THE NOVELIST. [Published By Special Arrangement.] THE JOSS: A REVERSION.

Otago Witness, Issue 2454, 27 March 1901, Page 57

THE NOVELIST. [Published By Special Arrangement.] THE JOSS: A REVERSION.

OR THE STRANGE FORTUNE OF POLLIE BLYTH. THE STORY OF A CHINESE "GOD." » By RICHARD MARSH, Author of "The Goddess," "In Full Cry," " The Beetle • A Mystery," " The Crime and the Criminal, ' &c, &c. [Copyright.] BOOK I.— UNCLE BENJAMIN. (MARY BLYTH TELLS THE STORY.) SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. BOOK I, CHAPTERS I and ll.— Mary Blyth, an assistant at Messrs Cardew and Blobbs's, relates that after a hard and harassing day at the shop, she leaves with her friends Emily Purvis and. Tom Cooper. The last-named invites the two girls to refreshment at a restaurant, but finds himself without money. A stranger here steps forward and relieves them of a difficulty, and takes especial notice of Miss Blyth. During the evening a man who has the appearance of a mummy accosts her, and also two other strange men, as well as a diminutive Chinaman, who gives her something wrapped up in paper. A struggle ensues between the two strange men and the Chinaman, and the parcel is taken from her. Later, a3 the three employees are locked out of their house, the Hvurnmined individual again appears in a- very strange manner, the door opens mysteriously, and as they enter Miss Blyth h-as something pressed into her hand. CHAPTERS 111 and IV.— Miss Blyth, continuing her narrative, tells how, in her bedroom at the shop, she is threatened to be reported for talking by Miss Ashton, who is a kind of overlooker. The parcel she opens, and finds it to be a sort of mechanical figure of the Chinese fashion with small bead-like eyes. Next morning, both she and her companion, Miss Purvis, are discharged by Mr Blobbs, and paid their wages mimi9 deductions as -fines. Just at this moment a gentleman walks in and asks for Miss Blyth. He tells her his name is Paine, that he is a solicitor, and that he isinterested in her affairs. He at once champions her cause, and obtains a return of the deducted fines. He* also leaves his card, with the instruction thaf the two girls are to receive three months' wages in lieu of notice, or proceedings will be commenced for the recovery of the same. • CHAPTERS V and Vl.— At Mr Paine's chambers Miss Blyth is informed that an old and disreputable uncle named Batters has died abroad, and has left her £488 19s 6d per annum. on condition that she occupies an old house, 84 Camford street, with one female companion ; she must not leave it between 9 at night and 9 in the morning, and no man is to cross the threshold. This extraordinary will takes them by surprise, and the three set off in a cab to visit the house. CHAPTER VII.— ENTERING INTO POSSESSION.

T was Mr Paine who settled with the cabman. It had not struck me that we had been passing through an over-sav-oury neighbourhood, but we drew up in front of a perfectly disreputable - looking house. Not that it was particularly small, there were three storeys,, but it looked so dirty. And if there is one thing I cannot stand it is dirt. I could easily Sbelieve that no one had lived in it for 20 years ; it was pretty plain that the windows Had not been cleaned for quite as hang as that. , . " " Well," I declared, as I got out of the cab, "of all the dirty-looking places ever I saw ! If no one is^ to be allowed to set foot inside except Emily and me, who do you suppose is going to clean those windows,*?" "That, I am afraid, is a matter which you must arrange with Miss Purvis ; the will makes no exception in favour of windowcleaners. "' " Then all I can say is that that's a nice thing." I turned to Emily. "This is goiu£ to turn, out a pretty sort pi roaumce J

charwomen is what we shall have to .commence by being. " "I'm not afraid of a little work,'' she laughed. I looked at the dcyjr. "That writing on the label paid that we were not to go into the house when anyone was looking. How are we going to manage that? Are you and the cabman to turn .your backs 'r" "I don't think that that is necessary ; this shall be an exception. After you've opened the door we'll hand the luggage to you when you're inside." Mr Paine and the cabman 'Were not by any means the only two persons who were looking. Our stoppage in front of No. 84 had created quite a wave of interest. People were watching us at doors .and through windows, and a small crowd of children had gathered round us in a circle on the pavement. As it was out of the question for us to wait till all eyes were off us. I straightaway disobeyed at least one of the directions which were on the label. What looked like an ordinary opening for a latchkey was in its usual tilace on the right hand side of the door, ■ but when I slipped my key into that it turned round and round without producing any visible effect whatever. So I examined the other side. There, sure enough, so high up as to be almost beyond my reach, was wbAt looked like ay small dab -of green