TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 770, 3 December 1886, Page 7

TALES & SKETCHES.

[NOW’ FIRST ’.PUBLISHED.] tf J6hn Needham’s Dbuble

A STORY ‘FOUNDED ON FACT.

bVBY JOSEPH HATTON.

4 Author of ‘Clytie/ ‘Cruel London,’ ‘Three i. Recruits,’ &c.

CHAPTER I.

v.Recalls, a! Tragic .Case oe Fblo he Se. ■.‘When.: John Needham’s dead body was < found on : Hampstead Heath the reasons for . his . suicide were discussed and considered sufficient to account for his death. Having, 1. however, regard to the fact that no comple e • explanation could be arrived at aa to the - disposal of the vast sums of money knownto have been in his possession, it was re - ported both in Ireland and America that the '■ body was not-his, but one procured to .personate him, while,he, during the excite- : meat of -the supposed self-murder, effected. newspapers/of the time (I have a file of , of thembeforeme) werefull of the tragic story, .and a deceased journalist has included the , history of-the case in a record of The Com.•mercial Crisis 0f;1557 B.’ I shall take, the «liberty of borrowing from its pages the facts -of Mtf.Needham’s rise and fall, supplying nfromi my own note books the solution of the -mystery with which the famous financier s - death has hitherto -been surrounded. In re--gard-tothe theory suggested m Ireland and -America, the historian says, Unless the witnesses on the coroner’s inquest were per-, i iured :snd the- coroner himself was .in the 'conspiracy, this hypothesis is altogether impossible.’ The identity was sworn to by his : .servant, the medical attenoant, and by the .- coroner himself-who knew him well, for they were members of- the House of Commons in «the same: Parliament, , and sat together on - the same side of the house.. , - 1 was , also other independent testiwmony inithis direction ; and romantic as the -idea jo£- a spurious corpse and a successful 'tSiehfe from criminal prosecution and public . ;.disgracenmay.he, history records against it :the ,sad, sober facts, of suicide, .death and •burial-of one .of the .most remarkable and «clever svrindlers of .his time.’ fU-p to the evening of,his death it seems he his high,,position, his coolness, little of his apparent prosperity, -azeepfc to,a- solicitor .whose evidence was reluctantly given at the inquest. ; • , ’ Nevertheless, he had laid out the plan 'and method of ,his own deatb with rnathennaticah care.and ~precision. So much so, isndeed, that-an advocate inspired by a clever brief.might logically have .maintained that - fflie attention to details m so ‘ TjtinfuLa'business was evidence in favor of t be ihypothesis that the dead. hody found on J tampstead Heath was not the body of John TSI bed ham, flat© one of . Her .Majesty’s .Lords of the fEreaswry. .But this , idea of imperBO traction .was, not suggested.at the time ; and bo £ar:as l the-settled- history of the ease is on rec urd.'such an explanation.: is inconsistent w ;t ib sthe.evidence, .and beyond the region of *,Bt: vblished‘fact. ■ , t. t was .urged at - the inquest, ■in favor of a _„r( liet .of temporary insanity,, that John ■Wee ihaan’-smondu-ct on the day oft the suicide was very strange;; and that the method of earrv tagout bis self murder was not that of a man inbisHght senses, ilt appeared that on the day.dfhis.