THE BRIDE OF A DAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 2273, 23 September 1897, Page 41

THE BRIDE OF A DAY.

By MARY ALB EBT,

Author of "The Luckiest Man in the World,"

"Brooke Finchley'd Daughter," " Mystification," &c.

[All Bights Resbkved.]

Chaptkb XV.

OhaugTfcS ' T i« a mercy tuafc poor wom-in la ' dead," remarked she recior of "ftdtf ord ,an h« returned one 'uternaon from a round of parochial Visits and, sltikirg with a sigh of relief into his easy chair, accepted from hig •ftife'a hand the tea she offered him.

"Yes, ray dear," rejoined Mrs Lee, " her death will be a relief to Mrs Bir.gh&m, whatever affection existed between them, for the constant care necessary with a person of clouded intellect most lighten the pain of parting. Was there no return to reason, Marmaduka ? You were there at the last, I think 1 "

"Ye?, I was there. No, she never spoke with any consciousness of the past — never. Perhaps it was better so." They were speaking of Mrs Drew, who had died of bronchitis after a short illness.

So they put on mourniDg and for a few days spoke in low tones, after which (there was no denying it) life went on more easily without the constant care of the poor deranged lady. "I sometimes think it would be a good thing for you, dear Nellie,-- if I, too, were gone," remarked Dora sadly a few days after the funeral. "My eyesight certaiDly gets weaker, and you are often reading to me when you ought to be with your husband and children."

For answer Mrs Bingham threw ber arms tenderly round hßr sister, saying earnestly :

" Oh, don't talk so, my darling Dora I We will be eyes and bands to you if your precious sight becomes more affected. Bat you know what was the opinion of the London oculist whom we consulted 1 He said that you need never fear the loss of your sight if you would be careful. And we will be careful, dearest."

" Nellie, I mast have a companion, that I may not hamper you continually, and there is no one in the world I could like so well as Ohristabel Hanworth. She has left Lady Fareleigh, I hear, and -intends to take another engagement." Perhaps she would come to me."

"What a charming idea!" rejoined Mrs Bingham. "By all means let us secure her if we cau. I will write at once, dear."

It will be seen by this conversation that Lady Lenham's inuendoes had bad their result and Chrissie had been dismissed at very short notice on the pretext that Lady Fareleigh was about to travel.

Thus it fell out that a week later Chrissie arrived at the Court full of fears (which she did nob allow to transpire), but with the resolution to do the best she could in her new post.

Her duties were light, the house was a beautiful one, and the presence of the children made it cheerful. Nor was there any trace of Dora's former malady, though Mrs Bingham had thought it right to say a word on this head to the young girl who would now be so constantly with her sister.

"The medical men do not consider the case entirely cared," said she. " There may never be any relapse, they agree ; but, on the other hand, it is quite possible. Bat unless my sister receives some sudden shock, which, I trust, is not likely to occar, the probability is that she will retain the reason she has regained." f

It was a strange thing to Ohrissie that she had come to live at Mervyn Court. But Ronald was not at horne — he was now among the Rockies, and was going to San Francisco and Japan. By the time he got horne — a year hence — Dora Drew would have taken a cottage at the seaside (the doctors advising a residence there), and, naturally, her companion would accompany her. Thus Mr and

Mrs Loe took no umbrage on account of Ohrissve's advent at the Court; they feared, in truth, that it was all too late to alter their son's determination, b«t they treated Chrissie with icy civility whenever they met her.

Matters were on this footing when, about a couple of months after her mother's death, Dora Drew was arranging to take possession of ber new home.

A good many things at tbe Court belonged to her — ber mother's books and housa linen, some of the furniture, and a somewhat extensive vrardrobo.

" You cannot take them all with you, Dora," said Eleanor ;" would yoa like togive some of the old-fashioned dresses away ?"

" I suppose so," rejoined Bhe languidly. "Of courso, I will give some away — by-and-bye."

The next day Dora took to h»r bed, and became very ill. It was an attack of jaundice, the doctor said.

Time passed on; tbe doctor said it would be good to move the invalid for change of air and the sea would be most beneficial.

" Why not go to your own cottoge, then, Dora, dear ? " argued Eleanor.

