HOUSE OF RIMMON.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XIV, Issue 2712, 23 January 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

HOUSE OF RIMMON.

A BTOBY OP THE « BLACK COUNTRY SOUTH STAFFORDSHIRE. By JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY, Author of Aunt Saeckn’s Two Legacies,” etc. CHAPTER XLll.— (Continued). “ Mille pardons , mv pood frieud,” said the foreigner. “It is as dark as the grave, this country of yours. lam despair to find my way to Mr. Hackbeet’s.” “ The way isn’t through me,” responded Mr. Rimpler irately, and imagining for some reason that he recognised the voice. “ What do you want with Mr. Hackbit r I belong to that firm.” “ Well, I am come to Wolverhampton,” replied the foreigner confidentially, “ to do some conjuring performances. They are not elevated peopie at all: they will not give up a room but I must pay first; and the printer, he must not print my bills until I do first pay him. Is this not strange? And lam absolutely without the means to pay till I have performed. I am without watch, and many other things, which Monsieur the pawnbroker is in possession of, at the last place 1 am in ; and a kind gentleman to whom I explained my difficulty has told me you are agent for a money-lending firm.” Rimpler thought, “ Hackbit wouldn’t be too pleased to have his private address given,” and wondered who could have done it. “It would not matter so much,” the foreigner went on, “ but I have an incumbrance with me, in the shape of a woman who is no longer young, and no longer pretty, who, like the cherubim in your Church prayers, 4 continually doth cry ’ ” and he waited evidently expecting pity 'on this point ; but Mr. Rimpler only laughed. “ I see you have never been in a liko situation or you would not laugh. It is no matter for laughter, I will assure you.” “ That’s all you know about it. Why don’t you get rid of the woman?” “ 1 have already done so many times, but she has a fiue instinct, she. She comes again; and so, if she were in her grave, she would come again, that woman.” “ All right,” said Rimpler; “ you go up that way,” vaguely indicating, “and I’ll follow you.” 4 * If von have no objection, I will wait for you. It is not inviting, that road. I have been everywhere, but never have I seen anything like this.” “But 1 have an objection. You won’t hurt yourself. Foreigners ore always so rash.” He had picked up that word in the neighbourhood. “If you do not object,” said the foreigner, “you will be so good as to lead me to a place of safety a little further on, where I will remain while you speak with ma'cm'selle.’* Rimpler was furious. “ Coufouud you,” he said, “ what do you mean ?” “Oh, I thought the ma’em’selle was waiting for some one by that piece of building.” “ It isn’t for me, at all events,” said Rimpler, telling a lie. “ Oh, then, if it is not for you, I will tell you, I have spoken with her, but she is no chicken, she.” Rimpler was thinking, “ How could he have found that out iu the dark ?” and said so. “There was nothing of shyness in her wanner,” said the foreigner, “and I did gather from other indications ” Rimpler decided that Dorcas should wait it out that night, and went on with the foreigner to Hackbit's, where a loan was arranged.

CHAPTER LXIII.—A Costly Relief. ' l ’be little matter of business Monsieur Pel bois to transact with Mr. Hackbit was arranged actually in that gentleman’s absence. Keziah had been up at her mother’s all day, so Mr. Hackbit took the opportunity of looking over all her belongings, imagining that he might discover some preparations for flight. But he was disappointed. He found nothing in Keziah’s orderly drawers and boxes but the most natural and ordinary things. Inconsistent as it must appear, he was angry at not finding what he had sought, and a resolve come into his mind, without his being perfectly conscious of it. If people put themselves in a frame of mind to do a thing, they are pretty sure to find an opportunity, and themselves prepared to act. Hackbit s opportunity came this night. Keajau had returned in time for supper, which had been put off owing to Mr. Rimpler’s and Mr. Hackbit’s non-appearance. Silas and Monsieur Pelbois came in firet, and remained in the office some time, the foreigner going away before Hackbit’s return. That gentleman made a great noise in the entrance-hall when he did_ come, and to all appearance had been drinking again. Ho came in smilin'*, just as he always smiled when he was going to anything remarkably offensive. “ Well, Rimpler,” he said sarcastically, “ I hope you are enjoying my wife’s society.” Rimpler made no reply* Keziah bit her lip, and looked angry. “ You know the stock she comes of, Rimpler,’’ he went on. “ One of them, whose Seripturo knowledge is great, said something •bout not gathering figs from thistles. I wish I had thought of that when I married my wife. We’re all fools till we learn. I took her for a saint. Ycu know what she is, Rimoler. Did you ever see a man so infernally sold ?” Keziah fixed her black eyes with wrathful intensity on Hackbit’s face. “ What do you want to goad me to do r” said she. “ Is there anything you are anxious to be graded into doing r” replied Hackbit, seating himself in a chair, and tipping it up on the hind tegs.

Keziah looked as if about to quit the room, but she changed her mind, and sat down. She would not have dons so had she known what would follow.

“ Have you over heard the *kory about mv wife, Rimpler ?” went on Hackbit, insolently. Bhe had a situation at Leamington, and nanaged to get over the medical man in attendance at the house, who was subsequently takan up on a charge of murder. She then Eaid heT traps for me, and here I am. Anyone might pity mo.” “ How dare you insult me so!” broke out Keziah. She left the room, followed by insolent laughter. She did not appear again that uight. A bed bad baen prepared for her property iu the spare room, since the night she had Cain there on the bare bedstead.

Ilackbit went to bed rather early, for him. Mr Rimpler had no notion of going to fee dr Ho had seen Keziah a few days ago place a sheet of white paper under some stones. Ha it: nothing was written on it. Ha had sat in his room silently for a long time, when he heard a creaking upon the stairs. Somebody was going down ; of course, it was Keziah. He waited some time patiently; but he did not eee her appear outside. He thought to himself, if she Lad gone to meet that fellow .SiwoTthy. they most have gone round to the dock of the back of the house ; so he determined to go round and reconnoitre. The house waß quite still. He thought he might venture to do it.

The landing window lay between the room where Keziah was now sleeping and the night nursery. lie thought, if they were in the garden behind, he should hear as well as see TTom this position. It was his habit when he went into a new house to try all the locks and ail the windows, to learn if they had any peculiarity of opening and shutting. This he always managed to no in a natural manner. Oonseqneatly, he had ascertained that the iandsng window would open without a sound, hia own would not. So he very quietly raised the window, and put his head out. He could see nothing, it was so dark. But then, he argued, “If I can see nothing, the ® a “*dafkue«? 9 renders me invisible to others, which is also something.” Yes, there was some one moving below, and the sound of low ▼©ICBB.

. .* 4 ft fraid to stay in the same house with tUm * *S ard keziah say. “ Yet if I freed mvseli, aud went away from him, then he and world would say it was to go to you, which I would never do, except as now.” A low voice answered, “ Is my reputation worth more to mo than you are, Kizzy ? You muat come to me, if you have so much reason to fear. And why not ? These laws are men’s Jaws, and not God’s. You are mine by ri"ht. What does it matter what people sav r You would go away, far from the reach" of their -voices. It could not matter to you then.” **lt no one knew, I should know,” was Keziah's reply. “ No, I will never do that. If I leave my husband’s roof, you must promise me faithfully you will never see me or speak to I me again.” She was so earnest that she could not but | promise. But he felt in hia heart he had promised more than he could perform. In the bottles of the soul it is a question of the right of the strongest; aud love for Keziah, and desire to possess her, were stronger this time with poor El worthy than any man-made laws. Sihia, who bad heard every word of this, felt ho had been having a very good time ; and as they ceased talking, and appeared to separate, be slowly began to put down the window. But something happened that made him stop suddenly in the operation. Something appeared He was taken so much unawares that hfe could BBi

not help crying out, whereupon he was seized by the throat and hair, and shaken about as if he had been a pillow: after which he was flung upon the landing, and received the contents of a bucket, which nearly chocked him. He could do nothing but utter inarticulate sounds. Nor did the experience terminate as yet. Suddenly he felt himself being dragged, in the darkness, along the landing into his own room. Then a voice for the first time accosted him. It was Wilson’s. “Take that fora lesson, you sneak- ! ing eavesdropper,” she said; “ and tell anybody ! about it if you wish to ” —this in a tone that showed Silas plainly she was acute enough to know he would say nothing about it. He dragged himself up from the floor after a moment or two, and struck a match. His door was shut. He heard a wiping of something going on outside, and concluded that Wilson was wiping up the spilt water. He lit hia candle, and remembered savagely that he had j been unable to utter a word or do anything, j and wished he had the time over again. i Mr. Rimpler slowly and with some of his | ordinary manner advanced towards the glass, | and looked at himself, which he continued to do J for some minutes. His face had assumed its ' normal brick-wall expression. At length he began: “Item No. 1, cravat missing; item No. 2, black mark on left eye; item No. o, portions of hair missing ; item No. 4, shirt front torn out—as near as possible,” he added ; “ item No. *5, large lump on back of bead, can’t see it, can feel enough to make up for that; item No. 6, a dreadful feeling along the vertebra*, from top to bottom, indescribable, can’t see that either ; j item No. 7, a large piece of cuticle missing under black eye, will necessitate a piece of plaister ; item No. 8,” he said, as he began to takeoff his clothes, “ every one of my things as wet as if I’d been swimming iu them; item No. 9, can feel another lump coming out over the left eye; item No. 10, an infernal headache. All this to be put on paper.” Mr. Rimpler wrapped himself n a blanket, and wrote down bis list of items in his pocketbook, to be remembered against Wilson for ever, and whilo Le wrote, Wilson had cleared all the mess, and was anxiously waiting for Keziah to come in. And now that her exertions were over, and that she had had the pleasure she had longed for, of giving it to “ that Rimpler,” a feeling of depression came over her. She had heard Keziah’s voice below.

“Then it is true,” she thought, after all. “ What a pity !” and she waited and watched for Keziah’s coming iu. But Iveziah was at that moment being persuaded never to come in any more, and she was wavering. But she aud Rupert had heard the cry, though they had not recognised the voice : and they thought they had been discovered. Keziah had clung desperately to Rupert’s arm and he held her firmly.