-dea.th, he.had gone to a great deal o f trouble t 0... clear his house of the servant s, inventing singular excuses for sendine them .away, even .getting tickets for the over u £©r them, .giving them aaupper, savins it * was his birthday, and finally, in Ihi mosi mysterious fashion, driving his broueham *. to tbeepotvwhere.he.had arranged ? hia dead b ody shauld.be discovered. These, it was con tended, ware not like .the actions of I sane m an; they -were fantastic and in no wise cha raeterisbic.of the calm, businesslike tatellec tof Mr John Needham. .On the other hand i. t was shown that;he diad.np to the last mom ent conducted Shis affairs with and sense? that he had_had a serious and i tn portae* interview With hi 3 soltaitor • and 5 that he had written letters pn''or to his death, which were letters of amen who thoroughly knew what he was about, t V parlormaid in his .service End renorted to i’he cook that he was mad, bu? £SSS only '“'^e of sou e sudden act • of hberaht, on .the part of her .master; whfile the coroner though his entertainment oil the servants as reported rather tended to pro ve ins sanity,‘for .he,had evidently not been a very generous employer In the matter of feasting his dependants, and probably he desire ul in a manner to mwe up to them for his neglect, seeing that neither at .Christmas, n or at any other time was he in th.i habit of his way to. make the’, season pleasant Portland Place, where L'h had resided.ever, •since he came to London., Complete as was cthe identity .of the body, clear as were the reasons why-John Needham should commit Sde S:as the jury. regarded him up to the very moment of his death, there was an air of mystery about Cms which twaa heightened .by a member of Parliament, a dav after t£*e inquest, relating one of those Remarkable coincidences *Hoh_ are. among JEuzzles of everyday life Possibly had not She honorable gentleman in queshon been :& spiritualist :his letter T JT s would have attracted,general.*.ttention. As it was, it only marked the writer ficYvn eccentric person, and Eoc.ew.ly idea worked that he was tamed .out of Jus seat at the next general election JMi an impracticably, crazy, ghost-seeing, tic dreamer. He had declared in - > not as au argument ill favor of any A investigation, but as an illustration *pttne truth of the stranger things than ifchose dreamt of iu our philosophy —he haa .positively asserted that while John Needham ■was lying dead at Hampstead he saw him on the railway platform, saw him and spoke to him, A correspondent in reply, who contended that John Needham, ‘ like all suicides and murderers were mad, they > could not commit their crimes and be sane —suggested that the M.P. who saw the ghost at

