, as a result of the trial, he is condemned to penal servitude for life Sal Havnes. who is in the front eallery 'goes into hysterics. At the final interview with his counsel Lefroy gives him Julia's ■nrPTiit address, and a diary he has written for her The barrister promises to obtain T>osse3sion of tho gauntlet if possible, and to do all hi can for Lefroy. Mr. Townshend immediately after the closing of the trial goes to the station, where, to his surprise, he finds Sal Haynes, and with her a man whom the barrister recognises as Tippy Haynes. Townshend takes his seat in the train, and then notes a stalwart fellow on the platform. A smaller man. well dressed, comes up to this stranger and salutes him as Stnithors. who. in turn, hails him as Mr. Evans. They cot into the same compartment a the barrister. Townshend learns that Evans is a man who deals in safes, and that he sold that, particular snfe to the Cotmtv Panic. At Redheok Junction they set ; or.t to'chanee lines. "While parading the platform To'imshend sees the two men again in company with Tippy Havnes and his daughter. Sal Havnes murmurs "That's him" to Townstend as she passes, leaving the barrister a bit bewildered as to which man she means. He determines to follow them. They get into a train from Finboroush. and. jusit as the train is on the move. Townshend dashes, n3 he thinks, into the same compartment, only to find himself alone with Sal, Tippy Haynes' daughter. CHAPTER VII. SAL lIAYNES. It was not easy for Townshend to accept the fact with good temper. He lhad been cleverly and completely " done." and he was by no means sure than the girl who sat before him had not contributed to that result; yet, if he indulged in objurgation at fill, it was below his breath. The girl was singularly still and silent, considering the situation; and it was a fecond or two, for the little oil-lamp in the joof of the carriage shed a. poor, dim light, before lownshend dearly saw that she was silent because something was tied over her jnouth, and that she could not untie it herself because her hands were bound behind her. "I beg your pardon," said he, while he fixed his: eyeglass securely, ' but I did not potice at first that there was anything wrong with you. Allow me." He "stooped forward and undid the gag on her mouth, while tears started in her large, dirk eye:;. * "My .bands are tied," she said; "and pry feet are tied too. If you let; loose my hands I can see to ray feet myself." But. she could not; and townshend had to untie her feet also, for they were bound tightly with a handkerchief to the middle prep of the seat. When she was set quite free she got up and shook herself. Then she gat down and stormed and wept, calling herself and ihose who had mishandled her the most opprobrious names ; she seemed to have a violent temper and a remarkable power of speech. Turned into readable words, her tirade was something like this : "They sba'n't treat me like this for nothing ! I'll pay them out for this—that old scoundrel, my father, most of all! I've been too good to him ; and he has been nothing- but' bad to me! Oh, I wish I had him here! I'd tell him a few things I know about him that he doesn't think I know!"

. Townstend tried to divert her stream of Indignation, and to make it coherent.

"I suppose," said he,."they guessed you had spoken to me about them?" "Of course they did!" said she, "And they thought you might come in here, so they sloped. I said I was nut going to run Jibout all over the shop with them, and then my blessed old father said I should stay where I 'was; and they tied rne up!" "' —you mean your father and both tbs other men?"'

"No; I mean my father and the man they call Evans. I don't know anything about the other man."

"Then," said Townshend, " when you said 'That's him!' you meant Evans?" "Of course I did. Who else should I mean?"

"Well, you see," said Townshend. "I didn't know which vou might mean. How should I?" " $

" I don't know !" said she. " I did !"

"Now don't you think," said Townshend, gently, "that it would have beim better if you had told me what you know yesterday evening instead of this evening? If you had I migSt have got the trial put off to-day, and poor Lefroy need not have gone to prison, a condemned man. Don't you see that?''

"I -see it. plain enough," said Sal. "I ain't a fool!"

" No," said TWnshend, soothingly ; " I don't think you are." "I was thinking of my father," said she; ' 'but I ain't going to think of him any more. He don't deserve it. Beside* — this, Bed kill me. I ain't never going to see him again!" Then of a sudden, Townshend perceived that the £jirl was in a desperate, tragic situation, and li« pitied her. ( 'What are you going to do?" he asked. "I d'n know!" she answered. "I suppose. I can get something to do. I'll go to London. Hes sjoiug to Portland or Dartmoor, ain't he?"