“ Come away, Kizzy, my dear love, while there is yet time. If you go he will murder you, now he has discovered. Why should you throw yourself into the jaws of death at random, and ruin my life too, for sucli a villain as he is ? What could the world say against you ? They know what he is. Kizzy,”he pleaded, “ you are so brave, and have dared so much. Come, dare the world’s opinion, and go with me. I have plenty of money. I could get a practice abroad, easily. Think, let love decide, to whom do yon owe allegiance ? To that man, who has done nothing to earn it ; or to me, who am ready to do everything for your sake ? You trusted yourself to him ; can you uot trust yourself to me ? Think, Kizzy. all you have made me suffer. Can you imagine what my feelings must have been, to come out of prison to find the one who should have been true to me, though all else had failed—to find you belonging to another ? Do you not owe "me anything, Kizzy, for loving you so after all this ? But you must decide now, this very moment. Someone will be here. You must decide between him and me.” And not waiting for a reply, he led her with hia strong arm about her, down the garden path aud out at the gate. She had been scarcely conscious of anything but the strength of what he said, till now that she was moving away. She stopped with a new strength, and loosed his arm from about her. “ No,” she said, “ I can but die. I will go back. He will think all this evil against me. He shall never have reason. Since I have lost you, my self-respect is the only thing left to me ; and would you. who say you love me, rob me of that ?”

He did not offer to take hold of her again. A streak of light was beginning to be visible in the east, and the objects in the garden began to be defined. “Oh !” she said, with a shudder, “it is growing daylight; another moment and it would be too late for me to go back.” And even while she spoke she fled away, and entered the house. As she want she heard a great sob follow, and it wrung her heart. She hesitated one moment. “Is he worth this sacrifice,” she said to herself, “of both our lives ?” But even while she thought, a voice within her bade her go back. She entered the house. A tall figure intercepted her path. It was Wilson. “Oh, Miss Kizzy,” she said, calling her .by the old familiar name in a heart-broken kind of way, “ I wouldn’t have believed it of you, I wouldn’t.”

Keziah, in her old impetuous manner, flung her arms about Wilson, and cried upon her shoulder. “Do not judge me so harshly,” she said. “ You would not if you knew alii” Wilson was unrelenting though crying ; she was angry witn Keziah, and as yet hail no comprehension of the case. “ I know appearances are against me, and I cannot make you believe in me. But I have done nothing so very wrong.” “ Oh, don’t make light of'it, miss. It cannot be right, whichever way you put it.” “ I know I ought not to "have met him. I never shall meet him again.” “It’s too late to mend matters now.” said Wilson. “I’m not the only one aa has seen you to-night, and has heard all.” “Do you mean my husband ?” asked Keziah, faintly.

“ No,” said Wilson, bitterly. “ You might know who it is—that Rimpler. And he will tell everything, and it will be just as bad.” “ Oh, Wilson, there’s no pity for me in your tone. Do I not deserve some pity ?” “ You’ve been drove to it, I know. But that never counts for much. The only thing as counts is that you’ve done it. And oh, that I should have lived to see this day !” “ Shall I go and tell my husband all about it before Mr. Rimpler can go to him ?” said Keziah, in a tone that might be used in a forlorn hope.

Wilson hesitated. “No.” at last she replied, “I think uot, miss. His anger might be so that he wouldn’t know what he did to you, if he heard it from you.” And Keziah"felt that a stronghold of her integrity had died ; for she could not say to her husband, “ He never tried to persuade me to leave you.” Some women mi*ht have said it, even if untrue ; but Kedah could not. She feared thi3 must come out with the rest. She would not tell part of the truth, but the whole truth, if she must speak. And even if she did not speak, her husband would come to her, and she would have to answer him.

While they talked, the grey streak iu the sky had grown larger. Wilson started. She noticed she could see Keziah now—the outline of her figure. “ The servants will be coming down,” she said ; “go to your room. It is a wonder they are not down before, but I have been so staggered, I had not thought of it.” Keziah fled up the staircase like a creature afraid of the light, and Wilson went to Leonard, who was waking.

It was soon breakfast time. Keziah had dressed herself nicely, why, she could hardly have told, for she felt she wai going to hear her sentence.

To her great surprise, on going to the break-fast-room, for it was not Keziah to absent herself, Mr. Rimpler was there before her, and appeared culm, as if nothing had happened. He had a black eye, aud a plaster under it, which Keziah did not remember to have seen before, and which Mr. Rimpler blunderingly proceeded to aoologise for, saying be had tumbled over something in hia room, in the dark; he did not attempt to say what. Keziah felt he was telling her a lie, and instinctively the idea, carno into her mind that he had had a tussle with Wilson, and she smiled. Strange that human beings are so constituted that, in the mom tuts when they are saddest and most sore pressed, the captive mind releases itself from bondage in spite of all control, and catches eagerly at an opportunity for mirth. So Keziah smiled iu the depth of her trouble.

A few minutes later Mr. Hackbit came down. He was much as usual, rude and inattentive, and aggravating. But, beyond this, nothing occurred. Was the storm about to blow over, or was its breaking ody deferred? Gould Wilson have been mistaken about Riinpler’s having found ber out ? These questions puzzled Keziah. extremely, and she could not help thinking about them iu spite of herself. Alter breakfast shu noticed that Mr. Rimpler made no attempt to have private communication with her husband, and she remarked this t° Wilson, and said that he might uot know, or, if he did, he might not be going to tell. Have you ever seen a cat with a mouse, miss?” was the answer. “She lets it run about, and think itself free, because she can put her foot on it when she likes.” “ Well,” said Keziah, wearily. “ Only if it is to come, 1 wish it would come quickly.”

CHAPTER XLiV. —ltnui Revisits .Tumixt, That morning, when it was nearly dinnertime at the house of Rimmon, Jubal and his

uncle David were coming across the Old PgU| from the station of Jumley “ What a heathenish place this s !*’ ’ JqSfli remarked to his uncle, looking scornfuSn around at the wretched tumble-dowfe hnildinjaS the literally black road, and the great moucK of cinders, and ominous-looking holqfc “ Really, I had no idea it was half se bads* this.” “Ah, Jubal,” said his uncle, “ we never can judge a place till we’ve another to compare it with. When I was a little lad, and used to carry your grandfather’s dinner in a basin tied up in a handkerchief, I should have been ready to slay anyone as had saidJumley wasn’t the finest place in the world. No, not that,” said David, blushing slightly. “ I was always more like running away than slaying anybody. But these mines,” he went on, pointing with his walking stick, “ weren’t worked out then, Jubal, that is, all of ’em weren’t. And Joshua, your father, Dorcas, and I, and the dear baby that died, we used to play of a night, at hopscotch with a piece of coal, in this very place, and we used to run over the pit-banks until it got dark. And you see that house over there, J übal ?” he said, indicating the remains of one; “ many’s the time I’ve seen your grandfather washing what he cilled * the first coat’ off, outside that door. There was always a bench standing there, with a tub on it, ready for him. Your grandmother was a very clean woman, and she couldn’t bear to have her place messed up, she said, a 6 soon as it was cleaned.” “ Well, uncle,” rejoiued Jubal, with a high colour iu his cheeks, “ I mean no offence ; but for our future comfort, it may be as well that I should just say, that I am not particularly proud of having had a grandfather who worked in a coal-pit; nor am I particularly interested iu detailed accounts of his methods of performing a toilet; nor of games played by my father and aunt Dorcas and you. And if I bring any fellows home with me, as you told me I may, I beg you will not mention this kind of thing. Of course, I mean no offence. But fellows are apt to look down on this sort of thing. I don’t mean to say my grandfather might not have been a very good man.” “He was a very good man,” said his uncle in a low tone. He was taking iu with difficulty what he was hearing, and he was wounded. Jubal went on—

“ You see, however interesting the?© accounts may t>9 to members of the family, they cannot be interesting to outsiders.”

“Butyoil are not an outsider, Jubal,” replied his uncle, in the same grieved tone. “Still, you see,” went on Jubal, “I never knew my grandfather, which is almost equal to not belonging to him. And,” he added, taking out a cigar, and lighting it, at the same time being very careful not to soil his strawcoloured glove, which fitted to a nicety, and was bordered by the whitest of white cuffs, “ I can’t say that I know a single member of the family that anyone would like to belong to except you.” And Jubal glauced through his long lashes, at his uncle’s face, to sea the effect of his little compliment. He saw only the troubled look. David Rimmon did not care much for compliments, aud did not see them readily. . But he did notice Jubal’s cigar, and said to him—-

“Well, Jubal, if I were you, I wouldn’t go into your father’s house smoking, seeing he dislikes it so.”

“ I would do a good deal to please you, uncle, but I shall not come here to palaver my father. They are not to kill the fatted calf on my behalf, aud hail the prodigal returned. And that is the kind of story he’d tell to all the clerks iu the bank, if I humoured his wishes ever so little. If he says I’m penitent, it shall be a direct lie , he shan’t have a foundation of excuse for it. And see, uncle,” he said, pointing with his hand in which he held his lighted cigar for a moment, “ as you are fond of reminiscences, there is the noble edifice occupied by grandmother during the latter part of her delightful sojourn iu this neighbourhood.”

David, slow though he was, coaid take the impression of a tone as quickly as anyone ; and he felt that Jubal had known her as a querulous old woman, it was true ; but David had known her as the patient, hard-working mother of the family. He could remember many a time being rocked in her arms at the cottage door, when he had fallen down, or when some playfellow had been hitting him. He did not put ail this in words, but he said with a gentle dignity which became him greatly—- “ You asked me, Jubal, not to speak about your grandfather, or our childhood. I new beg of you not to refer to your grandmother, whom you never knew—l repeat it, never knew ; for people are not themselves but someone else, when they are wo n down by many griefs.” “ Oh, all rignt, uncie,” said juimi. didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s all true what you say. I was only joking either.” “That was just it,” said David; “you were joking.”

They were now passing a ruined enginehouse ; and Jubal, happeningto glance down, saw lying half-hidden under a rusty wheel what appeared to be a bundle of parchment. He took it up, and put it into hia pocket. “ What’s that ?” asked his uncle.

“ A bit of old parchment somebody has thrown away.’* “ But you have never examined it. It might be some important document. I don’t know how you are to know, if you don’t examine it.”