Liverpool was also * touched m the upper storey,’ and there the matter ended so far as the general publie was concerned.; but the correspondence started strange and wild Burmises in the minds of the people of Hampstead, led to curious speculations m the smokeroom at Jack Straw’s Castle, and gave color to the suggestions already referred to as to the possibility of the corpse not being that of John Needham. , . -.. Be it the privilege, if not the duly of the present writer, to raise the curtain upon this strange mystery, the romance of which, he feels sure, will suffer no curtailment of interest from, but will be rather enhanced by, the matter-of fact way in which it is proposed to narrate it, partly as previous y stated from published history, partly from private notes. , . The mysteries of London are many, but none of them present more startling or dramatic passages than those which belong to the genuine history of the body found at Hampstead in the summer of 1856, and registered as a case of felo-de-se.by the coroner for Middlesex and a sworn jury of responsible citizens and ratepayers.

CHAPTER 11,

Recounts the Rapid Rise op John Need

HAM, M.P.

Prior to the General Election of 1847 1 John Needham had been known by his fellow townsmen as a respectable man, and a staunch Roman Catholic. Nobody suspected him of the great capacity for figures and politics which he eventually developed. The clerical authori'ies who had then as now a good deal of political power in Ireland selected him to uphold the interest of the Pope, and oppose the spirit and influence of Lord John Russell’s famous letter to Lord Durham. He was elected a member of Parliament on these simple lines at the General Election of 1847. A tall, silent man, John Needham was ot pale complexion, closely shaven, had thin brown hair, dark blue eyes, a hesitating manner, and was fond dress even to womanishness. His Irish him '« the fop.’ He invariably were an orchid in his buttonhole, a diamond on the little finger of his left hand, a frill m his shirt front, and he drove the best,horses in town. At home in Ireland he had been unostentatious in his ostentatiousness, if one may be allowed to he paradoxical ; for though he dressed better than his neighbors, he never pretended that he could very well afford it, and he would associate with the humblest of them on equal terms. __ „ But from the moment John Needham arrived in London he put on, with his Parliamentary honors, the air of the man of wealth. And he was accepted at his own professed valuation. He had the special faculty of impressiveness, the capacity to inspire trust, the power of influence; and whatever natural gifts he possessed he had the art to exhibit them, without appearing to do so. He was essentially a clever man, vain, politic, a man with an ever active ambition that gave spirit to his natural audacity. Although in Ireland he affected not to be rich, it is shrewdly believed that he had amassed a fair share of money ; for through the influence of his late father’s banking house, and his own ability as a solicitor, he obtained the agency of several Irish properties, and when the Act for the establishment of the Encumbered Estates Commission came into operation, his knowledge enabled him to make very advantageous purchases. The railway mania was also turned to some account, and it was understood by the party which nominated him for Parliament that he could well afford to maintain in town a position of dignity and independence. In his address at the close of the poll in his favor, he said : . . 4 My old friends, if ray descent is not as pure Irish as some, believe me my heart is true' to the cause, and I promise you I am not going across the Channel to the great Saxon city yonder without making your wants known, nor without a big effort to hand down to posterity the fame of oar dear old borough ; and it is also my intention to give them cause to remember the name of John Needham !’ And by the Powers he did ! /But when he entered the modern Babylon, the oneinterest, the one person whom he represented and meant to represent, was his own. interest ; the one person himself. 4 For such a character as John Needham,’ says the historian, 4 the period was peculiarly favorable, especially when backed by the quiet, unobtrusive, but never-ceasing support which the Roman Catholic party invariably extends to those of its proteges whose active exertions it requires for the enhancement and extension of its own authority.’ It was a time when financial acumen, and a reputation for it, was of especial value. Mr Needham knew how to advertise himself without appearing to do so. It seemed as if London had been waiting for him, so quickly were his services in request among the great financial corporations of the day. The name of John Needham, Esq., M.P., was a name to conjure with. At the head of a new board, banking or railway, it gave a new value to a company’s scrip.. He pervaded ithe atmosphere, of any institution which he patronised, with a sense of security. ' In all his engagements he was punctuality itselL His house in Portland Place was a model of luxurious simplicity. He gave dinners that were the talk 1 of epicures, not for the elaborate character of the menu but forsthe perfection of the cooking and service, and the excellence of the wines. Within a year of his coming to London he was chairman of a great foreign railway, director of two lines running out of London, managing director of the Civic Credit Company, director of the Yalley-rod lion and Colliery Company, .chairman of the Steam Shipping Corporation, and the financial adviser of many other equally notable undertakings. Not alone did his Irish friends .consult him in their affairs, but English lords and bishops, and great city financiers invested moneys in any direction that his judgment favored. . , ‘But perhaps,’ says the historian, the most extraordinary circumstance in his .metropolitan career was_ his appointment to tb-e very responsible position of chairman ot the National English and County Bank.' That he had some little banking experience was true enough. The Needham Joint