You mean Mr. Lefrov. " No. Not at . first. The first nine months he'll have the hardest of hard labour and solitary confinemeat in a local prison ; and then he'll finish aim terra in a convict prison." "He sha'n't finish if I can help it," said the girl. Then to pity succeeded something like admiration in Townshend's bosom. The girl seemed so young; she was so slight and 30 white: and she seemed so friendless and alone, and yet so self-reliant and so resolute, that—

" u How old are 011 ' ma I ask?" said he. 11l be eighteen come the 25th of November, answered. r»" You are voung," &aid he, " to start life all alone.

"I'm older than I look," said she; bv yhich, he supposed, she meant she was old m experience of life and that, he opined, was probably true. "Quite so." said he. He thought a moment: lie might do something to help the girl, who certainly seemed deserving of help. V, 0 W mind if I smoke a ciparette?" ■ Oh, smoke away," said, she. "Don't IBffldnie. 1 like the smell." Well now," said he, while he rolled ft cigarette, " if you reallv think von had betn» "t° to »,° ndon I*ll give vou the address ?nV y > ]i:n ™'' and a note to take to her. .f*f°— yowll excuse mv asking— you an money to start with?" , rye got fire shillings," she answered. M» I T fc . wont So far -" said he. while his tnaractensUc smile fluttered his moustache.

" If you will accept a small loan from me you may get on all right." " Thank you," said she, sulkily it seemed, but Townshend, who had understanding, thought it was only shyly. " The lady you mention," she continued, " would she want me for a servant?" " Perhaps," answered Townshend. "I couldn't be that," she said, shaking her head. " I can't do housework."

" But you might learn," suggested Townshend, persuasively. " I ain't been brought up to it: I shouldn't like it."

"At any rate, vou can go and see the lady," said Townshend. She considered a moment, and scratched her round white chin.

"P'r'aps," said she, and Townshend followed tho line of her thought, which was evidently to make clear that what information she could give was not worth a great price, " p'r'aps you think I know more about that burglary at the bank than I do. I don't know much, really. I'll tell you all I know. I saw that man Evans come to my father's shop and have a talk with him ; I saw them both go out, and I followed them

"What time was that?" asked Townshend.

"It was between twelve and one in the morning. And I saw them get into Mr. Lefroy's shop. Then I was frightened, and ran away home. I don't know anything about the breaking into the bank ; but my father didn't come home for more than an hour after me."

" Well," said Townshend, " if you didn't see everything you saw a good deal— though perhaps not enough to clear Lefroy. But you and I will clear him yet between us."

"They must have been fools." said she with energy, " that ever thought he did it. He's a gentleman. I used to see him about in Finborough, and I know." Townshend smiled at the staunchness of her belief—smiled aloud at her further declaration :

"But I didn't like his wife. She was a lady, too; but too much of a lady. She didn't like having to do with a shop ; you could see that with half an eye. And why did she go away and leave him alone with his trouble?" " He made her go!" answered Townshend. " Made her go!" said she in contempt. " I wouldn't have gone for all his making!" Thus they arrived at Finboroiigh. He pressed upon her, and she accepted, a loan of three sovereigns, and he gave- her at the same time his London address. She was still resolved to go to London the very next day. She declared she would not go near her father's houseshe was too much afraid — she had friends with whom she could lodge for the night; and she promised to call at a certain hour at Mr. Townshend's hotel for the address of the lady and the note to her which he had promised. Sally Haynes called for the lady's address and the note : but, so far as Townshend could learn on his return to London, she did not use them. He on his part set himself to fulfil his promise to Lefroy to discover Julia Galotti and deliver to her the diary with which he had been entrusted. And in a casual way he nut to the test what Sally Haynes had told Kim about the man Evans. He called at the address in Goodge-street that was printed upon the caTd Evans had given, him, and found that it was only a newspaper shop where letters were received ; and so suspicion clung more closely to Evans.