The fact, is that Tubal did know what it was, and did not wish his uncle to know—that is, he knew to a certain extent. He had recognised his father’s handwriting upon it ; that was enough for him. Yea ; the knife had been to the grinder’s, and had got sharpened ; but it seemed to have dreams of cutting on its own account. Jubal, having a notion that his uncle was pondering over what he had picked up. and wishing to change his thoughts, remarked, “ What an awful mess this road makes of one’s boots and one’s trousers J”

“ You can turn your trousers up,” replied his uncle, looking down at Jubal’s. “I turned mine up in the station.”. “ But you see,” return Jubal, in a lordly fashion, “ trouser-hot toms never sit well when they’ve been turned up. It quite spoils the look.” This kind of talk was beyond David’s comprehension. But just as he had always thought that Joshua knew better than he did, so now he thought that Jubal did, at least in mjst things. The stronger will has often this kind of effect on the weaker one. A strong wind is propelling a boat on a coarse which threatens disaster; surely the wind cannot be at fault Why then trouble to alter the sails ? The boat may be blown upon the rocks and smashed to atoms, but what of that ? One must submit to the will of Providence.

J übal pulled his coat a little down, and smoothed a wrinkle. They were in the road where his father lived. In the houses they had to pass, people might he at the wiudows — people he had known, and who had known him when he was shabby, and used to go about with a stoop. Boys he used to play marbles would probably see him Well, if they did, they should see a gentleman, a fashionable man of the world, Jubal thought, who was not ruined by his father’s disinheriting him, who was not coming home in sackcloth and ashes to denote his repentance, ; but iu as fashionable a suit as the best Manchester tailor could make for him, and with an air and manner befitting such clothes. It was no beggar coming to his father’s house to ask bread. Jubal went a»s a prince conferring a favour by his presence. The door was opened. Sarah, who had not seen Jubal so loug, could hardly keep her joy in. She seized him after the manner of the Black County people, not too gently. “ And, oh, what a beautiful gentleman he’s growed into,” she exclaimed. “ Bless his handsome face.”

It was not until she had exhausted as many epithets aa she could think of, that she beg mi to notice that Jubal was not so effusive. In fact, he was considering whether she had been cooking, and might possibly grease hi 3 clothes. He said—

“ Oh, so it’s you, Sarah. How do you do ?” This without a smile, and in a very condescending way ; and he was about to pass her, when he turned back, ami putting his hand in ins pocket, took out half-a-crown. “ Here, Sarah,” he said, superiorly, “ you lent me half-a-crown once; hero it is. I just remembered it.” Sarah stared at him in blank amazement, but did not hold out her hand—the hardworking, rough hand that was always so kindly and so ready to labour to the uttermost in loving offices for those she eared for. Jubal dropped the half-a-crown into her hand, taking great care not to touch her with his glove. The touch of the cold metal seemed to make Sarah realise the truth. She filing it from her, and flung her apron over her head, and began to sob, while she gasped out- “ No, I will never take it ; no, not if I were starving. To think that I would ha’ give all my savings for one shake of his hand.” Jubal flushed, and drew off one of his tightfitting gloves. “ Dear me,” he said, “ if it’s a shake-hands you want. I don’t object to shaking hands and ho held out a hand white enough to-have done a lady credit, but the girl would not take it. How many have had to suffer a like disappointment: how few are prepared for it beforehand. Our brother or our sister goes away from us for years; to oOmo back again, so the world says. The body returns, perhaps, bub the same self never. We have said good-bye to that person for ever. Yet

Ft%ose who ofe£p at home think of the absent lap night during the long years, and bzetek Mfteir hearts When but a ghost of the lost qSfjih I ngtaes hoo$» Jubal merely did as the woflE * had never thought out/ fi&jj oho knew that "years she han lightened life when he was at home &tjqj l&ißerable, that she had, dtiricy* the past wfcsikj prepared all funds of pleaaaaajEaprpriaes for hiju.' aTnd now h3M6reated for stranger, and. did not even Shako l hands wiffrher. O simple Sarah l with your good heart, you have made and hidden away in the cupboard an applepasty for him ; but his tastes have changed, he does not care for apple-pasty now. Pate de foie gras is more in his line. You may as well leave the pasty in the cupboard where it is. But people in the Black Country don’t cry quietly. They do nothing by halves. And Sarah’s cry brought Miss Dorcas on the sesne, resplendent in a green silk. “ Whatever’s this disturbance about ?” said that lady. But her eyes falling on her nephew, she was thunderstruck by his appearance. Could this handsome figure that might have come out of a gentleman’s fashion-book be her nephew J übal ? It seemed impossible. “ How d’ye do, aunt ?” said Jubal, extending the tips of his fingers. “ I think you are too fine for such a house aB this,” she remarked somewhat cuttingly. “We are not grand enough for such a fine gentleman.”

“ Ah,” said Jubal, with a mock bow. (Sarah had slipped away into the kitchen.) “It is not to enjoy myself I have come, but to see the nakedness of the land. You see,” he said, hoping his father was somewhere within hearing, “ I’ve not let my Scripture knowledge rust. But really aunt, you are behind the times down here at Jumley ; green isn’t in fashion, you know, now—not in Manchester.’’ This was a very spiteful thrust, and it went home. “ You are very rude, indeed,” rejoined Dorcas, feeling the glory die out of her green silk nevertheless. “ I get the fashion-plates regularly. I know what’s in fashion better than you. Well, David,” she said, turning abruptly towards her brother; and a cool family kiss wsb exchanged. But where was Mrs. Rimmon all this time ? Will it be believed she was within hearing, and yet did not come to speak to her son ? She was half-afraid. He did not seem to have received the others well; what would he think of her ?

Jubal went into the dining-room, not seeing his mother in the dark passage leading into the kitchen. The table was laid for dinner. Jubal looked at everything on the table, while his uncle and his f ather shook hands. Mr. Rimmon was determined not to be the first to speak to his son, and Jubal decided that he could live without shaking hands with his father; so there was no sort of greeting between them. Juba meant to speak to his father, if there were any occasion, as he would speak to any stranger ; aud an occasion came. J übal sat down on one of the chairs, and got up again directly, looking scornfully at it. “ You don’t mean to say that you’ve not had the spring of that chair mended yet?” he said to his father ; aud that was all.

Dinner must come in, and Mrs. Ilimmon knew she could delay no longer ; so she timidly entered the room, her face nervously working, and her tears ready to fall. Jubal kissed her. and held her from him and looked at her, and kissed her again. “ The faix:e has beguu, has it 7” said Mis 3 Dorcas, seeing this. “ No,” said Jubal, standing with his arm round his mother’s waist, “if lias uot. The farce will begin when the minister comes in to tea, and you and father act the loving family before him.”

When Keziah entered ths room, very pale, and looking paler in her black dress, which she wore for her grandmother, J übal could hardly believe it was his sister. The short, crisp, black curls were the same as ever, but the features appeared to be changed ; they were more pointed—a change due to thinness.

She went first and kissed her uncle David. He pressed her hand encouragingly, and was much tenderer than ever in his mauuer towards her. Then Keziah went behind Jubal’s chair, and, leaning over, kissed his forehead. “Oh, Keziah,” exclaimed Jubal, starting, “ how frightfully cold your lips are !** “ Are they ?” said Keziah, with a wan smile; and she took her place at the table, kissing her mother as she passed her. The door was now filing open, and Mr. Hackbit swaggered in, and surveyed tl e comSany with a leer. He gave a general nod, sat own and placed his napkin across his knee 3. “ Well, brother-in-law,” said Jubal, across the table, “ your valet has neglected you this morning. Do you know your toilet’s rathei defective ?”

Mr. Hackbit looked severely across at Jubal, and remarked with some asperity that he would rather wear no clothes at all than be dressed up like a 1011, as Jubal was. Dorcas was sitting next to him. “ Your necktie’s right under your ear,” she said, “ and you look as if you’d beeu to bed in your clothes.”

“ And yon ; ” retorted Hackbit, looking critically at hia aunt and her get-up, you look as if you’d just come out from under a gloss shade, you do.” “ Oh, don’t let us have any quarrelling,” put in David. “ What can be the use ot that?” After dinner, Jubal announced his intention of taking a stroll. The mother would have liked to have begged him to remain with her, bat how coaid she dictate to this sou who had grown into such a geutleman ? “ Yes, show yourself to the in habitants,’* was Hackbit’s comment. “ You’ll collect a crowd if you go out.” “ You’ll collect a bigger crowd than I shall, some day,” retorted Jubal. “ And really, Hackbit,” he said, eying hia brother-in-law with a good bit o-f ruerricoenE in his face, “I want to light a cigar, and I believe I could do it at your nose. Have you beeu acting the down, and forgotten to wash your face ?” With this home-thrust he weut out; and Keziah helped to clear the table.

Mr. Rimpler was to comw to tea. He had been invited to dinner, bur. had made au excuse. When tea-time came lie appeared.

There was a marked coldness in Dorcas’s manner of receiving Mr. Rimpler, which that gentleman could well account for. He, for his part, appeared to have some fine joke on hand, aud laughed to himself without any evident reason several time* in succession ; and at each laugh Dorcas coloured. He was, however, scrupulous in his attention to her, and also seemed to take some interest in Jubal, whom he had been led to suppose a very different sort of person.

CHAPTER XLV.— More Bictes Than Sv/KET. When at last the evening was over, and it was time to go home, Mr. Rimpler offered to escort Miss Dorcai, which seemed natural enough ; but no sooner had he made the proposal tluui Dorcas said, spitefully, “ No, thank you, Mr. Rimpler, I am no chicken, and am not at all afraid of being iu the Old,Park myself at. night.” In spite of >"s, Rimpler did go with her ; and they walked along in silence for a considerable distance.

At last Miss Dorcas said, snappishly, “Are you going to speak, or not, Silas V” Air. Rimpler gave a snort, and said in a tone of some bitterness, “ I don’t remember the occasion on which I asked you to call me Silas. When I b9gin to call you Dorcas, you’ll have some excuse.”

The unquenchable spirit of the spinster rose. “ And if I did call you Silas, how many aliens and outcasts would be glad to have somebody to take them by the hand and call them by their Christian name.”