Stock Bank of Ireland was a creation of his own. His grandfather had established a bank at Sligo which had carried on for many years a very limited and, as far as is known, a very safe business. When John Needham first put up as a financier, he changed the character of this little bank in which he had now acquired sufficient influence for-the purpose, into a joint stock company, placing his brother Henry at its head as manager and sole director. Still the infatuation which led the National English and County board to appoint him as their chairman, when he had not been known in London hardly a year, and the endorsement of it by the shareholders, is almost unaccountable.’- He was faithful to this great trust, nevertheless ; and it is worth the while of some close student of human nature to analyse the character of John Needham with a view to discover how far his career was influenced by a naturally vicious nature, to what extent an inordinate vanity may have moulded it or whether he was the victim of a misdirected and unfortunate ambition. If he did well by the famous London Bank, if also did well by him. It gave him prestige, it endorsed to the full all the favorable reports that had been circulated in regard to his first class business qualifications ; it gave color to the prediction of journalistic gossip that he would one day be elevated to the position of Her Majesty’s Chancellor of the Exchequer. There was, however, one great barrier to his political advancement. Not alone his religion, but his known pledges to the Catholic party, his championship of what was then known as 4 The Irish Brigade.’ But Mr John Needham was not the man to allow any trifle of this kind to stand in his way. When a certain Parliamentary whip asked him if the distinctly Protestant Government of the day could count upon his undivided support and. service as Junior Lord of the Treasury, Mr Needham found it perfectly easy to transfer his allegiance from the see of Rome and Cardinal Wiseman to the ultro-Protestant Premier. ‘ ' To some men life is a mere game, m which every move is open to them, and in which they neither acknowledge the check of principle, nor sympathy. , , ~ 4 My constituents will taunt me, he said, 4 with what may seem to them a desertion of principle, a disaffection, a revolt; hut I shall tell them, and it is true, that my political hostility was against Lord John Russell, not against the Government, and that Lord John, being no longer at the head of the Government, the situation is changed.’ ’-■ ; ~ 4 That is so,’ said the party whip charged with the office, 4 though I question if your constituents will accept even so plausible an explanation—for your appointment. Vacate your seat, and it is possible that thev may refuse to re-elect you.' 4 1 think they will,’ said Mr Needham ; 4 let them. I will contest the place which the death of Mr Patrick Smith leaves open to us. Did you note his decease in this morning's Chronicle ?’ 4 1 did.’ ’ . —: -

‘Then with all respect;to Lor 1 Aberdeen.and my duty to him and my thanks, say he may count upon my patriotic service to his Government, to the Throne, and ! to the country.’ . The constituents of his native borough aid reject Mr. John Needham,', emphasising their rejection with rotten eggs and a dead cat ; but he contested the seat in which Mr Patrick Smith had sat with honor for twenty years ; and he won it. His enemies charged him with bribery, and declared that the third candidate who carried off a lot of 4 plumpers ’ from Needham’s real rival was a confederate of the Junior Lord of the Treasury. But the victor was content. He cared nothing for the opinion of the defeated, nor for their evil reports. _ It was May Day in London when he returned to town triumphant, a Lord 'of the Treasury,. and with .- all the influential responsibilities of what seemed to the outer world a great and undimmed future before! him. ' But how little that 4 outer world ’ knows of anything and anybody! It thinks it knows, say 3 it knows, and believes it knows. Mr John Needham could have astonished that outer world very much in regard to his Treasury appointment, if he had held forth on the subject. Nobody could have dreamed of how great an importance his elevation was in his own estimation. He hardly dared confess to himself the truth of his position; nor did it seem necessary since fortune, in this matter, appeared to smile so benignantly upon him. He was quite satisfied with himself, contented, happy, and if there were obstacles io the future that threatened his peace, he did not see them ; they were shadows that his rising sun would speedily dissipate. At least so he thought, and he calculated his chances with astuteness and experience. A shining pair of chestnut.horses champed their silver bits at the arrival platform pf the Great Western Station. They * were appointed in the best taste j and on the box of the handsome brougham sat two smart servants, who were conscious of the importance attached to their service by the attendance of several railway officials, who had been ordered to receive the new Lord of the Treasury. Mr Needham accepted the compliment with an easy and satisfied air, tipped the guard who carried his writing-case, and slipped a guinea into the h3nd of the platform inspector. The spring sunshine seemed to follow him with especial favor as his horses fleyv along the streets to Portland Place. It flashed gaily on the silver harness of his faultless steeds ; it brought out the golden bars of his coat of arms, on the door-panel of his faultless brougham ; and the first breezes of summer wafted about him, as he stepped upon the pavement, the perfume of ten thousand hyacinths from the beds of Regent’s Park. There was, however, surely one delightful touch missing; the chronicler of this history feels its absence, though possibly the new Lord of the Treasury did not. No wife, nor child, welcomed home the yictor ; the Hon. John Needham, M.P., was a bachelor.