" As well there as anywhere," replied Dora with indifference. " Ob, Nellie," added she, seizing her eister's hand in a convulsive clasp, "what is it whksh makes me now continually go back to the past? — that awful time which I would fain forget for ever 1 "

" You have been so ill," rejoined Eleanor soothingly ; " and in yoar weakness these troubled thoughts have recurred. Drive them away, darling, for my sake, and go even sooner than we bad arranged to the sea. Let me hurry on the preparations." Eleanor set about what had still to be done with alacrity, for Dora's state created much uneasiness in her mind. She was brooding on past occurrences for no apparent reason. Did this presage a change for the worse ? That her sister had never entirely recovered her balance of mind Eleanor was aware.

Among those things which were to be sent to the cottage wai the weariDg apparel which had belonged to the late Mr* Drew.

" I may surely get rid of two or three of these old dresses. Dora can never wear them," thought Eleanor, who told her maid to take them to a widow named Naeh, who lived in the village, and who had two little girls of her own to clothe and bring up.

The day previous to her departure for the seaside Dora insisted cm visitiog Beech Monnfc cottage once more.

" D > not persist in going, I entreat- you, Dora," pleaded Eleanor, alarmed for the consequences of any undue excitement.

" I v.oul'3 do a great deal .for you, Nellie," said Dora sadly, " but I must say another forewelJ *.■> Militant. It is * long time that I have n*gi<;ci«d Uec. And I oannot leave this place —perhaps for ever — without telling her i am !teaviog ber."

" You mean shaft yoa wish to go to the old eoboolTnorc, D.ira? Whsro, whoro "

' Where aha diwt i " cried Dora in a recolutss tone. " Yss l^tili* I matt -peak to hsr t.hwre, for f,he last- vans, pwrbaps.''

"•'But, desis'oet^ It would be very painful avtrn Jtor ra* tc rvei.tar that rooen ; and orach rnora co £or you. Indeed, it will xaake you iil »g;i!n. Do not go."

" tfe wtl! ra»i!i« me ill if I do rot £o, Nellie. Yoa need net. coma with me ; Miss Hanworth will do so. You can remain outside in the girdf.D. lam glad no one is in the house just now, so that my going need not occasion any remark.*'

ICleaaor made no rejoiader, but she registered a firm reaolra that, cost what it would, after this viait of Dora'a to the old schoolroom it should be pulled dowo.

" Ob, let me go at once ! " exclaimed Dora, rising and approaching the window. " I must tell Miss Hanworth to get ready to go with me."

•' I will beckon to her to come in," said Eleanor. " She is in the garden with the children. Now, Dora, promise me not to stay long. I will come with yon, and will remain at the house door while yoa go upstairs." "Do not come, N< Hie ; I oannot be hurriei in this, my last visit to the place. And I want to be alone with Milicent."

"Milicent!" re-echoed Mrs Bingham iv dismay. "S c ia not there, dear Dora. Dj not think of her as there."

" She is there to me. In that room I last saw her. Bhe came to me in her distress, and there I parted from her. If she can return to earth, surely she would come to me when there."

It was the racarrerce of such moods as this which, rare though they bad been, assured Mrs Biogham that her sister was not perfectly restored in mind, Nor had slw ever gone into scoiety aince her recovery. Indeed, if there was a dinner party at the Court she invariably refused to appear at it.

Chrissie, when summoned to accompany her, locked very grave and somewhat frightened, but Mrs Bingham wbispered that she would follow at a distance, and almost immediately they set out.

Obrissie shivered with nervous dread ai her unfortunate companion drew the key of the house in agitated haste from her hand and applied it to the door, which opened easily, as the house had not stood long unoccupied since Lady Fareleigh had quitted it so recently.

" You need not come in with me, dear Miss Hanwortb,' said Dora. " Stay in the passage, please, Do you remember the night I came here first, when you were with Lady Fareleigh 1 Ah ! I succeeded in what I came for then — who knows that I shall not do as much now 1 "

" Indeed, I hope yon will," rejoined the girl tremulously. What had Miss Dcew come here for ? Mrs Bingham had hinted that it was only to confer with her dead sister I " Sit down there on the window Beat I " said Dora, interrupting her thoughts, " and you must not be sarpriaed if I keep yoa waiting a good while." Then, before Chriseie could reply, her companion hurried away from her and disappeared within the sombre apartment at the end of the passage.

The room was not kept locked now. There seemed no reason to do so with the house untenanted, and Mr Bingbam was desirous that anyone applying to see the house should not find this room shot up. So it had been' cleaned and repainted ; curtains had been hung up at the windows, and one or two articles of furniture had beea moved in.