“ But; I happen to be neither an alien nor an outcast. I tell you once for all, you must drop it.” “Oh, Silas, ”

Mr. Rimpler stopped in the pathway. “If you don’t drop it, I won’t go another inch with you ; so n-ow you know. And another thing I should like to refer to is your manner of making ] signe at me before people.” “ And you never takeiuiy notice when I do,” interrupted Miss Dorcas, “no matter how important it may be.” “ And I never will notice. I tell you once for all, I won’t huve it. Do you think I want all the world to believe we have a secret understanding together ? It was disgusting all the evening to see your eye fixed on me every time I looked your way.” “And this after the wav you left' mo in the Old Park last nightsaid Dorcas, growing irate in her turn. They were on the same ground now*. “I’ll leave you here again if you don’t mind.”

“ Then you’ll leave all that I have to communicate to yon.”

“ I don’t care a d about your communication.”

“ You know you do, or von wonldn’t have taken ho much trouble about it all. Well, at any rate, I got the papers you asked me to get out of Joshua’s safe.”

“ Wheie. are they V’* responded Silas, now interested in a moment, and betrayed into showing it. He had not expected this.

“ Well, I waited till I was cokl and tired, last night, and I lost them ; so there.” “ You lost them,” said Rimpler, horrorstruck.

' “’Yea, and I had them safe euough, when you osi&e first; anti you’d have had them if it hadn’t been for your goinft off with that foreigner. I heard you deny to him, and

Ffiingh when he said that I was no chicken. j haJti enough for anything.” had not been listening to her I*at He was absorbed hir the thought that were lost. At last he cErew a long PPjgatQf as if he had forgotten to breathe a fertv jMHßnwts, and was making up for it. he said, “ what-A fool I have been.” ■Btfejric&s was infinitely relieved to find it was Hqt herself he was calling a fool. “ I might know, that a woman was sure to make an ass of herself in business,” he added. This somewhat Spoiled the soothing effect oi' the last sentence he had uttered. They had now come to a standstill, both of them. t( Now, I have a warning to give you,” said Silas. “It is for your own good, not mine, lou must be as silent as the grave upon this Business. Do not think of telling anything to spite me, ever; it would be no good. You’ve no proof of any kind against me, remember; and the moment I hear of your doing anything, then I shall begin. And if I ever should, you will wish you had never been born, mind that. And from to-night I’ve done with you; so don’t get trying to see me or to speak to me. And now we are partiug, I’ll say another thing to you, that I’ve been thinking all along: and that is this. There’s no wickedness you’d Stop at, to get your own end?. You don’t I mind whom you betray. But you can’t think for the future that you’ve done it all in the dark. I’ve seen my share of bad women ; but I never came across a worse than you, in reality.” Dorcas was literally thunderstruck. She could make no reply. She could not believe she was hearing right. “ And is this true, all that you are saying ?” she said at length. “ Yes, it is true,” replied Rimpler. “ Then,” said she, with a tragic air, “ I shall throw myself down one of these old mines.” “ Don’t,” said Rimpler, quietly. “It would be quite lost upon me. I should not try to get you out; and I should not go iu mourning for you.” And Miss Dorcas did not fulfil her threat.

“ And I am really to say good-bye to you, Silas ?” said Dorcas plaintively. “Ami never to hear the sound of your voice again, the voice that has grown so dear to me ?” “You’llhear my voice soon enough, if you interfere with my business. And really I don’t think I ever did meet with such a humbug in my whole life. But I tell you, I can see through it; don’t try it on with me.” .. “ Then I will go - home to my desolate hearth,” said Miss Dorcas, still iu a tragical vein. “Yes, do,” said Rimpler. “You’d make any hearth desolate ; and you’d turn any para/ dise into a howling wilderness.” “ Very well,” returned Dorcas, “ I will leave you ; and the day may come when I can do you a bad turn, and I shall do it, never you fear.” “ I don’t fear,” was Rimpler’s reply, “ but I knew it before you told me.” YetDotCas did not move off.

“ Look here,” said Rimpler; “if you think by waiting you'll get me to alter my mind, you’re mistaken. I shall go not a step farther with you, and you can go home youx-selx.” Dorcasmoved away with great bitterness in her heart. But when she was out of eight, Silas lit match after match, and searched quite fruitlessly as we know he must—for the missing papers. He scarcely expected to find anything in his search ; but he was very angry, and it suited his humour : to be searching.

He was not alone, though he imagined himself to be so. Jubal bad strolled alter Rimpler and his aunt, on pretence of smoking, but in reality hoping to hear what terms they were on, and to find out anything detrimental to either of them. He heard the quarrel, which amused and gratified him. He also felt sure what the subject was. But if he had not been sure, his suspicion would have beeu confirmed by the search Mr Rimpler made under hia eyes. J übal did not wait to see how this search ended. He preferred to get away while still unobserved. When he got home—that is. to his father's house—he found his mother iu a violent state of agitation. “ What is the matter, mother?” he asked.

“ Oh, Jubal, somebody has robbed your father.”

“Do you mean broken into the bank, mother?”

“ No, the safe, here, in the h<?use. He’s nearly frantic.” “ Was it money ?• * “No : papers.'” “ Well, they can’t matter much, unless they’re bank notes,” said J übal. Jubal swaggered into the room where his father was. “What is it you’ve lost?” he said in an indifferent tone. “ Papal's,* ’ cried Mr. Rimmon, quite forgetful for the momaut that he and his son were enemies. “ I suppose they ’re not of much consequence,” said Jubal. “ They are of all consequence,” cried hia father. “ I tell you unless I can gaiu possession of those papers I’m ruined—ruineu—do you hear, Jubal ?—ruined.” “They must be funny kinds of papers, I should think,” said Jubal. “ Jubai,” said David, who was as white as his brother, “ is this a time to talk like that?” “ When were they stolen ?” Jubal asked his father. * * To-day r’ * “ Oh, no ; I’ve had the key iu my possession all day.” “ Lock picked, I suppose, then.” “ No, the lock has not been picked,” said the father, despairingly. “ Then how do you account for it?” “ Yesterday I dropped my key accidentally ; it must have been used by someone.” ‘‘Well,” said Jubal with mock sympathy, “it isn’t a pleasant thing to have lost papers that compromise you. You may never find out where they uro ; »ud it’s like a sword hanging over your hoad by a hair, isn’t it, father?” Every word stabbed Mr. Rimmon. Who knew their weight so well as he did ? “ Oh,” he said, turning to his brother, with a touch of very real feeling. “ how I wish I’d stuck to toy bank, Davul. and kept every thin" square.” “ I wish thee hadst,” replied David, falling into his dialect in his emotion. “ Jubal,” went on hia father, with such a real ring iu his tone that Jubal was startled, “I’ve not trained you well, heaven knows.” “Earthknows it, too,” put in Jubal. The father took no notice, but weut on in o. most solemn toue. “ But you are young, and need never come to be what I am. You’ve often heard me quote Scripture, Jubal.” “ Too often,” Haul Jubal. “ Well, you shall hpor some more. Jubal, though it may be the last, and it’s the truest in all the Bible. ‘ The way of transgressors is David was quite overcome, and hid his face in his hands; Jubal felt no kindling of sympathy. “ Don't take any notice of him, uncle,” he said contemptuously ; “ he’s only making out.” ‘•Making out!” cried the elder man, iu an agonised tone. “ That is likely, that is: I meant to set it all right, and to give up the other business.” It was the first time the “other business” had ever been alluded to between the brothers. “Aud now I’ve no chance.” Half an hottv later, when Joshua was alone, ho bitterly regretted having exposed himself in this manner, aud he would have regretted it still more had he known that the son before whom he had committed himself bad the missing papers at that, very moment in his possession, and gloried in it. Joshua had been a hard tyrant to Jubal when Jubal was a boy, and now that Jubal was independent of him he showed no disposition to heap coals of fire on his father’s head by returning good for evil. Had this view of the case been put to Jubal, he would probably have said, so great was his hatred to his father, that he would have preferred to heap coals o- ; tire under his father's feet and bum him to ashes. The slave makes a terrible slave-diiver when hia chance come*. His master may have known Limits ; ho kuows } So while Joshua tossed that night upon his pillow iu an agony, for the time being, of remorse, his son lav awake, too, for very joy. He had got bis father in his power. CHAPTER XLVL—Death Before Dis-

The snow had been falling till the evening, enmetiince slightly, sometimes more thickly. It was failing when the different companies went home from the house of Rimmon. When Thomas Hack bit and Keziuh tiad got outside the house, he said to her—--44 You are a very fa'r actress, Keziah, but .1 can beat you in acting.” Keziah turned her face towards him in- - though she could not see him, not to miss what ho should say next. 4 ‘ You have kept your eyes open very well, considering you were up all last night. But don’t you think I have, considering that I was up, too ? Should you like to know where I was last night, Keaiah ? M “ Nq.” slve replied in a stifled manner. 44 But I shall you. whether you wish fo hear or not. ! passed the night in my own garden, Keaiah.” Kesdah cbuki not bear to have it broken to her thus. She would do it herself, and have it over the mote quickly. The quiet tone in which hewaa sneaking filled her with infinite dread. Of course he knew everyihwg. Well, therewaenqhelpfov.it. ** Yon may as well say it ak s-ace ; you saw u*, and you heard every M Yes,” be echoed, ” I p»W I. i everything.'*

Then, Thomas,” she said, putting both of il»ei'*ha!klfr OTi his arm, and forein" him to stop, 4< ;-yjm heard me refuse to go. That is better than anything J. could have told you, if you heard it.”