But he could not give all his time to these inquiries, for lie had his profession to attend to, and a living to make ; it was, therefore, a month and more ere he had completed his search for Lefroy's wife. It is unnecessary to give the details of that search, for it came to nothing. In sum it came to this: He sought out the friends at Hammersmith to whom Julia had been commended bv h'er husband, but he could not find them ; they had been gone from their address for more than six months, so that, in all probability, Julia had not found them either. He then tried to find her by writing to her a letter "poste restante, Hammersmith," but to that letter he received no answer, although he found on inquiry at the post office that the letter had been, rendered up. What more could he do? He considered and waited; and while he considered and waited the urgency of the matter became less and less insistent in his mind. Now and again he thought that Sally Haynes might be of great use in the search, for, by her own account, she knew Mrs. Lefroy ; but of Sally he heard nothing, and he did not even know if she had come to London. Thus month was added to month, and Townshend was no nearer the discovery of Julia Galotti than he had been at the first attempt. He must not be seriously blamed, for his own situation in life and his prospects were becoming anxious and embarrassed. It happened, however, that in the summer he was sharply reminded of Lefroy's pathetic situation. At the summer sessions of the Old Bailey there appeared as witness in a case in which he was engaged a prisoner from that very prison where Lefroy was undergoing the* preliminary part of his long sentence. The man was in convict's dress, and looked very thin and ill. Compunction smote Townshend's heart. In what condition might not the innocent Lefroy now be, in the dread loneliness and silence of his imprisonment, tormented probably with anxiety about his wife, and without a word concerning her welfare? Townshend knew that the rule was very strict concerning communication with convicts during the first nine months of a severe sentence ; put those nine months were very nearly expired, and he determined to try to speak with him, even although he had nothing very cheering to communicate. He contrived to get an introduction to the governor of the prison, and with that recommendation he journeyed to see Lefroy. He saw the governor. The governor listened to him politely, but at the request to see a prisoner he slowly shook his head. "I am afraid/' said he, "that can't be managed. Is this Lefroy at all a friend of yours? 7 ' "I was counsel for him at the trial," answered Townshend ; " and I was very much interested in him. I may say —privately— I am convinced the man was condemned by mistake." The governor drummed the table. "But," continued Townshend, "apart from that, I liked him; and I promised, among other things, that I would make inquiries after t-ome friends of his —in particular, after & certain Julia Galotti. I wish to tell him '.hat 1 have not been able to find Julia Gab t ti; besides that, I have nothing to say exc: A t'j exchange a friendly, cheering word ivch aim." "You know the lule, Mr. Townshend," said the governor; ' I can't trangress it. Besides mar's name is Ltfroy. you say? ■ — rather think he is in hospital. But I'll get my book and see." He rang the bell and ordered such and such a book to be brought from his office, and while he waited for it he made some reasonable and sensible remarks on the weather. When the book was brought, he referred to it promptly. "I thought so,'' said he. "Lefroy has been in hospital for three weeks— pneumonia ; the latest report is that he is mending. He is a well-conducted prisoner. So you see, Mr. Townshend, it is quite impossible for you to have an interview with him. But I will do this for you — will go to him myself and give him your message. Let me see"he drew pen and paper towards him "you said the woman's name is Galotti?" " Julia Galotti—-G-a-1-o-t-t-i," said Townshend.

"And you have not been able to find her?"

"As yet," said Townshend, resolving he would make another atrtjppt. And so the governor wrote. "Very well," said he ; and rose. " I am sorry, Mr. Townshend, I have not been able to be of so much service to you as I would have liked to be." And thus they parted. It was perhaps a week later that Townshend, in looking through xiis morning paper, came upon the beading—" Remarkable Escape from Prison." He noted at once that the prison was that in which Lefroy was confined, and he read with interest— a sudden swell of interest when he discovered that Lefroy was concerned. Lefroy (he read) and another prisoner named Jackson were convalescent from the prison hospital, and Jackson, .being a plumber when he was in the outer world,, was set with Lefroy to repair a. large water cistern. The? were thus close to the roof, and frequently hidden in the course of their occupation. Of these two facts they took advantage early in the morning to attempt an escape. They got away over a roof and across a yard to the outer wall. That they managed to scale ; but on descending on the other side, one of them— Lefroy, said the newspaperfell and broke his spine, and was picked up soon afterwards dead. The other man got away. Lefroy dead! It was a terrible shock to Townshend. Yet, he thought, it was per-

haps better sobetter that he should die now than drag out a wretched, broken existence after, it might hare been, years of imprisonment. Then he wondered if Lefroy's wife would read, or hear, the news. Very likely she would not; and he resolved he would go himself and give a last look at the unfortunate man.