Thas it wore a totally different aspect to that which it had presented a year ago, and Obrissie bad heard Mrs Bingham explain 68 much to her sister. As she gazed from the window aho started at sight of a queer figure seated on tbe grase. And at tha same instant this figure caught sight of her, and beckoned to her with vehement action. Surely she h&d seen him before ! Yes I He was the man who had chased her through the wood on her road to b»r guardian's. And now h« was here ! Oh I terror ! she must conceal herself from him. For he bad leapt to bis feet, and would probably make his way into the bouse. She looked hither and thither, wad perceived, lower down the passage, a dark recess, and into this she darted as hurrying footstepi approached tbe upper floor. Oh ! that the steps might prove to be thote of Mrs Bingham I Bat it was not the latter who came in sight, and who ran paat tho recess, not pausing till the old schoolroom was reached. At that moment a fearful scream struck on Ohrissie's ear ! For one terrified inntant she remained motionless. The next, regardless of danger, she rushed into the haunted < room, a« it was now commonly called. Miws Drew was standing in the middle of the room wi'h her arm raised and h«r eyeg wild with affright, while the intruder had shrunk back, and seemed awed and fearfal. " Do not let him come near me 1 " shrieked Dora, waving back the figure of the man. " I did not come. here to see him. I came to Bee my sister whom ha killed." " You mast not come here," said Obrissie courageously, though she was trembling from bead to foot. " This lady wishes to be alone, and it is her house." i " Wretched man I " cried Dora. " I know you, though you have passed into another state of being. Tremble and depart 1 Do not dare to come into my presence. In this world you escaped the punishment of your crimes, but you cannot rest. Depart I " Silently he -had regarded her as she was speaking, remaining as if spell-bound ; and with her command to him to depart ho turned and fled. Is he gone? Is he gone?" repeated Dora, clinging to Ohrissie convulsively. "Yes — be is gone. There is nothing to fear, dear Miss Drew 1 " said the trembling; girl. " Shall I take you home ? " "It is for him to fear ma I " «he replied excitedly. " Yoa saw that he shrank from the sound of my voice — that be was compelled to obey me? Oh 1 you little know who he was 1 " " Let us go homo." repeated Ohrissie soothingly, while seeking to draw Dora out i of the room. "But I was waiting for Milicent," rasntned the latter, " and she did not coma. He came instead. Oh I it was terrible for me. But if—if I knew that she wan too happy to care to come back — even to net m« --then I Bhould be contented. It is only the earth-bound spirits who come back, I havd heard." — " Dtpeud upon it your sister does not wish to come back, even if she cau ! " murmured Chrissie. " She is now too much at- peace." "Ah i yoa think so, too 1 And you ought to know, for you have naver harmed anyone. I will never seek to call Milicent to my t-i&n again. Df>»r sister, she is at rear-." A«i the afflicted young woman sv.id this she, covered her face with one baud while sbe held Chrissie's arm with tho other. 11 You do not see him agaiD, da you 1 " whispered Dora presently. i "No, be 5« gone. He nhl noi ventur* back, I thick. Sb&U wa not {jo v too 1 M rejoined (ybrisaie per»ua«ii7*jiy\ "Y«s," breathed thft afflicted woman — " yes, let us leave this fearful pl*c>?, to wbioh I will naver ratura." The young giri breathed more freely a.B they got downstairs into tbe hall, from which they could distinguish Mrs Binghum leaning against one of the gates, and evidently very much agitated. "Wbo was that who ran oat of the hoasa just now 7 " asked Eleanor as they came up to her, and Chrissis remarked that her lips had gL'own white and her face pallid. "It was some stranger ; I have seen him before," »»id Ohrissie. "So have 1 1 " fcxetefroad Bleano/. "I, too, hare seen him before, hut that was at A distance." Aad she shivered nervously. " I think he is insane," rejoined Ohriwaw incautiously, for usually she avoided ssay Manioc to the deranged in Dora's presence. " lußanc I " re-echoed Djra tragically. " No, no! Bat be has made others so. Nellie, yoa recognised him ; you know who he is. Why aro you liremblirg? Don'fc be afraid, ior'ha fears me. "He disappeared when I ordered him to depart. And now [turning to Ohrissie, i who was somswhat alaic&ed herself] I will i tell you who he is. He is the man who drove away my reason and killed my sister Milicent. He is Granthatn Bains, her husband 1 "

Chapter XVI.