This seemed to lighten her load fer the rtioraeut. At least ho had not to take her word for it; he hid heard her himself. “ I know,” she went on with great fervour, “how wrong I have been, 1 know it myself, if you do not say it; but lat least stopped short, anil ,” she continued, beginning to ; cry bitterly, “ I was so miserable.” Keziah had made a mistake in uning this last expression. Hackbit had beeu in love with her in a certain way, perhaps was so still; and it does not smooth a man’s temper for his v/ifo to tell him, by way of excuse, that she has been led into seeking the company of another man because he, forsooth, has made her miserable. It was therefore with additional bitterness that he next spoke to her. “ Don’t try that on with me, Keziah,” ho said, shaking her off. “ Nothing you can say will alter my decision.” Then he had arrived at some decision, Keziah thought, her heart failing her. She did not attempt to imagine what it could be; she knew it must be the worst for her, whatever it was. “ It is not last night alone that you have met that man, Keziah. I know all about it, aud I’ve determined that, come what may iu consequence—mark my words, come what may—yru shall never eater my house again.” The full sense of the words could hardly strike Keziah in a moment. Could ho mean that she was to have no shelter that night—that she was to be shut out cf house and home, like some vile creature who deserved no better ? As she mado no reply, he asked her, “ Do you understand ?” They had walked on, and were now standing before their own house. “You cannot mean it,” she said huskily. “I do mean it,” he said. “Try to "enter, and I will throw you back with my own haud.” “ But you won’t separate me from my baby ?” she said, with a sob m her voice. “You care for the baby!” he said with a hoarse laugh. Keziah clung to him. “ I do, I do,” she cried. “ Let me have him, aud I will go away without a word.” “And let him starve with you!” sneered Ilackbit. “ But no, you are uot going to starve,” he added; “ you will know where to She would not notice this. “ lie shall not starve ; I would not let him starve.” “ And so you think I would let him eat that man’s bread?” said Hackbit sarcastically. “ Oh, 1 can’t make you believe me" if you won’t,” said Keziah; “it would not be that I man’s bread; but he should uot starve.” “And in any case,” went on Ilackbit, “do you think I should let my child starve ?” “But you would let mo starve.” “ You are different, and you know where to

“ I’m his mother,” pleaded Keziah faintly. “ We’ve talked enough,” was the reply. “Away with you;” and he pushed some mom-y into her hand, a few coins. She flung them from her, and the snow covered them. In a flash, it seemed, he was gone, aud the door was shut, and she heard it barred. Excited to frenzy, she felt liko ringing the bell violently, and rebelling against this sudden expulsion ; aud she'stood and gazed, she could uot have told how long, at the house. At last she was couscious of someone approaching her; It w,as Silas Rimpler. She moved away, and he did not see her. She heard hLu ring tne bell. She- heard the door unbolted. It was opened, aud a flood of light shot across the snow-covered path. Should she make a ..sudden bound, and be within that light and warmth, aud beg him on her knees to let her remain with her baby? No, it could be of no use; nothing could be of

The door was shut, aud again she heard the bolts.

Still she waited, till at last lights shor.e out from the windows of her husband’s aud M r , Rimpler’s bedroom?. Then these lights went out, and all was dark. The snow began to fall faster. Keziah felt she must do something for herself now. But th<3 Qh'iy thing that suggested itself was to go ron lid to the back of the house, through the gurdeu gate, and look for the night-aursery light. That was out. “ They believe I am stuyiug at mother’s for the .: ; ght,” she thought. “They lictle know I am shivering out here.”

What a grim satire it seemed. She was standing on the spot where, last night, aim had listened, with so much hidden longing in her heart, to an appeal to leave the place. Tonight she could uot enter again if she would. She passed out at the garden gate again. She could not 3tay there, it was clear, (io to her father's sho would.uot. No, she must walk ou, as far away as she could, before morning. She would write to her mother. But the rosds were bad, and walking wa.s difficult. When once outside the gate, she hail turned and thrown soma kisses towards the window where the little Leonard was s-sleep. “At least he will not ill-treat the child.” she thought ; and that was somethin She hod got a little tiouselceeping money in her pocket. She could go on a few days till she should get something to do. She trudged patiently along the road, which grew darker. She knew where she was going, and kept her direction; it was to Wolverhampton. :She knew of a women there who kept a registry office foe servants. She had got nerv-jots t\»r her. She wculd go to her, and get a teinpoia y lodging while sho could plan what to do. iiie woman had always seemed kind and ; and this was the only person Keziah Cculd think of lhat she would be willing to go to. It was a long, weary walk, and Keziah had not made much headway when she w&sconacu us of being followed. She stopped a moment jr.d liateued. No one w:t9 following her. Yet as soon as she began to walk again, she heard the foot step * at'rer her.

Some iuraaocs were lighting up the way ahead of her, now. She must pass the glow"; so must the one who was following her. It is a horrible feeling, that of being loliowed in the darkne.-8, and only those who have experienced it can know how horrible. Along m Black •Joantry road this is especially true. There is a grimaces about the road, the boanaaries of which are so often blick moands, or dark, s agnanc waters. To be followed on such a road is worse than to be followed on a decent high road with inoffensive fc» J-en on eirh r .-.idc. Jve/.Uih felt- this to the full, in her excited condition. It was one horr..:- m .re 1 -*<i t,--lost. Besides, it i< alums! a necessity for aBl »ck Country person bom and bred to" have some trace of ?up-rstition, ho ctlled : and it did alarm Keziah all the more that tne footsteps c-*aa*d when bhe listened to th u rn. She walked on bravely,and was getting nearer and nearer to ;he light of the found: :'e?. But then tl.e ; the iron made it almost impossible for her to hear the footsteps. She clung to the hope that she should tee who it Wjia whoa they both passed the light of the foundry.

And now she herself was iu the full glare, and her ears were deafened by the noifcc. A thought struck her. “ Perhaps the thing thst is following mo may wait till I am out of sight before passing:” and she, who had often traversed the road before, kuew by experience that there were miles of dark, deserted road beyond this one light. Opposite the foundry was a tumble-dowo cottage, one of many such, deserted aud !aft to ruin wheu those who had occupi. d them had migrated. She would hide herself a moment in this place, and perhaps the thing that was following her would pass before her eyes. Once iuside the cottage, she placed' herself in the shadow noar where a window bail been, but where now not even a fr.une existed. She could see the road, and she could boo the foundiy. She moved a little farther, for no particular reaeon, and something e.-rang upon stopped witliin her for a moment, and then her heart gave a gieat thump that nearly shook her. She saw what hadstartiad her, for it wu?

crossing the road now in the light. Ir wan only a homeless cat that ha’d sought shelter from the inclement weather. Still, the fright had increased her nervousness greatly. She tried to keep her attention on the dark rood, with a streak of light across it. But somehow her gaze was fascinated by tfce foundry, where the night-werkers moved hither and thither in a terrible glow of light, being covered at times by mast-es of sparks, and the a dragging out from between iu«usen*e rollers long-lengths of red-hot iron, and carrying them quickly, an*l without any apparent discretion, right among the crowd of o;her workers, and laying them at the side of others to cool upon the ground. These silent workers, for they were not talking to each other—how could they, for that matter, amidst the hubbub of hammers, the hissing of stream* of water upon red-hot iron, and the roaring of the forges ? They seemed to Keziah’s excited mind almost like demons preparing for some evil deed. I3ut now, :ts she looked, something obstructed the view. It was the ixgure of a man aloug the road. His face was turned towards the forge, and he seemed puzded, and stood hesitating. At last he walked a black mound that separated the forge from the road, and went towards the great shod under which the men were working. SBe seemed to be speaking. One man came cat of the glare, and i he held hie ear towards ’kino, v-ul than shook , «*3ut hack..

Ke/.iah felt she must move on now, or be detected. For how did she know i*xat the

stranger, whom she believed to be the person who had followed her, might not look next into the ruined ottage ? Bat no, she could not move away. He was crossing the road, in the direct stream of light, and his back wus in the full light; his face wai in shadow. She put her hand against some of the brickwork to steady herself, and xt came down with a crash. The stranger paused, nud then made his way to the cottage.

One of the bricks had fallen heavily upon her foot. It was extremely painful. Everything seemed to be closing in. Tne figure entered by the doerway, and came quite near to her. and then, iu wliat seemed to her au unearthly rone, spok s her name. If she did not cry out, that did uot proceed from any great bravery on her part ; it was from inability. Who has uot in a thunderstorm waited with bated breath for the next clap and flash ? aud if on a lonely stretch of moor, who has not trembled inwardly in such a storm, a 3 crash lias succeeded crash, and glare, utter darkness ? Keziah’s life of the last few hours was such a storm as this, aud at this moment her breath was bated for another crash, with possible direful consequences. Someone had suid, “ Keziah,” but the voice Was one sho did not know.

In what appeared ages afterwards, a hand travelled towards her, aud touched her. Then the same strange voice said, “ Don’t you know me? I have come to take care of you.” Then the bolt had not descended upon ber and struck her. This was her thought at first. But on its heels came another thought. The bolt had descended, aud had struck her. She knew who was speaking to her. “How dare you follow me?” she said. “ ITow can ycullave the cowardice ? And only last night you promised me you would never see me a gam. You have lied to me ; you have lied to me !” she Raid bitterly, the tears chasing each other rapidly down her ch«-eks in the darkness.

A <rroan was the only reply to this. “ Why, Jo you waut me to hate you, too ?** shecrieii. “If you loved me, you would care for my reputation.”

“ Oh, Koziah,’* cried her companion iu heartbroken tones, “ to think you should ever aw such words to me ! You have misunderstood me, quite misunderstood me.” “ I htiv* "H peri clly.” r< Keziah. “It is you who have not understood me.” And sho tried to limp away. Bid the pain in her foot was so great, she was obliged to stop herself. “ Keziah, why won’t you believe me V I laid I had come to take care of you, as your father might, or your brother ; that is my meaning.” “ Yes,” she cried, passionately, “ like my father and my brother ! you bavo well sp'-ken. My father and my brother would ruin me for their own ends; so would you, or you would never have asked me to leave my husband's roof last night, and 6p got me turned out tonight. Yet I was going away, praying for you, and forgiving you. But now you have broken your word and folio-wed me, to take advantage of my misery, what can I say to you ? If there was a moment wheu you should have kept yourself far from me, it is now.” “ Keziah, I would die for you.”

“ Then why not do a small thing, and keep away from me?”

“ Keziah, that is a greater thing.” “Then be a man -and do the greater tiling. I have done wrong, too,” she said, weening arre?h, “ or I might never have come to this. “ No, it was all my fault,” said Rupert, gazing with despairiug tenderness at her. “ I deserve what has come,” said Keziah.

“Heaven kuows, that is not true,” replied Rupert. “It is I and only I, who have been to blame. Keziah. tell me what to do, aud you shatl see how I will obey you now.” “Go back at once to Leamington, if you mean what you say ; and show the world that lam not with ycu. That will be proving tout love for me.”