■ CHAPTER 111. Introduces the Reader to 4 The Ltvtng Image ’ of John Needham. ''

So also, I had nearly written, was Joseph

Norbury, of Brambling House, Wyedale, Derbyshire. The mistake would be pardonable, from the point of view I had in my mind. Joseph Norbury was a widower without children, and at the moment he possibiy felt more alone than ever John Needham, for he had loved his wife with a good man’s devotion. John Needham had an only brother, Joseph Norbury had an only sister.

Knowing neither John Needham, nor having any association, nor connection with him, not having even seen him, Joseph Norbury was the very image of him, even to the possession of his hesitating manner, and his touch of dandyism. Tall, pale, brown hair, dark blue eyes, a shaven face, not a great talker, but eloquent when roused, Joseph Norbury was physically another John Needham, morally he was his antithesis. If he could have given Needham half of his goodness, and taken again himselt half ot ■Veedham’s hard nature, they might have become two excellent fellows instead of one excellent fellow; for Norbury had, figuratively speaking, heart enough for a whole parish. He was in the first months of a bitter grief. His had been a love match, and the loss of his young , wife was an anlic tion he rather nursed than tried uo evade, either, by the artifice of travel or increase of occupation. But on that May Day when Mr Needham returned to London a newlyelected member of Parliament and an officeholder under the Government, Mr Joseph Norbury had promised to consider the advice of his doctor that he should tarfh a sea voyage. . Since the death of his wife, Joseph. Norbury s only sister, Kate, had taken up her permanent abode in his house. He was five, and thirty, she a dozen years his junior. They had been orphaned at an early age, but with sufficient means to lead a life of independence. They had only been separated when Joseph married, and then Kate had thought it best she should live with her aunt at Manchester, leaving Mr and Mrs Norburv to possess together the dear old rambling house on the Derbyshire Wye, Matlock". They were only separated, alas, for five years ; but now that they had come together again the shadows of the tall white broken column in the little church-yard fell right across their two lives. Joseph’s trouble had even postponed indefinitely, it was feared, the long hoped-for happiness of Dick Woodville, who had been engaged to Kate for more than a year. He was a merchant, a bright cheerful, prosperous young fellow, and he had won his way to the affection of both brother and sister. Just about the time that Mr Needham, M.P;. was entering his town house on that first of May previously mentioned, Joseph Norbury, his sister Kate, and Mr Richard Woodville were engaged in a pleasant after dinner chat at- Brambling House,-the old family residence of the Norburys. It was an exceptionally fine and warm day for Wyedale, where spring, as a rule, came tardily. This year it had hastened its visit. The river raced along almost with a summer song. There were gilli-flowers in the garden, rosemary and rue ; the thrush was singing in the copse, and the wild cherry was in blossom. , . Dick had come over, as was his wont, to spend Sunday, and to return ,to business on Monday, They sat together, with the window open, though there was a fire blazing and crackling on the hearth. Kate and Dick sat near each other, Joseph at the head of the table. The dessert was laid on an old service of Crown Derby, and the table was polished oak, reflecting dishes and fruit in aworld of lovely tints and positive colors. They were drinking old port-wine in the old fashion, Joseph occasionally holding up his glass against the yellow flame of a wax candle to catch glimpses of 4 the wing that floated like bits of dead gold leaf in the purple liquor. They.dined early, and there was no real need for the candles, but it was the custom to light them, and Joseph thought, as his father before him, that wax candles were as essential to the proper enjoyment of port wine as a friend and companion in the cracking of a bottle. Kate, like her brother, was fair, but she had hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, which gave a peculiar beauty to her face, setting off her pearl white skin, her ruddy lips, and her brown wavy hair, in which the sun always discovered streaks of red-gold. It was a refined face, the lips only just full enough to escape the charge of being thin “and she had a merry laugh. Dick was dark, almost swarthy, with a large generous mouth, closely knit forehead, strong hands, a broad chest, and a strong, manly way of expressing his opinions, and a gentle, tender manner towards .Kate that was in strong contrast with his otherwise robust and almost noisy self-assertion of himself, when she had not to be considered. 4 You are dull, old chap, wake up ; I am sure this wine might rouse any fellow into high spirits,’ said Dick. , j 4 One is not always dull because one does not talk,’ Joseph replied ; 4 Indeed, I have known the time when I, talked a great deal to hide the fact that I was not only dull, but wretched. I tell you, Dick, I am all right, and more than usually happy.’ 4 You are so Doisy, Dick,’ said Kate ; 4 we come of a quiet family, do we not, Joe ?' 4 Yes, we are like those thoughtful parrots who are such beggars to think.’ 4 1 dared notsay anything like that of you; but it reminds me that Kate is always saying she'll think about it.’ 4 About what ?’ asks the host, evidently not paying much attention to the conversation. 4 About what !’ exclaimed Dick ; 4 about everything 1 That is, it is everything to me !’ - 4 Oh, the old story, is it ?’ said the host. 4 Well, I am selfish enough to hope she’ll think about it a long time yet, Dick.’ 4 Thank you,’ said Dick. • Believe me, old fellow, these are the happiest days of your lives. You should cherish them.’ 4 So we do.’ 4 But only to end them.’ 4 Not at all, Dick : to continue them. Now, don’t go, Kate.’ She had risen. Dick, took her hand. 4 Nay, don’t go, just as we are beginning to talk sensibly,’ said Dick, laughing. Kate sat down again and looked into the fire, . ■ "