paint. When I pushed the key against it it gave way. The key went into the apparently solid woodwork right up to the Ixandifi. I gave it an upward jerk ; the door was open. However neglected the windows were, that lock seemed to be in gopd condition. The door had opened about an inch. We all stared at it as if something wonderful had 'happened. I confess that I-ras a little .startled, because I had used so little force that it was a wonder to me how it had come open. The children, giving a sort of cheer, came crowding close round. Mr Paine had to order them back. I pressed my hand against the door. As it swung upon its hinges a bell sounded somewhere in the house. It seemed to come from upstairs, with a shrill, metallic clanging. " xhere might be someone in already, who wanted to have warning of anyone's approach." This was Emily. She was staring into the passage, as if she expected to see something strange. "Come," said Mr Paine, "let me help you in with the luggage ; then I must leave you. People are talcing a greater interest in the proceedings than is altogether desirable. You may find them a nuisance if you -lon't look out." The crowd was being reinforced by children of an older growth. Loiterers «ut stopping to stare ; people were coming ou£ of their houses. As Mr Paine said, lJuir interest was becoming too demonstrative. He helped the cabman to get our boxes into the passage. Then he went. We shut the door after Jiim, in the faces of the crwd. Emily and I were left alone. It was an odd sensation which I fell duiing those first few moments in which I realised that she and I were alone in my Uncle Benjamin's eld house. I was conscious of a foolish desire to call the crowd in to keep \is company. Emily Purvis was hardly the kind of girl I should have chosen to be my s»le companion in a tight place, and I had a kind of feeling that before very long it might turn out that I was in a tight place now. It had all come on me so .suddenly. More things had happened in a few hours than in all my life before. Yesterday I had thought myself a fixture at Cardew and Blobbs's with marriage with Tom in the faroff distance — when the skies had fallen, or he had become a shopwalker and I a buyer, or we had saved up enough to start a small shop of our own. Now, Cardew and Bldbbs's had gone from me for ever. So far as money went I was free to marry Tom next week. But there was this horrid house — already I was calling it horrid — and my uncle's absurd conditions. If I were to observe them during the rest of my life I might as well write myself down a nun at onee — and worse. Better Cardew and Blobbs's — or anything. We could hear the sound of traffic and voices in the street. Within the house all was still. There was no window over the> door. In the passage it was so dark that it was as much as we could do to make out where we were. Emily put her hand upon my arm, as if she wished to make sure that I was close. <™?? s no goocl our st °PPing here." I said We d better light a candle and look about us. If the whole house is as light as this it must be a cheerful place to live in." Acting on Mr Paine's suggestion, as we had come along in the cab we had bought some candles and matches, and crough provisions to carry us on till to-morrow. Routing out a box, I struck a match. 1 gave Emily a candle and took one myself " Now to explore ! " We were brought to a standstill at the very start. In front of us was a door which led into a room opening out of the passage— or ought to have done. When I tried the handle I found that ;t was locked. I shook it, I even thumped at the panels, I searched for a key. It was no good. Against us the door was sealed. " This is a comfortable beginning ! If all the doors are locked it will be really nice. Perhaps Uncle Benjamin intended that i should merely have the run of the passage and the stairs." ° Such, however, fortunately or otherwise, was not the case. The room behind the one which was closed was the kitchen. That was open, and a delightful state it was in. Not only was it inches thick in dust, but it was in a state of astonishing confusion. Pots and pans were everywhere. The last person who had used that kitchen to cook a mea l in had apparently simply let the utensils drop fi'om her hand when she had done with them, and laft them lying where they fell. ' There was a saucepan here, a baking tin in the corner. Another tiling we soon became conscious ' of — that the place was alive with cockroaches. " What is it Aye are stepping on? ' asked Emily. ° "Why—it's beetles.,"