He travelled to the prison again, and taking advantage of. his slight acquaintance with the governor he sent in his name. The governor received him with alacrity. " Well, Mr. Townshend, have you brought me word of your friend Lefroy?" was his extraordinary greeting. "Word of Lefroy?' exclaimed Townshend. "Lefroy's dead, is he not?" "It's the first I've heard of it," said the governor ; whereupon Townshend showed him the newspaper. " No," said he—and in a tone of offence as if it were Townshend's —"that's not true. Lefroy has got away ; it is the other man that's dead."

Bub it was Townshend that took the trouble to contradict the report which the newspapers had published, and he issued the contradiction in the hope that Lefroy's wife might read it.

CHAPTER VIII.

"i forbid —!"

I have abstained from dwelling upon Lefroy's experiences in prison. It is as improper as it is easy to wring the heart with descriptions of the suffering of a dog or of a child, and it would "be equally cheap and improper to lacerate the feelings of readers with a detailed account of the way in which imprisonment and prison discipline bite into the soul of a man like Lefroya man of sensibility and education. Besides, it would be unfair so to do; for a wrong impression would be given of the effect commonly produced by legal punishment upon those convicted of crime. It is enough to say that the ordinary punishments of crime are not devised for such as he, and if such as he get innocently caught in them they are inevitably hit harder and torn more piteously than are those for whom they are intended. The punishments of the law are meant for criminals ; and Lefroy was not a criminal.

Lefroy was neither sulky nor desperate. Ho accepted his situation not like a.savage brute but like a man. He was calm, in the

supreme confidence that somehow- or other his innocence would yet be made clear. But he had a constantly wearing and corroding anxiety—his wife. Where was,she? How was she? Ho was easy about his child ; for he had heard several times of her welfare

while he still awaited trial, and he knew that his old nurse would bo a mother to her; but his —his Julia, for whom his heart and soul longed night and day!—of her he had heard no word at all! It was that horrible anxiety eating into his lifethat far more than prison hardshipswhich sent him into hospital. When the governor delivered to him Townshend's message concerning Julio, ho was plunged into despair. He had hitherto discounted his fears concerning his wife by the hope that, although he had heard nothing, Mr. Townshend had discovered her, and was probably giving her friendly tendance. But with the disappearance of that hope he was lost. Then a swift revulsion of feeling came. At all hazards, at all costs, he must get out, and look for Julia himself.

It has already been suggested how he escaped ; and there is no need to say much more about it. To a resolute and clever

man, escape, in the circumstances, was not very difficult. The prison was an old one— one of those called " castles"—and it lacked that simplicity of building arrangement which so effectually hinders escape from modern prisons ; Lefroy and his companion were more or less free to act, on account of the occupation to which they had been set; and that occupation supplied them with certain tools and ropes. Their real difficulty came when they thought all difficulty was past— they were on the top of the outer wall. There they discovered that the drop down into the outside world was quite half as great again as the ascent from the prison yard had been. The rope, with a big hook that caught on the top of the wall, was short of the bottom of the wide ditch outside by some twenty feet. " You go first," said Lefroy to the other. " You are lighter than I, and' I can hold the rope for you ; that will make it two or three feet longer." So Jackson went first. He hung and swung uncertain, for a second or two at the end of the rope, and then let himself fall, rather than leaped. He fell awkwardly, and with a thud and a groan. He lay where he fell. That sight did not tend to nerve Lefroy for the attempt. But he set his mouth, fastened the hook upon the bricks, and descended hand over hand. Arrived at the end of the rope he did what Jackson had agreed but had failed to do ; he found with his foot a protrusionthe slightest in the surface of the wall, and, pushing on that purchase, he leaped outward to the top of the ditch with his knees doubled up. He just caught the top of the ditch, and no more; indeed, for ah instant it was touch-and-go whether he should topple backward. But at once he scrambled down into the ditch to aid his companion. Soon he perceived that the poor man was beyond mortal aid.

"What do you feel like, Jackson?" he asked.

"Oh, I feel I'm done for, my boy!" said Jackson in a feeble voice. " I'm dead from here," he added, putting his hand to his waist. "I didn't take the jump proper! Oh, my poor Jane and the kiddies! God knows I ain't been a bad fellow to them !"

" Of course you haven't," said Lefroy ; " I'm sure of that. Tell me where they are, and I'll find them."