Samuel Pickles.

It was night. October was setting ia, and through the sunny September days Dora Drew had lain silent and mournful, unmoved at anything which was going on around her. "It is a very bad sign, Mrs Bingbam. You must be prepared for a recurrence of yoar bister's mental disorder," said the doctor solemdy. " I suppose she never gpeake of going to the seaside how 1 " " She will not even get vp — she never risee from her bed," rejoined Eleanor, weeping. "Oh, I was sure it was fatal to allow her to pay that unfortunate visit to our old house. She took to her bed immediately on her return."

" She believes that she saw Mr Baine'a ghost 1 " interrogated tbe medical man. Eleanor changed colour. " I am afraid so," "she said. " And it ia true the individual we met that day bore a carious resemblance to him. It was moßt unfortunate[; but I suppose nothing can be done 1 " " Change of scene might do much. Induce her to get up and drive but. Once in the carriage, take her to the (station, and thence to the seaside. It is imperative that Miss Drew should be moved without delay."

Fall of this idea Eleanor re-entered her sister's room as soon as the doctor had takeu leave. " Doraj" said she briskly, " I find that we must go to the cottage to-morrow if it is only for a day, so I want yon to join us afc dinner to-night, as yoa oannot go straight

from your bed on a journey. Miss Hanworth will join us if you will — but you know she will not leave you alone." " The cottage ? Perhaps I shall never go there, Nellie," rejoined the invalid faintly. "My dear, we must," urged Eleanor resolutely, "if only for a day, to arrange about banding it over to other tenants. And it must be dono before colder weather sets in. And I had sent all your things tbsre ; it is such a pity. Now th«y muet be sent back if you will not live there." " What things ? " a*ke<3 Dora, rousing herself a lit lie. " All that once belonged to our mother — the books acd china, and her wardrobe, except the very old dresses — two or three Which I sent yesterday to Widow Naeh." " Which old dresses? " cried Djra, springiDg to her feet in a state of extreme excitement. " Ob, Nellio I " (seizing her hands as if in extremity of agitation) "Jell me which you sent away ! " " My dear, there were but three of them — a dark cashmere, an old black poplin, and a brown merino, which all look as if they had come out of Noab's ark." i "Who did you say h»d them? — who?" p*nted Dora, catching her fereath. " Widow Nash. Surely you do not mind t«r having them, Dora? " "' Hush, hush ! Was it yesterday, did you say, that Bhe had them ? Yesterday 2 " pursued Dora, her excitement increasing. "Yes, my dear. But if I bad known that you objected, of oourse I would have kept them for you." "Ohl go away now, Nellie. What is done cannot be undone 1 Send Mias Hanworth to mo. Leave me quiet to-night, and to-morrow I will go with you to the cottage." Eleanor was amazed, but very mac pleKßed with thig result of her action. "She agrees to go for a day to the cottage to-morrow," cried Eleanor, meeticg Ohriasie In the corridor. "Bat ehe was horribly excited about gome old dresses which I have given away. Oh,' my dear, lam always afraid you will tell me you canuot remain with my sisfcer, aud you snit ber so well." "Do not be afraid of that," eaid Chrissie, smiling. "I think the doctor faacies her mind far more effected than it really is. And jibe confides in me." "Oh, yes; that makes me «o glad, my 3ear. She is asking for you now. Piease go to her at once." To her immense surprise Obrissie found the supposed invalid dressing in baste, as if life or death depended on the losb of a moment. ) --" Come here, Ohriatabol," cried she imploringly ; " you are the only person in the world ,vrho can help me, for you believe in my sanity. I know that for years I was not clear in my mmd — a veil sesmed to cloud xny perception; but it is different now — I understand what I am about, and I remember a goo.d niany things which I had once forgotten. Oh, Christabtl, listen ; there is a reason why I cannot tell my sister Bleauor everything. Will you help me 1 Oh. do not refuse me — so much depends upon itl " "Why should I refuse you, dear Miss Drew ?" said Chriesie soothingly. " Let me do anythiDg you wish." " How good you are, you dear, beautiful girl 1 " cried Dora, her face brightening. " Now, do not thiok me insane if I ask you to go with me to-night into the village to Widow Nash's house to buy bock some dresses which my sister gave away. I am not mad now, whatever I once was. Let us " go whilst Nellie ie at dinner." "Certainly, if you wish it," replied Chrissie soothingly, though her heart misgave her at hearing this strange request. " Shall I go alone and bring back the dresses 1 Would you not trust me ? I would do exactly What you wish." " Yes, you would ; I know that you would ; and I— l am weak ! it is so long since I walked anywhere. Well, then, listen. See how much there is in my purse, which lies Ihere." " Six pounds and a few shillings," answered Dbriasie, counting the coins. "Take it all; offer it all, if necessary, to get back the dark cashmere dress. There is aomething in it which is worth everything slse to me. You have promised to be true to me, and I know that I may trust you ; but promise me over again, solemnly — here — laying your hand on this Bible." Chrissie promised with a quiet voice, but Dora was satisfied, and drew a breath o£ re"Now hsar the truth," she whispered. " It Is not the dress I care for, it is a paper hidden in it— aewn into the folds of the dress behind. Ob, Christabel, it is a confession which my sister musls on no account see, for It was written by & guilty man, who died long ago, and Nellie thinks that years since I burned it. But conscience spoke to me, urging me to keep it in case I felt I ought to Show it to someone before I died. And I hid