“ I will do it, 11 he answered, wiih a sob. ‘ But you will tell me where you are going? At lea:? yzn will tell me that i" “ No, said X. ziah, sadly : “It is right you should not knew that either.” “ "What harm could it be for you to tell me where you are ?” “ There would be harm.” “ You have some money wifh you r” “ Yes, I have some money.” “And will you take just a little from me? You nl3y je*urn it some day. if you like.” “ Do you not understand,” broke out Keziah hotly, •* that 1 can have no dealings with yon of auv kind ? Go back at once; you may even now have been seen following me.” He took off a large scarf that wa* about his neck. “ Let me give you this, Keziah. You are but ill clad.” “How can you!” she cried, despairinplv. “ Why do von make my way so difficult? Would you have me found in possession of your scarf .’ Where is your common sense ” “Oh, God!” cried Rupert, breaking down utterly, and sobbing. “And am I, who love you so. not to be allowed to do the least thing lor you, became a cursed villain has roblwd you from me. end ill-treated you, aud shut hi* door upon you __ “ It can no no good to talk of that now,” said Keziah. She wus about to pass him. He caught her by the arm, still shaken with sobs, and would not let her pass. She tried to wrench herselt free “ Keziah. I have only one tiling to ask you. 1 know more about the world than you do, Jvcziah. If you do not want to be suspected, K.v.iah. go to tome friend. You need not tell mv whom. If you promise me this one thing, 1 shall go awiy contented. Contented ! No. not fha*. But it will he m ie endurable, that is all I can say.” “I will promise you that, then.” said iveziah. And she was moving away ttgaiu. “Not one word of farewell. Keziah - :” ho “ Good-bye,” she answered, passing on. He had almost hop«*d. w heu lie hau so far acceded to her wish, that she would have given u. different farewell from this cold “ good-bve.” But her manner wan -uch that he dared not a«k for more. The Keziah he loved could never be further from him. he felt, than she w:i« this night. Sue was outside now; but tbes*» words followed her in a choked whisper, *• You will say you forgive me.*’ “I forgive you,” she said in a low voice; and di-Appenred in the darkm&a. And Klworthy. half beside himself with grief and misgiving, and unable to do auything, watched the spo- where her figure blid <ibf.Jtow ht-'v would’"net—rather, could not. And wi at t»>t he had gazed long that hia eyes, grown y. drooped their lids, lie > owlv turned h:s head aud gazed at the “ man ha< pv t been ?o wretched as T am,” iie. thought within himself. “ so wretched ■Mid so powerless.” And wiule he thought thin, the immense hammers came down upon the iron, and flattened it and crushed it. “Oh !” ho thought, “ if only I could place my head on» moiu-nr. under that hammer, and end it all; it would be so foou over.” He remained long gazing at th» glare, and scarcely thinking. All was too much in a tumult within him. At Ijst he became conscious that fie must go away. If he were not in Le.amiugTon iu the morning, people might say he had been with Keziah. They should never say that; and hr staggered cut of the place, and walked like a druukru man along the road. It Lad ceased «?.owing some time, end the path was very dark. Snow blackens almost as it falls in the Black Country; uud it must be deep indeed before it can be like a pure white 3he<-t over the earth. It war not deep now, and was blackened as it bad fallen.

At last he struck his foot against something : it W;>a only a rising footpath, of which there arc many in these neighbourhoods, a foot, and even sometimes a yard, above the road. He staggered along this footpath. It seemed t<» be going down all «t once. He felt himself falling, and the next sensation wan that water was closing over his head.

CHAPTER XLYII. The Gseater Baksts. Aiul ho said’ . .’ . “ I will puff down my bums* and build greater. Had Keziah waited before her own hout>e a little longer, she would have seen the lights reappear in the two front bedroom wiudows; for Mr. Hackbit, having made ai: «.ffort to goto bed as if nothing were the matter, had fooDd himself quite too excited to sleep. “ it.’* he said to himself, “I’ll have that fool Rimpler up, and wet our throstles a bit.” Now Mr. Hackbit- was deeper than Rimpler pave him credit for being : though he did let things out Mometimcs when he was drunk, they never were things that told against himself. To-night he had driven Keziah forth, and so natural had been hia demeanour that no one suspected it. Tho servants knew she had not come home, but. they thought she must be staying at her mother’s, and of course they knew be ter than to ask Mr. Hackbit a question. Mr. Ritaplef, finding Hackbit at home on his return, imagined Keziah to be m the boose. He had likewise imagined Hackbit to be iguorant of what had occurred the night before. So when Hackbit rapped sharply at his door, and then thrust his head in, ana said, “ Get un. Rimpler, I say ; Wl s have a drink,” he merely 1 thought Ilackbit had passed an unpleasant day, aud metsat to make up frr it; and got up directly, y**y quickly as. Ilackbit thought, for

lie did not know Mr. Rituplcr was Bitting dressed by the window. When Mr. Rimpier had fumbled about the room a little, he lit his candle, completed hw toilet as if it had been rooming, and went downstairs. He looked in the dining-room, but found no Mr. Hack bit. He was surprised. He went into the hall and listened : he heard a movement in the kitchen, and went there.

“I say, what are you doing?** he asked Hackbit, who was prowling about with a candle.

*’ 1 am going to get some wood to light a fire in the drawing-room adding, with great assumption of grandenr. “ We*ll sit in the draw-ing-room, Ilimpler. I*m a rich man, and shall be richer. Why shouldn’t I use the best room I’ve got?”

“ All right,” replied Rimpier, amused, “that’s your look-out you know. Only Z shouldn’t have thought you were such a fool as to tell anyone you are rich.” “ You are not the outside world.”

“ No ; and you’re shrewd enough to know I should know m any case. That’s it, isn’t it, Hackbit?”

A large fire was soon burning in the drawingroom, what with the unnsual quantity of wood and the bellows which Mr. Rimpier plied. Hackbit sat down complacently, with two or three bottles in front of him, also glasses and sugar.

“ I say, Rimpier, how should you like to be a partner?”

“Ob, I don’t know,” replied Rimpier, indifferently.

“ But X «ay, Rimpier, by Jove, we are making money, old Rirumon and L You think you know everything, but we could surprise you a bit. Some people save and save and save, and never enjoy their money. I don’t mean to be like that.” And he poured out a glass of neat brandy, and took a draught without blinking. “ What if my father was a collier, I mean to have u place among country gentlemen, - them. Rokosvvorth Hall ia to let, and I mean to take it. I’m getting richer than them all, and, hang it, why shouldn’t I live as well ? Ah, Rimpier, though they hate me, they shall envy me. If old Josh Rimmon is content 'to live in that pig-sty, all the better for me. I’ll live for the two of u.” he took another draught of brandv. “ And me, Rimpier,” he went on, “ there’s some pleasure in living when you can buy a horse, or whut not, that some noble lord would give bis bead for, just because you’ve the longest parse. By Jove. I’d give any price, if I thought one of them chaps wanted it.”

AH this did not arouse the interest and symEathy in Mr. Rimpier which it might have done ad he not known about the missing papers. The man who knows that the best hovse in a race has been drugged and win break down does not show astounding acuteness in not backing the House of Rimmou ; and throughout Mr. Rimpler's life he had nearly always backed the winner. He rather enjoyed the joke of hearing Hackbit run on, however, and encouraged him to talk. *• B Tlsof sale ar® the grandest investments,” said Hackbit. “ while it can lie kept, dark : and my experience is,” he went on in scanning t.>n«, '* that people who have been sold up have not spirit enough left to go to law with you about it, neither have they the cash,” and* he burst iuto a laugh.

*• I)o you know, in the beginning, Rirumon wanted to pay me a salary ? I soon taughtihim a lesson. I’ve had more than he’s had, by Jove. There’s a day for every dog. and let every dog have bis day.'*

• 4 Yes,” Mr. Rimpier assented, “ let every dog have bis day. My day’ll come next.” And he pretended to sip hi* brandy. “ Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” replied Hackbit, who wasnow getting much the worse for drink. “ I don’t usually,” retorted Mr. Rimpier.

44 Neither do I get drunk, and so see double when I’m about counting them, after they’re hatched.”

This was a little bit too refined for Hackbit in his present condition, so he took oft'enco. “ Confound you, do you mean to say I’m drunk r”

“ Certainly not. {Why, you’ve only had half a-bottle.”

It was not long before he had the whole bottle, and his appearance began to alarm Rimpier not a little. He sullenly hung his bead down, and looked lowering. At last he intently fixed his eyes on the door of the room. Rimpier involuntarily gazed in the same direction. He could see nothing. 44 What is it ?” he said to Hackbit.

Hackbit pointed a trembling hand towards the door. The hand had grown very bony since be had taken to drinking eo furiously, for he had eaten hardly enough to keep body and boul together.

44 What is it?’’ inquired Rimpier again. 14 Don’t you see those spiders r” 44 I can’t say I do.” “ Then you must be drunk, or mad. Look, Rimpier,” he said, rising in agitation and trembling all over, “ have you ever seen such large spiders ? You can’t preteud you don’t see them. Look, they are chasing each other in two lines ; and they’ll come down ; they are coming down. They’re coming at me, and they’re growing bigger.” Rimpier became more and more alarmed. Hackbit clutched at the tablecloth, and tried to get on the table : but he could not; and the tablecloth came off, and the bottles crashed on to the floor.

44 Oh,” he cried, shaking til! the very floor shook, “ the cloth’s full of them too. See how they spread their legs and come on. Oh, let me get out of here,” he screamed frantically. “ The walls are covered with them. Are you a devil that you won’t help me ?” And with one more effort to escape from the room, he fell face downwards upon the ground. We wdi spare our readers the horrors of the scene which followed. Joshua and David Rimmon both came, at Ritnplet’s request ; and by the doctor’s suggestion. Mr. Saltring was telegraphed for. He arrived about 11 o’clock in the morning, and with him Dr. Towers. He had brought this doctor on his own responsibility, having such great faith in him ; and he took him upstairs without any ceremony. Mr. Rimmon was seated in a chair, looking the picture of misery ; Hackbit was sleeping now, and breathing very heavily. Dr. Towers advanced to the bedside and lifted his eyelid, and turned aud looked about the room, but said nothing. 44 He’ll get better now,” said Mr. Rimmon. hoarsely: “ he’s gone to sleep. Oh, what a nigbt we’ve had.” • 4 He’ll never wake again,” replied Dr. Towers, quietly. 44 I have seeu cases like this before. It is a possible ending to delirium tremens. They Bleep to death, lean do nothing for him : so I had better get back.”