Jackson told him where to find his family. " Now," he said, you hook it, my sonny. Don't you stop with me and get* nabbed. You can't do me no good, sonny—nobody can! I'm done for! It's Lights Out and Last Post for me! Didn't know I'd been in the army, did you? So long, sonny!" " I'm not going yet," said Lefroy. " Can't I do anything at all for you?" "He looked around in helpless desperation. There was no house near, and, beside:*,, it was early morning. "The only thing you could do for me," said Jackson, " would be to put a knife into me. Oh, my God!" A shrinking and a shuddering passed through his frame ; and next instant his head leaned loosely back upon the supporting arm of Lefroy. Lefroy laid the inanimate, form gently down, and gave him one lingering look of pity and woe. —poor Jackson!

He thought he heard footsteps at hand. He could do Jackson no good by staying by his corpse and being caught, so he made off swiftly along the bottom of the ditch.

Then Lefroy, for the first time in his life, experienced truly the sense of being an outlaw— a. hunced outlaw. He was free, but free only as a hare or a fox is free with the hounds taking up its scent. Moreover, lie had not an open course ; for so long as lie wore a convict's dress he might be headed off at any moment by other than his regular pursuers. To run and run without heeding would, he was certain, result only in his capture. He turned sharply away from the prison boundary, and skirted a plantation to arrive at some cottages he noted. He judged that only women, and perhaps children, would be at home at that hour, while he hoped that it was too early for children to be about ; and he resolved to appeal to some woman for help. Fortune favoured him. The backyards of the cottages abutted upon the plantation ; and, as he approached unseen, a woman came into one of the yards to draw water. ■ She was a buxom, pleasant-looking woman of middle age. He did not hesitate a moment, but strode to the gate, lifted the latch, and walked in. At the sound the woman turned, and gazed at him in surprise, but without fear.

" You see what I am," he said at once in a low voice. " I have escaped from the prison, because I have heard nothing for a long tim« of my wife. Help me to cover these clothes up with anything— old coat oi' such-like."

She looked at him calmly and searchingly. " God help you, man!" she said. " We're all poor creatures, but you dcf?t. look bad! I'll see what I've got!" And she gently pushed him into her back-kitchen.

She returned with an old felt hat, an old light overcoat, and an old pair of baggy trousers. He put them on over his prison dreas, and found them sufficient for the purpose. "I have nothing," said he, "to give you in exchange but my thanks! But I give you many, many thanks! If you can also oblige me with a drink of water "To be sure! How silly of me!" said she. "The milkman hasn't come yet, but the kettle's on the boil, and you can have a cup of tea. I always make myself a cup first thing,"-

She bustled about and made tea with great expedition. She brought him a large cupful, with a 'bunk of breadl&and a piece of cheese. "I'd ask you to come in and pit down," said she ; " but I expect you'd rather be faring on." '" I'll never forget your kindness!never!" said he.

He drank the hot tea in haste, and put the provender in his pocket. " Away with you !" said the woman, hurriedly. " Hero's my man !" It gave to Lefroy a special thrill of clanger to note, with a glance along the passage to the open, front door, that the man who was coming up the garden-path was in the uniform of a prison warder! But that made appear all the greater the kindness of the woman who had befriended him.

So, thankfully, he tramped away to London — to Julia, ft took him nearly a fortnight to reach London ; but spite of constant fears he did reach it without being hindered or questioned. That result was doubtless due very much to the fact that he neither looked nor behaved like the ordinary tramp. He avoided— that was very difficult—the company of tramps, and the resorts of tramps; both the lodginghouses and the casual wards of towns. He kept to the open roads and the open air—walking at night and in the early morning, and lying liid during the day to sleep, and all the time doing his utmost to keep his person clean and his clothes free from dirt and dust. He earned a few pence by performing odd jobs, like holding a horse" at night, and so he acquired some things to replace the prison clothes which he gradually got rid of. He endured great privation,'for he would not beg; and so he arrived in London tanned with the sun and air, lean as a greyhound, and bristling with a thick, black beard.

He acquired a shilling by an act closely resembling theft. A young lady running after a 'bus dropped some loose silver which she must have been carrying in her hand. It rolled this way and that, and the young lady abandoned her chase of the 'bus to collect the money. One coin rolled close to Lefroy. He put his foot on it. The search for the errant coins was tedious, for it was growing dark. But at length it was over, and then Lefroy possessed himself of the coin under his 'foot, with a- sense of glee mingled with .shame, and with the reflection that it must be very easy for those in need to become criminal.