it in that old dress of my mother's. No desk or drawer seemed to me half so safe ; and now my eister has given it away 1 Bat it was only yesterday that Widow Nash had it, and she cannot read or write ; so go to her, off«r auy money to get the old dress back again. Bat first feel if the paper is still sewn within the lining. I suffer tortures till I hold it onco more in my own grasp."

" I will do all you wish 1 Trust to me I " cried Ctirissio, strangely influanoed by the other's passionate appeal. "If it is to be found, I will bri»g it 1 "* " If ? " exolaimed Dora, in a heart-rending tone. "If I do not recover that paper it will kill me."

" Let me go at onoe, then ! " urged Carissie, warmly pressing Dora's hand ; and five minutes later Bhe was on her way to the widow's house. Mrs Nash lived in a small tenement at the end of th« village, and was by no means so poor as her widowhood aud the necessity of providing for her two little girls made possible. For she mauaged to excite the pity o£ everyone and to obtain a good many gitte and a good daal of help in the course of the year. Now it happened that on the morning of this particular day she had set her eldest girl to unpick one of the dresses sent her by Mr 6 Bingham — the identical one specified with bo much agonised anxiety by the unhappy Dora. "There's scmethiug sewn atweea the lining and the dress, mother," said the little girl presently. " 'Tis paper ; I can tell by the feel of it. See, mother ! "

"How can I see when' 'tis done up in the dress, child ? " rejoined Mr* Nash impatiently. " Get it out, and th«n we shall know what it is."

So tho little girl set to work, and in a few minutes produced a square of paper, folded in four, wbicb Widow Nash regarded with much curiosity. " I wonder what 'tis all about, Nannie. Can't you make it out, if you spells the words 'I " said she.

" Nofc plain, mother. I can't read off strange writing, though I can make out a printed book," replied Nannie. " Well, epell just those words across the top o' the page, Nan," persisted the widow, who was never willing to leave a secret alone. And a paper hidden in a dress which had belonged to one of the ladieß up at the great house must needs be of consequence. Little Nan, nothing loth, was prompt in obeying her mother, and spelt out letter by letter —

«■ M-y — my c-o-n-f-e-s-s-i-o-n — confession 1 " " Confession 1 Why, what about, I wonder ? " remarked the widow, taking the paper from the child. There had been strange doings in years gone by at the Court — or rather strange thing* had happened with those who lived there now. This confession might have something to do with them. She must find out what was written here.

Now, as she could nofc read herself, and thought it imprudent to trust her children, she bethought har of a widower who lived at a short distance, and who had shown signs of being ready to ask her to become his second helpmate.

Not at all "sorry to have au excuse for calling on this man, who rejoiced in the name of Samuel Pickles, Mrs Nash resolved to catch him in his dinner-hour, and preseuted herself at his door just as he had ended his repast and was about to smoke his pipe. " Oome in and sit ye down, Mrs Nash. Who'd ha' thought o' seeing your pleasant face at this time o' day ? But you're heartily welcome. Sit ye dowD," said he.