4 What shall we do when you are gone to America ?’ Dick went on.

4 1 have not gone yet,’ replied the host.

.‘But you i will go now, won’t you?’ said Kate, 4 for though I shall feel it bitterly—your going—l am sure Dr Ware is right, and that it will do yon good.’ 4 Oh, I suppose I shall go,’ said the hos&, 4 though I don’t care for it.’ 4 That is the very reason why you should go, Dr Ware says,’ remarked Kate. 4 Do you want to get rid of me ! Ah, no, it is only ray fun, Kate, If you were not stupidly fond of me you would advise me not to go. I know all about it. Now you need not look as if you were going to cry.’ He got up from the table, went round to her chair, and kissed her. 4 1 do feel moped here, that is a fact; can't rouse myself, can t get rid of the bines for a mmute, not that I really want to do so for that matter ; but I should hate to be an invalid, to be crawling about; that would never do, would it, Kate?’ : 4 Never, dear,’said Kate. 4 1 shall come back a regular Yankee, ” you'll see, if I once cross the Atlantic and. have a gcatee heard and a nasal twang and turn Republican.’ ■ Kate laughed, and Joe, drinking another glass of wine said, 4 Well, here’s to America, the land of the free !' 4 But why America?’ asked Dick. 4 Oh, because an excuse has arisen to suggest America. Lawyer Wood has had a letter about some property in New York, which, 1 going for years without a rightful owner, is now traced as belonging to the Norburys, of Derbyshire, and as we appear to be the oldest family of that name, Mr Wood says it must he ours, and that I ought to go and see about it. . Dr Wave, I daresay, has stimulated Wood’s desire for me to travel by insisting that I want change, that I must have change, and that if I don’t Jake a sea voyage I shall become either a drivelling idiot or peg out. And I wouldn’t mind it if Kate would go, or better if you * 4 111 go if Kate will,’ exclaimed Dick. • But Ware says why not take an entire change on my own account, aud to go alone would indeed he an out and out change, and I suppose as everybody says I ought to do it, I ought and must.’ _ / ' ' 4 And I repeat what is to become of Kate-, and me when you are gone ? There is nothing else for it but to get married and'go with you.’ • Don’t talk nonsense, Dick,’ said Kate. 4 1 am not talking nonsense, but good l sound common sense. When Joe had gone I cannot come here you know. It would never do for me to come down herefrom Saturday to Monday, as I have done for the past six months, would it ?’ 4 Certainly not,’ said Kate. • Well, I don’t know, why not, ;f your aunt Dorothy comes to stay with you, Kate,’ said the host. . ‘.For my part i don’t see whv it cannot be as I suggest. Now don’t go, Kate, there s a dear girl.’ . , , .. Kate was slipping away again to be gently detained as before. 4 It is not as if I were an ass, and a penniless one, is it Joe ?’ The host drank another glass of wine, and the first gleam of the sunset came streaming into the room. , 4 Ah, yon never help me, said Dick, ana here we are nearing the end of another day, and —’ . ‘.Believe me, old fellow,’ said the host, interrupting him, 4 these dajis that end like this are your happiest days, and s happiest. You will never be so happy again as you are now. Ask any man or woman who has passed through the same kind of dream. Ask the poet, the philosopher. Be content, Dick l Be content, Kate !’ 4 That’s the kind of sentiment Kate is beginning to fire off at me. Now, I see where she gets her fanciful pellets.’ 4 Do you think I am too stupid to make them for myself, then ? Oh, very well, I will go and talk to my pigeons ; they never question what I say, or pry into tue source of my inspiration.’ 4 Nay, don’t go.’ 4 1 must.’ ‘Why?’ 4 1 am going to feed the pigeons.’ 4 No, not yet,’ answered Dick, going to the door and standing with his back to it, 4 feed Joe and I ; we have far more appreciation of your wib than your pigeons have.’ 4 Indeed,’ she said, ‘you are not half as pretty ; come and see !’ He clasped her waist as they traversed the passage’to the hall; and out into the little courtyard. She did not resist. They walked in silence for a little while, lingering by the way. . 4 Why will you be so unkind !’ said Dick, presently. 4 1 cannot leave him,’ she sighed. ‘ But it is not leaving him altogether; we shall visit him ; he will visit us.’ 4 Yes, I know ; but it will be leaving him, and I know he dreads it.’ 4 Has he said; so V , . / 4 Yes, often.’ , »' 4 Poor dear fellow,’ said Dick forgetting himself at once in the love of his friend. ‘I knew you would be sorry,’ said Kate. 4 1 knew you would be reasonable.’ 4 Yes, dear,’ he answered very gently, ‘but don’t you think he might be talked into a different opinion with a little pressure ?’