With a penny from his shilling he helped himself to a ride toward Hammersmith. Arrived there he spent another penny on a shave in a humble barbers shop; for he was determined that if he should encounter Julia she should see him clean of face as she had ever known him, even though the sweeping away of a fortnight's beard should render him more easy to be recognised by the police.

He took advantage of his seat in the barber's chair to make inquiry concerning the friends to whom he had advised his wife to go. The reply of the barber did not help him much, and it did not tend to raise his spirits: the barber knew by report the family mentioned, but he believedhe was not surethat they had left the neighbourhood.

From the barber's ho walked directly to the house that had been the home of Julia's friends. He knocked and inquired for them. " No people of that name live here," said the servant, with a suspicious glance at the shabbiness of her questioner. " Is it long since they left, do you know?" asked Lefroy. "I don't know anything about them. But I know we've been here twelve months," was the answer.

Twelve months! Then they must have been gone before he parted from Julia! When he had been within a few days of London, and could calculate when he might arrive, he had'written to Julia, " poste resitante, Hammersmith," asking her to meet him at nine o'clock on a certain evenine on Hammersmith Bridge. The evening he had named would be the next. So, after making inquiries of a shopkeeper or two in the neighbourhood—who agreed in saying that the people he inquired after were gone from the neighbournood, where, they could not tell—he prepared to pass as best he could the twenty hours and more till his meeting with Julia should be due.

Despite countless charities, and the innumerable kindness of private persons, London is no place for the homeless, and least of all for the penniless; to both the penniless and the homeless the wilderness of Salisbury Plain presents more hope of comfort than London. But Lefroy had already endured so much that another aay's endurance with the hope of seeing his Julia—Julia for whom heart and soul yearned more than ever! —had no terrors for him.

He wandered over Hammersmith Bridge, and made his bed under a bush on Barnes Common. It was a. cold night with a drizzling vain. He slept little, and in the morning he was chilly and feverish. He bought a twopenny loaf (because there was about three times as much in it as in n penny loaf), but be could only gnaw a scrap of its' crust. What if he should fall ill—without seeing his Julia! The thought became a horror to him; for his recent illness in prison and the exhaustion he now experienced from a fortnight's starvation brought its realisation very close. He resolved to walk off the incipient chill and fever.

He set off up through Kensington; he crossed Kensington Gardens to the north side of the park, and then he continued along Oxford-street, drawn onward by he knew not what desire. He had first seen Julia in her father's shop in the neighbourhood of Regent-street; might she not have returned to the old haunts, if she had failed to find her Hammersmith friends? He went and looked at the old shop. ft seemed ages since he had first known it; and vet it was little more than three years. The shop was now a hairdresser's—with a German name. Unutterably depressed, sad even to tears, he walked away. Fatigue and fever weighed upon him like lead. He came upon a church. The door was open, and there was neither verger nor pew-opener visible to ask questions or to obstruct an entrance. He entered. The church seemed quite empty. He walked slowly down the ais'e. The silence and the soft lijrht settled upon him like a, benediction. He slipped into a pew, and completely overcome— knew not, nor paused to consider, why he sank upon his knees, and was shaken utterly with sobs. He had been grievously tried — beyond the endurance of nature, and he made his piteous appeal to Him Whose presence was supposed to render the place sacred. "0 God! 0. my God!" he moaned, incoherently. " What have T clone that all this should come upon me? lam alone, my God ! Where—oh, where is she— own— my dear one! Where? Where?" But words ceased to come. He was battling with a deep sea of trouble and be continued to kneel and sob like a weary child that had lost its mother. He almost passed into unconsciousness. He heard steps and voices as in a dream. He raised his head, and saw—as in a dream—two men and two women, all in gala attire, stand before a white-robed clergyman. What was the priest saying? In a clear voice he had begun to read the marriage service. And who were the foolish people who were thus tempting fortune and inviting disaster by marriage? He looked, and jealously and blinding rage came upon him. The woman was Julia! — Julia Galotti!his Julia, looking beautiful as ever, although somewhat pale. And the manLefroy had a remarkable memory for any face or form he had once seen—the man was, lie believed, the very man who had followed Julia into the train that dreadful day of separation more than nine months ago! He rose to his feet, a wild figure. "I forbid—!"

That was what he meant to say, but he never knew whether he uttered the word'-;. A deadly sickness swept over him ; he fell with a thud out upon the pavement of the side aisle; and he knew no more.

(To be continued on Saturday next.)