She picked up her skirts, and gave * scream, and back she scurried into the passage. I am not fond of the creatures — I never met, anyone who was; — but I am not afraid of them, and I was not going to let them drive me out of my ov> n kitchen. " There's one thing -wanted, and that's light, and fresh air. Only let me get those shutters down and the -window open, and then Are' ll see. I should say from the smell of the place that there has, never been any proper ventilation since the house ■KdS bllilt.'' But it was easier said than done. Those shutters would not come do^n. How to brgin to get them down was more than I could understand. To my astonishment, when I lapped them with ray knuckles, they rang. "I dn believe," I said, ''they're made of iron — they're of metal of some' kind. They seem to have built them into the solid wall, as if they hod never intended them xo be moved. No wonder the place smells like " a vault, ; and beetles and other nice things flourish, if they're fixtures." A scullery led out of the kitchen. It was in the same state. One scrunched blackbeetles afc every step. There was a shutter before the window, which had evidently never been meant to be taken down: Where apparently thei-e had been a door leading into a brickyard or somathing, was a sheet of solid metal. No one was going to get out that way in a hurry ; or in either. " i " But what can be the meaning of it all?" I cried. '■ There must be an object in all this display of plate armour, or whatever it is. The" place i* fortified as if it were meant to stand a siege. I shall begin to wonder if there isn't a treasure hidden somewhere in the house — a great stoic of gold and precifcus stone « ; and that Uncle Benjamin made up his mind that at any rate thieves should not break through and 1 steal." "Oh, Pollie, do you think there is? Perhaps it's in the next room. Perhaps that's why the door is locked." " Perhaps so ; and perhaps the key's upstairs, wailing for us to come and find _ it. Anyhow we'll go and see."' When I rejoined Emily it struck me that she was not 'coking quite so happy as she might have done ; as if the romance was not taking altogether the shape she either expected or desired. I led the way upstairs. There was a carpet on them, but, by the illumination afforded by a guttering candle, it only needed a glance to seethat, if you once took it up, yon would probably never be able to put it down again — it would fall to pieces. We had hardly gone up half a dozen steps when there came a clitter-clatter from above. Emily, who was behind, caught me by the skirt. "Pollie, stop! Whatever's that? There's someone there ! " "Rats, most likely. In a house like this there are sure to be all sorts of agreeable things. Where there aren't blackbeetles there are rats ; and where there's either there's probably both." Rats it was. Before we had mounted another tread two or three came flying down, brushing aeainst our skirts as they passed. You should have heard Emily scream. " Don't be silly," I said. " You talk rbout liking romance, and you make all that fuss because of a rat or two." "It isn't exactly that I'm afraid of the.n. but — they startled me so. I daresay I shan't mind them when I've got used to them, only — I've got to get used to them' first." She was likely to have every opportunity. Presently two or three more came down. They seemed to be in a hurry. One, which was'not looking where it was going, fliuck against my fool and squeaked. Emily squealed too. When we reached the landing we could hear them scamperiug in all directions. On that floor there were three rooms and a cupboard. The cupboard was cnij.ly. So was one of the rooms ; that is. so far as furniture was. concerned. But it was i ;ain where. at any rate, some of the rats were. When I went into the room I stepped on. a loose board. i\s it gave way beneath mv tread I never heard such an extraordinary noise n.s ca/ne from under it. Apparently a legion of rats had i heir habitations 'beneath that flooring. I half e^pec id them to rush out and make for u^. I am"? out of the room mucker than I Aveni m, and took care to dose the door behind mo. Emily had turned as white as a sheer. "I can't stop in this place — I can't." I AA'as scornful. " I thought you couldn't. You'll remember I told AWiu that you Avouldn'c be my companion long. I knew that was the sorb you Avere." "it isn't fair o c you to talk like tLut— '" hn't. I don't mind oidinary things, and 141 not leave you, you know I Avon't. Br.t all these rai> ! Did you hear them: ''I heard them, and they'll hear mo beforelong. There's going to be a Arholes.ile slaughter of rat; — and blackbeetlei. There'll soon bo a clearance Avhen theyVe sampled some ol the ituff I know of. I'm not going to be driven out of my own house by trifles." One of the other looms was a bedroom — a sort of skeleton of one. There Ava^, some carpet on the floor — -or what had been carpet. There was an iron bedstead, on Avlncli Avere the remains of Avhat might have been a mattress. But there Avere no sign" o' sheets or blankets ; I Avondered if the nU> had eaten them. After what Aye had seen of the rest of the house the third room, which "was in tiie front, AAas a surprise. It was a pnlom — not'the remnants of one, but an actual parlour. There was Avhat seemed to be piotty good carpet on the flooi, theio weie tA\o easy chairs, four small ones, 'md a couch. On* the sideboard were plates and dishes, cups and saucers. On the stove, AA-hieli wa.s a wnall kitchener, was a kettle, two saucepans, and a frying pan, all of them in decent order. Although the usual shutters screened tlhe windoAv, compaiativelv speaking, the place aa&s clean. And vhsn I Vein, to a cupboard A\hich Avas in one corner, ■.' found tkat ia it there were coals r.nd \xoqt..\