4 Not p-t present,’ she said ; 4 he has been very wretched lately, and the other night he said he had a strange presentiment of some calamity happening to us. Dr Ware, says it it the coming on of melancholia, and that he must go away from here—far away, the sea would do him a world of good, but go he must, and with an object. And right upon this opinion comes lawyer Wood’s news from New York. He won’t listen to the idea of me going with him, and Dr Ware.has advised him to go alone. My companionship recalls the past too much, he says ; and he declared that if he will go off at once and see about this' Norbury property, the occupation and change will make a new man of him.’ 4 1 wish I could get Dr Ware to advise Joe that to complete the cure he should on his return find cake and cards from Mr and Mrs Richard Woodville.; Would you consent to - positively fix the day and cease to tlj|psr about it, if Joe asked you ?’

* Ye 3, if he was in earnest/ she said. * And will you not settle it, if he does not ask you to do so, or say you may V ‘I will think about it/ she said slipping away from his embrace to be almost surrounded the next moment by a flock of cooing pigeons. It would have done you good to have seen that Arcadian picture in the little courtyard 'of Brambling House. Think of all the tall, shapely, graceful women you have ever seen in paintings, old masters and modern, with heads well poised on dainty shoulders from which fall limp graceful robes, and allaround pigeons flying in wanton sport. Then concentrate the beauties of them all into one figure, and fancy it is Kate Norhurv, a flock of doves at her feet, one upon her finger, and a group of others fluttering found in hope of similar recognition of favor. The scene a courtyard, with an old stone fountain. Finally, put into the picture which your mind’s eye contrives, a young 'Englishman of five-and-twonty, stalwart as a Britisher, dark as an Italian, in an old fashioned dress suit, with high collar and •dangling watch seals. What a picture of peace and innocence •and love, to be broken in upon by the croak of the raven, and the shadow of a violent ■death !

(To be continued.)