44 Wait a bit,” said Mr. Saltring. 44 1 want you to witness something.” He was ashy white. He walked towards the bed. He laid one hand upon the man who was sleeping his last sleep, aud raised the other above Ins head, and looked upwards.

44 I call < rod to witness,” he said, 41 that I will never sell one drop of any intoxicating liquor again. And I will rid myself of any property I now possess that is the result of the sale of drink.”

His raised hand fell by h:s side, and he faced round and looked at the astonished Joshua and 'Towers.

44 There is no evil so great in this wide world as drink. Can it matter whether the poor wretch drinks it at your connter or carries his bottle home ? The end is the same.”

He looked upwards again. 44 1 pray the God of pity to forgive me for the great wrong I have done tho human race, for ever having sold or even given away a drop of this poison of souls. Reparation there can be none. The evil is done. ” And Mr. Saltriug covered his face with his hands.

Dr. Towtrs placed his arm round Mr. Saltring’s neck, and said soothingly, 44 My good friend, Go J judges us by the motives. Could yon, who have the be<t heart in the world, have ever meaut to ruin anyone ?”

44 Remember the proverb, doctor,” returned Mr. Saltring, without taking his hands from his face. 44 4 Evil is wrought by want of thought as well ns want of lieart.* This has brought it home to ine. brought it home to me. Within the last twelve months,” he said, raising his white face and looking at the doctor, 44 cases of Spirits buve left my shop enough to bring this” —and he indicated with his hand without looking towards the bed— 44 to I fear to say how many homes. Come, doctor, let us poaway. I should like to have seen Keziah, but I can’t face her. If no one had sold the brandy, he couldn’t Rave bought it, and he couldn’t have drunk it.”

44 He didn’t buy the brandy of you, at any rate,” said Joshua Ilimmon, rousing himself to speak. 44 That makes no difference,” replied Mr. Saltring. 44 Come, doctor, let us go.” But while he spoke, all three noticed that the sound from the bed had ceased. Towers looked a moment, and answered Mr. Rimmon’s look, 44 He’s gone, poor fellow,” he said.

CHAPTER XLVJIJ.— Tear Towees Goes Up fob His Last Examination. It was about the middle of January. Thomas Hackbit lay in J urn ley cemetery ; and in th© windows of his bouse was a notice, “ To Let.” No one bad made any search for Keziah. She was missing, and 171 worthy was missing. The facts seemed to explain thepiselve?. Xb'.feonse cf Eiromon wa« displaced

Mr. Rimpier had been engaged by Mr. Rimmon, aud was now residing in his house. The Why was there, too ; and Wilson had come to nurse him, at Mr. Rimmon’s request. The other servants had been dismissed. Mr. Hackbit had left no will, as is often the case with those whose business it is to make wills.

During the last few week Mrs. Rimmon had aged visibly, and seemed so near breaking up that her infirm state formed a principal reason for Mr. Rimmon’s engaging Wilson. Mr. Rimmon’s hair had grown very grey, aud he walked with a slower step, with his head bent forward, and his shoulders stooping. But where was Keziah?

It was growing dark one evening when a ghost of her former self—yes, a ghoßt even of her changed self—entered the gate of The Hollies at Bowdon. Maud had been watching at the window and saw her approach, and flew to open the door. Keziah fell into her arras, crying hysterically, 44 1 have come, Maud, like a beggar, to*beg shelter. I have no pride left now, Maud.”

Maud half carried, half led her into her favourite sitting-room, cooing over her and calling her her lost darling, her own darling, aud her own Kizzy. In an incredibly short time refreshment was brought, and the poor wanderer was fed and warmed. Maud, flitting hither and thither, swift as in the old days, carried most of the things with her own hands, and only tended, and forebore to question her old friend.

When lveziah had eaten, aud was warm, her head drooped upon her breast, and she fell asleep. Maud looked at her head. Where were all the sbort curls gone ! The hair was shorn quite close to her head. And her cheeks, how sunken they were ! Maud had placed herself eo that the head might rest against her, and caressed it tenderly with her white lingers, and dropped scalding tears upon it, and remained cramped in one position for nearly two hours, rather than wake her darling. Then Keziah opened her large startled eyes, and said pleadingly and quickly—“ Look, I will tell you something. Don’t send me out just yet, I have nowhere to go to.” Then she recollected herself, and said, 44 Oh, I was dreaming. I thought I was hack in tho hospital again. Oh, Maud,’’ she cried, flinging her arms about her friend’s neck, “how glad I am it is true I am here.”

Maud answered only by her caresses. Then Keziah drew her head buck, and looked into her friend’s eyes inquiringly. 44 Do you know?” she asked. 44 Have you heard “ Dearest Kizzy,” re j died Maud, * * if I have have heard, and if I know, I do not reproach

“Reproach me?” said Keziah, looking puzzled. 44 Well, yes, I did provoke him ; but lam repentant now, Maud ; i will go back to him and beg his forgiveness.’’ Was it possible that Keziah did not know that her husband was dead ? It seemed so. She had been in a hospital, it appeared from her conversation. She might know nothing. 44 Kizzy,” she said, taking the worn face between her hands —the face that had nothing to recommend it now but its pathos— 44 Kizzy, you will never go back to your husband.”

Keziah started, not at the words sno had heard. but. »t the tone. She looked for more, and did not speak. •• Kizzy,” my own love, you are free ; your husband is dead.”

Keziah flung herself upon the couch, aud sobbed hysterically. * Oh, that I had l>een a better wife to him.” she cried. *• Ob. lira*'. 1 had been a better wife to him. It might never have ended so.” And she sobbed aloud.

Maud knelt by Keziah, and laid her head beside hers, and wept with her. She was weeping because she believed her friend had fallen.

44 Kizzy,” she said in her ear. ” at least if you did go away with him, you have left him now.” Keziah started up at the words, and looked her friend in the face. ” I—go away with him, Maud ! Who dares to say it ?'‘ Maud only cried, “Thank God! it is not true.”

" True, Maud !” said Keziah. “No: I have sunk law, but not so low as that.”

44 Oh, Kizzy, forgive me for having believed it,” said Maud humbly. 44 But you see it looked so much like it, that you and be should both disappear.” *'He disappear!” exclaimed Keziah, affrightedly. •• la he notin Leamington then ?”

* 4 ‘ No he has never been heard of since that night. Your brother Jubal came in here and told me all about if.”

Keziah looked very quietly into the fire. And then, as if suddenly recollecting, said, •* Where is your husband, Maud ?”

‘•He is in London, Kizzy. beitig examined. We will not talk of him, if jou don’t mind. And now. Kizzy, had nut you better go to bed ? I don't think you should talk any more touight. ■ But I must know one thing more. Of course, my baby has gone to father’s ?” 4 Yee, and Wilson is there with it.”

A beautiful smile broke over Keziah’s face, as she heard this, and she said contentedly. 44 Then I think I will go to bed. Maud.”

It must have been about 3 o’clock in the morning, when both Maud and Keziah awoke with a start. They heard a fall and a terrible crash.

” Whatever can it be r” said Maud : and she flung on her dressing-gown and went out. But though she searched the house all thr »ugb, she found nothing wrong, nothing broken, nothing displaced, nothing of anv kind to account for the noise. Still the sound had been so loud and of so startling a character, that neither of them could sleep again, so they kept their light burning and talked. Keziah relaten to her friend how she had wandered along the road to Woverharapton in the night lime, and then how a break came, and she could remember nothing until she awoke in one of the wards of the Woverharnpton Hospital ; and she was told she had had a fever. When she was well enough to go oaf. they had given her the money they had found in her clothes, and she had come straight to Manchester.

Then, about dawn, Keziah fell asleep again ; and Maud remained awake. The sound she had heard had been exactly like the smashing of the hall-lamp by something falling upon it. When daylight came, she was glad indeed to end a night of wondering and silence. She was dressing herself when a postman’s knock came to tho door.

• How early the post is this morning,” she thought-

It was not a letter; if was a telegram. She ayed and fell, crying, in a suffocating voice, “ My darling’s dead, he’s dead.” Keziah, weak though she was, gained her side, picked up and read the telegram. Yes, he was dead.

Maud lost her consciousness entirely. And when at last she cr.me te herself, it was only to cry. 44 He is dead ! aud now he will never learn to love me again.” She became po ill that, a servant was despatched for a doc-tor. He ordered what is always ordered in such cases, and can never be obtained—rest. And the day wore on. and Keziah and Maud wept in company. They were both widows now. The next morning a letter of particular's cune. Tom Towers had passed his examination, and hod gone to his hotel, and right up to his room, which was at the top. And by accident, it was believed, ho had fallen over the banisters from the top to tho bottom of that great building, smashing the hall lamp by his lull.

Inside was a letter addressed in his handwriting to bis wife. ‘‘Read it, Kizzy,” she said, 44 for I cannot.’’ Kizzv opened it and read, with dilated eyes and horror in her

“ 1 have passed cy examination, Maud, my own much-loved wife, and Bhall end it all tonight. Shall I tell you why? I can bear life no longer. It was I who committed the murder poor Elworthy was accused of. 1 did not mean to do it, I swear I did not. I ought, perhaps, to have died and never told you. But you might hear of it some way. You would bear it letter coming from roe. The money I have had from you at different times has been to purchase the silence of a man who saw mo commit the deeed.

* 4 And now with my last words I beg you to forgive me, and to believe how well 1 have loved you. The man will trouble you no more when I am gone. You will, I know, believe I did not mean to do it. And now I enter on another world, where we may yet meet if God pardons me, as I am sure you will. “Youk Heartbroken Husband.”

Keziah did not show this letter to M«ud for a day or two, not till a verdict had been given at the inquest of 44 Accidental death, due to over-excitement from examination.”