- "It is not 20 years since this room was Occupied, there's that much certain ; nor, !from the look of it, should I say it was 20 Shouts. From the look of it I should say there has been a fire in that stove this very . fl a y — and there's water in the kettle now." ' '/What's this?" ■Emily was holding out something which she had picked up from the floor. It was a woman's bracelet— a gold bangle ; though I had never seen one like it before It was made of plain, flat gold, very narrow, twisted round and round ; there was so much of it that when it was in its place it must have wound-zouad the wearer's arm, like a sort of serpent, from the wrist to the elbow. !At one end of it was something, the veiy Bight of which gave me quite a qualm, CHAPTER VIII.— THE BACKDOOR s KEY. "Look!" I said. "Look!" "Look at what? What's the matter with you,. Pollie? Why are you glaring at me like that?" "Don't you see what's at the end of It?' She turned the bangle over. ', "it isn't pretty, but — it's some sort of ornament, I suppose." ; - "It's that — thing which was in the scrap of jjaper, or its double."' ■, "Pollie !— rAxe you sure?*' "Certain. I'll back myself to know that -wherever returns up." i "Taking -fche'-bracelet from her, I eyed it closely. There was no mistaking the like- ' - ness : to one end was attached the very " double of that painted little horror. Emily criticised it as- she leant over, my shoulder. "It looks as if it were meant 1 tor a man >who mostly runs to head. And what a head it is ! Look at his beard, — it reaches to what may be meant for feet. And his hair —it stands out from his sealp 1 like bristles."' "Don't forget hh eyer — haw they shine. They must be painted with luminous paint, or whatever they call the stuff, which lights up in the dark. The other nigFt they glenmed so I thought the ci-eature was alive. And^his teeth— talk about dentist's adver- - tisements ! I believe it's meant for one of .those heathen gods who are supposed to live on .babies, and that kind of thing. He looks the character to the life. But fancy you picking it up from the floor ! That's iiot lain there 20 years. There's not a speck i of rust upon -it. It's as bright as if it had just come off somebody's arm." "Pollie, do you think there's anybody in the house besides we two : ' "My dear, I haven't the faintest notion ; you can use your senses as well as I can, and are quite as capable of putting two and two together. l- One fact's obvious, it's not long sinee 'somebody was in this room. But ■we've the rest of the house to see ; I can tell you more when we've seen it. Come, let's go upstairs." ', ' 'Putting the bracelet on the table, I left '._ the room. Emily seemed reluctant to foi- ■ low.-'- I fancy that if she had had her way she would Have postponed the remainder of pur voyage to later on — a good deal later ~ - on. l\nd:« on the whole, I hardly wondered, 1 because directly we began to* go upstairs -■ -Fuch'a j Tioise came "from above, and, indeed, from everywhere, that you would have thought the whole place was alive ; and so it was— wjth rats. I had heard of the extraordinary noises the creatures could make, •but I had never realised their capacity till then. Emily stood trembling on the botCom step. ■*L_ daren't go vp — I daren't." '"Very well, then, stoij where you are. I dare, and will."' Off I. started, and, asj expected, directly I moved she rushed afte\ me. "Oh, Pollie, don't leave me — don't. I'd sooner do anything than have you leave me." On that top floor, there were again three rooms. And again one of them was empty. It was a sort of attic—^ at the back. So far as I could make out it had no window at all ; it was papered over if it had one. But talk of rats ! It was a larger room than the one bglow, and seemed to be still more crowded. We could not only hear them, we could see them. There they were, blinking at the candlelight out of the floor, and J walls, aud even ceiling. It was a cheerful ' prospect. I had heard of rats, when- they I had got rid of everything .else, eating htt- | man Beings. We two could do nothing j r.gainst these multitudes ; -I felt sure that* »lhe mere fright of her being attacked would Vos enough to kill Emily. I said nothing to ' feer, but Jrthought of it all the same. j I lie door next to the attic was fastened. Whether it wa-s locked or not I could not vnake out. It felt as solid as if it never had I been opened, -and had been never meant to l open. When I struck it with my knuckles lit returned no sound. That it was something ehe besides a mere wooden door was , obvious. " Another treasure room ! *' I laughed. But Emily did not seem pleased. "I don't like these loeked-up rooms. What is there on the other side?"'