" I didn't look for no compliments from you, Mr Pickles," rejoined the widow, accepting a chair; "and I just looked in to ask your opinion about a paper as my little Nan found sewed into a dress that one o' the ladies at the Court; sent me but yesterday. I can't make out no more than that 'tis a confession ; but what about I want to hear. Maybe, too, they'd give something to have it back again." "Eh 1 " replied Pickles, surprised. " Maybe they would. Let's see if I can read it off. You seej my dear, I fancy you and me won't be living as far as the Poles apart this time three months, and then vre shall share and share alike, eh 2 " " You must put it quite plain, Mr Pickles, if you want me to understand your meaning," rejoined the widow, simpering. " A lone woman like me has a right to ask that much." " Well, what I mean, then," said Samuel rising to the occasion, " is this : Don't be a lone woman no longer 1 Let's marry. I m in good work, and work like to continue, and so what's to hinder nefrom starting together 1 Now, then, I've spoke out, my dear, and it's for you to say yea or no." Mrs Nash had no intention, however, of saying " no," for it had been her deliberate design for months past to lead him up to this Doint. and exaltation filled her heart. She

simpered more than ever as she promptly rejoined : " Well, Mr Pickles, now I do understand quite plain, *nd you've spoke out like a man. Now, indeed, 'twill be share and share alike atween you and me, and I'll begin by asking you to read out this paper and find ont what 'tia all about. A confession sounds quser like, doesn't it ? " 11 Hand it over, Martha, my dear 1 " rejoined he gallantly, while tenderly pressing the hand of his future spouse. The man was ofa ruddy complexion, jocose, and easy going, but he turned pale, and the smile faded from bis face as he ran his eyes over the words before him. " Well 1 do you make it out ? " inquired Mrs Nash, surprised at his silence. " 'Tie not so easy to make it out," replied he huskily ; and had the widow been watching him more narrowly she would have noted tbab the hand which held the paper was unsteady. " Could you spell it out, and bring it over to my bouse this evening, Mr Pickles 1 What do you say to that 1 " suggested Mrs Nash. " It will be the very thing," replied he in a tone of relief. " Yes, yes, my dear, and then we o&n talk matters over, and settle our wedding day." "You've got a cold, I'm sure,'' said the widow. " I'll make you come posset tonight. 'Tis right I nhould think of you now. WelL, I mu«t be off; so good-bye till this evening. You've given me oomething to think of, at any rate." He gave her a kiss as in duty bound, and accompanied her to the gate, waving his hand to h«r when they bad parted; but he was not himself, and sitting down in hie chair again, he put his face between bis hands in deep thooght. " The man's dead I " he mattered at last, "so justioe can't be done on him. I may judge for myself then what's to be done ! Oh I what a villain that man was, that Baine 1 If bia poor young wife knew anything o'this. 'twas euough to send her crazy." He sat mining a long time after this, for iv truth be wan bewildered. One thing was clear to him, however ; money was surely to be made out of that " confession ; " the people counected | with the man who wrote it would never wish it to get abroad. For it was an awful story. The man was dead and gone, It was true ; justice coukl not be done on him. Ah I the clock was striking ; he himself must go to work again, thought Pickles, bnt that terrible thing which he had read absorbed him, and the recollection of it went : with him during every minute of the afternoon, though he did what he had to do as usual. • i At length 6 o'clock sounded, and his work being over, he wended his way homewards, j resolved within" himself on the course to j take. ; I He would copy the confession, and, retain- | ing the original in his own possession, would ; restore to the widow (in place of it) the copy he intended to make, placing this copy in the envelope which had cotitaiued the original. This he would advise her to keep carefully out of sight, but to give it back if any of the ladies from the Ojurt applied for it. He would then direct her what to do next. It was far from" his purpose to acquaint her with the actual oontents of the confession — the " family," as he termed the pre Gent owaeru of the Court, would not pay for secrecy concern ing it if Mrs N^sh got hold of the etory ; bnt he knew enough of the woman to be sure that she would abide by his advice for the present;, »nd it would be a guide to him as to the value attached to this oonfession if the ladies at the Court Bought to repossess themselves of it. Th«y would soon perceive that it was not the original, and would be eager to come to a bargain, and it was he, Samuel Pickles, wbo would | make terms ! I

Directly he reached home be washed his bands and began his task. In an hour he bad penned a clear copy, and having placed it within the envelop?, as he bad planned, ha betook himself, to Widow Nash's cottage.

(To be continued.)