" I thought you were so fond of mystery." "Not mystery like this." She lowered her voice. "For all we know there may be people inside who, while we can't get ab them, can get at us whenever they choose."' I laughed again ; though conscious there was sense in what she said. " Let's go and look at the other room, and see if that's locked up too.' But the door of that yielded at a touch. It, also, had had occupants less than 20 years ago — a good deal less. It was furnished as a bedroom. There was a chest of drawers, a washstand, toilet table, chairs, and a bed. On the latter the bedding was in disorder ; sheets, blankets, pillows tumbled anyhow, as if somebody, getting out of it in a hurry, had had no time to put it straight. There was a lamp upon the toilet table, the blackened chimney of which showed it had been smoking ; even yet the smell of a smoky lamp was in the air. The drawers were all wide open. One, which had been pulled right out, was turned upside doAvn upon the floor, as if the quickest way had been chosen to clear it of its contents. " It looks," said Emily, standing in the doorway, looking round her with doubtful eyes, and speaking as if she were saying something which ought to have been left unspoken, " as if someone had just got out of bed." Throwing the bedclothes back, I laid my hands against the sheets. It might have been my imagination, but they seemed warm, as if, since someone had been between them, they had not had time to cool. Not wishing to make her more nervous than she was already, I hardly knew how to answer her ; more especially as I myself did not feel particularly comfortable. If, as appearances suggested, somebody had been inside that bed, say within the last half hour, who could it have been? And what had become of him, or her, or them? Crossing to the dressing table, I touched the lampglass. It was hot — positively hot. I could have sworn that it had been burning within the last 10 minutes or quarter of an hour. That was proof positive that i someone had been there — lamps do not burn unless somebody lights them, and they do not go out unless somebody puts them out. Who could it have been? The discovery, and the mystery, so took me aback that it was all I could do^ to keep myself from screaming. But as Emily was nearly off her head already, and I did not want to send her off it quite, I just managed to keep my feelings under. All the same, I did not* like the aspect of things at all. To stop her from noticing too much, I tried my best to keep on talking. '■ This is our bedroom. I suppose. How do yoti like the look of it? Not over cheerful, is it? " "Cheerful?' I could see she shuddered. "Does any light ever get into the room?" Where the window ought to have been j were the usual massive and immovable shutters. " The person who put tip those shutters wasn't fond of either light or air. But you x wait, I'll have them down. I like j plenty of both. You heard Mr Paine's ' story about the shutters- having made their appearance in a night. If they did, then there was witchcraft used, or I'm a Dutchman. It took weeks, if not months, to get them there. If the walls have to be pulled to pieces, I'll have them moved. Give me a week or two and you" won't know the place. I'll turn it inside out and upside ' down. Because Uncle Benjamin had his ideas of what a house ought to be like — dark as pitch, and alive with rats, to name black beetles — it doesn't follow. that his .ideas are mme — so I'll show him." j "We can't do all that, you and I alone together.*' " Catch me trying ! Before we're many' hours older I'll have an army of workmen in the house." "What about the conditions? No one is to be allowed to enter except we two, especially" no man." ' Bother the conditions ! Do you think I I mind them? Uncle Benjamin must have been stark staring mad to think I would. If I'm only to live in such a place as this on such terms as those, then I'll live out of it — that's all. By the way, where's the envelope which was in that box? " I took ; it out of my dress pocket. " ' This enve- ! lope is for Mary Blyth, and is not to be ; opened by her till .she is inside 84 Camford , street.' Well, now Mary Blyth is inside ' 84 Gamford street — a nice, sweet, clean, airy place she's found it — so I suppose that she may open the envelope. Let's hope that the contents are calculated to liven her up, because I feel as if I wanted something a little chirrupy." Inside was a sheet of blue writing paper. It was not over clean, being creased, and thumb-marked, and blotted, too. On it was a letter, written by somebody who was not much used to a pen. I recognised Uncle Benjamin's hand in a moment; es- ■ pecially because 1 remembered how, in his ; letters to mother, which I had in my box,

the lines kept getting more and more slanting, until the last wa« screwed away in a corner, because there was no room for : it anywhere else. And here was just the , same thing. He began stiaight enough, right across the page, but long before he had reached the bottom he was in the same I old me&s. j " I need no ghost to tell me that this is I from my venerated \vncle — I remember his j beautiful neatness. Look at that, my dear ; ' did you ever .see anything like those lines for straightness?"' I held up the page for Emily to see. She actually smiled, for the fii&t time since she had been inside that house. | " Now. let's see what the dear old creature says. Ido hope it's something comforting. What's this? "' I began to read out loud. " ' Dear Niece, — Now that you are once inside the house you will never sleep out of it again.' Shan't I? We shall see. Nice prospect, upon my word. ' You may think you will, but you won't. The spell is on you. It will grow in power. Eacli night it will draw you back. At your peril do not struggle against it. Or may God have mercy on your soul.' This is — this is better and better. My dear. Uncle Benjamin must have been very mad. ' You are surrounded by enemies.' Am I? I wasn't till I had your fortune; I'm begin- I ning to wonder if I shouldn't have been better off without it. ' Out of the house f you are at tlreir mercy. They watch you ' night and day. When you are out, they , are ever at your heels. Sooner or later j they will have you. Then again may God have mercy on "your soul. But in the house you are safe. I have seen to that. Do not t)e afraid of anything you may see or hear. There is that within these walls which holds you in the hollow of It's hand !' That last line, my dear, is in italics. It strikes me that not only was Uncle Bennie mad, but that writing novels ought to have been his trade. As you are so fond of saying, this is something like a romance ; and I wish is wasn't. Emily, what's the matter Avith ; you now? " ! (She had come at me with a sudden rush, I gripping my arm with both her hands — I i doubt if she knew how hard. I could see that she was> all of a tremble. " I—lI — I thought I heard someone downstairs."' " Not a doubt of it — rats ! " " It — it wasn't rats. It sounded like footsteps in the room beneath." " When I've finished uncle's letter we'll investigate ; but I think you'll find that it was rats — they've got footsteps. Let me see, where was I? Oh, yes. 'It's hand' — line under. 'Go out as little as you can.' To be sure ; I'm not fond of going out — especially with such a house as this to stop in. 'Be always back before 9. It is then the hour of your greatest peril begins, i Should you ever be out after 9 — which the gods forbid — let no one see you enter. They I will be watching for you in the front. Go , to Rosemary street at the back. Between 13 and 14 there is a passage. At the end ' there is a wall. Climb it. There are two stanchions, one above the other, on the j right. They willjielp you. Drop into the 'yard. Go to the back door. You will see a .spot of light shining at j'ou. Put the key in there. Turn three times to the left. The door will open. Enter and close quickly lest your enemies be upon you. If they enter with you may God have mercy on your soul. From your affsctionate uncle, Benjamin Batters. P.S. — You ' will find the back door key on the parlour . table.' Shall I? That's story No. 1, at any rate. I haven't found any back door key on the parlour table, and I never saw one there. Did you?" j " There — wasn't one. I noticed — there was nothing on the table — when you put that bangle down." I wished Emily would not speak in that stammering way, as if there were a full stop between each word or two. But I knew it was not the slightest use my say« ing so just then ; that was how she felt. "Of course! I did leave that bangle on I the table, didn't I? That's one thing which we've found in uncle's dear old house which seems worth having — and one thing's something. Let's go and have another look at it." Down the stairs again we went, Emily ; sticking close to my side as if she would i rather have suffered anything than have let J me get a yard away from her. One of the , pleasantest features of my new possession ' seemed to be that every time we moved from one room to another about a hundred ■ thousand rats got flurried ; it sounded like a hundred thousand by the din they made. And Emily did not like them scurrying up and down the stairs when she was on them — nor, so far as that went, did I either. When we reached the parlour, I made a dart at the table. "Why — where's that bangle? I put it down just there. I remember most distinctly. Emily, it's gone ! Whatever's ! this? I do believe — it's that back door ; key ! " j It was, at any rate, a key, and bore a

family likeness to the one which was attached to the chain which was about my waist. I stared, scarcely able to credit the evidence of my own senses. Between our going from that room and our returning to it a miracle had happened ; a transformation had taken place ; a bangle — and such a bangle — had become a key — apparently . the back door key of Uncfe Benjamin's ' (To be continued.) I