Maud never saw his body, and never even saw the coffin. She felt it. would have killed her. He was buried in Manchester, in the cemetery where »he h*d so often walked. CHAPTER XLlX.— Jubal. Instructs ms Uxclk in the Ways of Society. In the afternoon of a very dull Saturday in January, two years after Keziah Hackbit and Maud Towers were made widows, preparations were being made at The' Chestnuts .at Bowdon for a party which Mr. David Rimmon was to g’veto.eome of his nephew’s friends. Jubal, who now boast* of something more than down on his upper lip. and has grown broader and handsomer, stands with his back towards the drawing-room fire, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets and his head poised superciliously. .David, anxious and nervous, watches his nephew’s face, as if to -learn his content.or discontent,itf it.

44 Well, Jubal,” ho remarked, passing one haud through his hair, which was growing very scanty now, 44 does the room look like other people's now ? Do you like it ?” 44 Well, really, uncle,” replied Jubal, breaking into a light laugh and showing a shining row of teeth, “ as I chose all tho things, it would be praising myself if I said I liked them.’’ David hooked both his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat and locked quizzically at his nephew. ‘‘Yes, of course. Jubal,” he said: “ but is the furniture properly put in the room ? You see I’ve no other room to compare it with.”

44 Oh, yes” Jubal allowed, “it looks well enough.” He had got into the way of not expressing much pleasure at anything. “And uncle, if you don’t mind ray mentioning it, perhaps it may be as well that you should not put your thumbs in your waistcoat arm-holes before the fellows that are coming here. Fellows are apt to take these things for indications, you know. Aud,” he added, without noticing the manner in which poor David removed the thumbs in question, 44 don’t you think really now that you could manage to use h’s just a little? I shouldn’t like to hear the fellows describe you as 4 young Rimmon’s uucle, innocent of h’s.’ I’m sure Medwin laughed when you asked him to come to your ’ouse; and after all, it’s a simple enough matter to say 4 house,* and so much hangs on it.”

Poor David was completely in a flutter, and all the more likely to show badly before the “fellows” on that account. “You see, Jubal,” ho said, not at all crossly, “I never had much schooling; I went to work when I

44 And there’s another thing,” said Jubal, flushing. 44 Pray, don’t refer to the time when you went to work.” There was almost impatience in the tone in which David replied to this. 44 It may be an easy matter to you, Jubal. But at my time of life it's no easy matter. J[ have managed to get on aud make a little money without h’s; though I am sure I didn’t know that I talked any different to other people before.” 44 That’s what I thought,” said Jubal, 44 and for that reason 1 draw you attention to it. Don’t imagine that I wish to hurt your feelings.” But Jubal had hurt his uncle’* feelings, and very deeply too ; but he, with his native gentle manliness, which existed despite his lack of h’s, did not turn upon his nephew with a rude rejoinder, as that yonug gentleman would certainly have done, could they have exchanged places. Neither did he wound Jabaftr feelings by telling him of the wound he had inflicted, thereby proving himself the true gentleman ; for are not all the rules of society founded upon this basis, the avoidance of openly wounding tiio feelings of others ? 44 1 don’t, mind altering anything,” said David, “ if I am able to do it, and it’s for your welfare.”

44 1 thought you’d take it like that,” returned Jubal. 44 You're an awfully good fellow.” li Jubal imagined that this salve would heal the wound lie had inflicted, he was mistaken. He had robbed his uncle of confidence, and given him mistrust of himself in place of it. He had called his uucle a bear, and thought that patting him on the head, aud saying, 44 Good fallow,” as he might have done to a dog, would quite make up for it. He might have remembered that even & dog who has been well ‘ thrashed rather resents than is grateful for the pats upon the sore places given him in token of reconciliation. But on the strength of David’s saying nothing more than we have recorded, Jubal thonght he would continue the lessou which had been so well received, having no penetration into the real state of his uncle’s feelings ; as those who do not love scarcely ever have.

“And you know, uncle,” he went on, “ gentlemen don’t say 4 Sir’ to one another. In fact, there’s little necessity for calling anyone anything. If you have occasion to use a name at all, you from your position might use the surname alone, as soon as you know them a little ; otherwise you cau say 4 Mr. Soaud-So,’ but never 4 Sir.’ ”

44 Well, that is strange,” said David. “ I was brought up to think 4 S.r * the right thing.”

“ Never mind what your bringing up was,” returned Jubal. 44 I’ll tell you the way to treat these fellows. You must pretend to look down on them instead of up to them.” 44 Is there any necessity at all for that ?•” said David. 44 Why should there be looking down or looking up ?” 44 That’s iust what it is,” Jubal replied. 44 There’s always looking down aud looking up. And so you must look down on these fellows, or thev’ll soou reckon you up. You musn’t remember anything except that you’re a manufacturer and a rich man ; and these fellows may be swells and all that, but I cau tell you, between ourselveß, they often don’t know which way to turn for money ; so you’ve no need to let them look down on you. And now, uncle, if you don't object, I’ll put, you iuto your suit, bo that you may have time to get used to it a bit.”

This suit was of a pattern such ;is David had never had on before. But, as Jubal had told his uncle, he dressed altogether out of his position. 44 Yes, I'll put the suit on if you like, Jubal. I’m afraid it won’t look very well on me. And you didn’t tell me what these round tables are for, Jubal.”

44 Oh. never mind about that,” replied his nephew. 44 Gome and have your clothes on.*’ As they pa ised out at tho door, David looked back ruefully at his metamorphosed drawingroom. It was very pretty, with its rosecoloured curtains and furniture, pale carpet, and strange cabinets. But David’s drawingroom was gone. He could never take a Sunday afternoon hap on that couch. It made him tremble even to think of it. In fact, be couldn’t use the room for anything any more. Everything was gone that he wanted, and everything there was useless to him : and there was a great deal of disappointment in his mihd when he looked at the spot formerly occupied by an oldfashioned bureau which would open out, and.on which he wrote his letters, and in the drawer of which he kept his camomile flowers, from which he made herb tea, os he called it. It was hard to see this spot occupied by a perfectly useless tiling with glass in front, through which could l>e seen a number of very ugly curiosities. However it had been inevitable, a« the new suit proved to be. 44 There, uncle, yon’ll look something like, now,” said young Rimmon, standing at a little distance for the purpose of judging the effect of this new tailoring achievement. 44 It doesn't feel very comfortable,” David remarked, ruefully. “It’s too tight around the waist. I must undo this button.”

“Oh, no; you mustn’t do anything of the sort. That would spoil the effect entirely. You’ll soon get used to it. And, you see, when that’s buttoned you won’t forget and put your thumbs in your waistcoat armholes, or your waistcoat pocket.” “It’s very hot and uncomfortable up here,” said David, feeling towards his chest. 44 It seems too thick somehow.”

“ If it’s hot all the better this cold weather. They always put a bit of padding in there: it makes the coat sit well. You’ll get to like it.” “ But, really, I can assure you, Jubal,” said his uncle, in some concern, “ I can’t wear these shoes. They hurt me, I’m sure they’re two sizes too small.”

“You didn’t say so in the shop. Besides, it’s all rubbish. If people have )>een used to wearing boats on their feet, they’re sure to fancy their feet ore confined too cjoeely in a pair of ordinary shoes.”

“ But why can’t I put on the pair of slippers that Kizzy worked for me?’’ pleaded David. “ Oh, if you’re going to get obstinate,” said Jubal, pretending to get vexed. “I’ll try to get used to them,** said David. “Perhaps, if I walk about, in them, they’ll get easier.” And he made the attempt. “Oh-h-h,” cried Jubal, aghast. “Yon mustn’t limp about like that. The fellows'll

44 Perhaps they’ll get easier just now,” said poor David, “ or else I shall really be obliged to take them off.”

“Oh, bless you, you’ll get used to it, uncle. Everybody’s boots hurt them, only they pretend they don’t. I’m sure mine do ; and, you see, you’ve always the advantage of being able to put on some big shoes when nobody’s here.” David was silent. He was ruminating. If society made such demands as these, rt must surely have some big return to give. David coukl not exactly see any return, but then that was bis ignorance. Taking advantage of the silence, Jubal went on talking. “I’m glad that the waiter has arrived in good time. I shall go in and give him some directions. And mind you don’t treat him as if he’s a stranger, and had in for the evening. You most order him about well, you know. And you mustn’t say 4 please’ to him, nor 4 thank you ;* people never do that in society.” Poor D wid felt, himself in a labyrinth of new formalities and ideas. He knew" his troubles were not over. Children are to be pitied sometimes when, under merciless teachers, they tread their first stops towards learning; but how much more the old pupil who takes hie first lessons at the tyrannical and merciless school of society.

CHAPTER L.—Jubajl’s Friends. As eight o’oiock approached, the bell rang, and David' trembled. He haa been told by

Jubal that he must receive the guests, and he inwardly wished that the earth would receive him.v-,But -the earth is not kindly in this respect; and though for indefinite ceuturie* she ho* been frequently called upon toperf orris this office, she has but rarely been to accede to the demand, and in these-few .cases the result has probably not produced all the satisfaction desired. •- The waiter announced, the Honourable Pelham Winterfold and Mr. Allan Denle,|gft£ David nervously shook bauds, and slunk ipto' the back-ground, while the new arrivals exchanged greetings of a freer kind with the nephew, whom they called “Rirumon.” They appeared to have dined, and wore in strikingly high spirits. “Snuglittle place you have here,” remarked Winterfold, addressing David, who started violently, and muttered something inaudible. “Yea, quite so,” assented Mr. Denleigh, throwing himself unceremoniously upon one of the new satin chairs, and shaking out a highly- . scented handkerchief before applying it to the prominent feature of his face. 44 Are we to play high or low to-night ?” inquired Winterfoldj backing towards the fire, and remaining stationary in front of it. 44 As far as am concerned,” said Mr. Denleigh, in a high treble, 44 half-crowns are all the pieces I am worth. Played out, you know, laßt night. Awful bad luck. We were all at Springwood’s. Deuced hot time of it. Springwood pt‘.re won everything.” “ He's a trifle too sharp,” replied Winterfold. “ But, yon see, one must be willing t> pay a little for one’s pleasures; and his daughters are deucediy fine girls.” “ Wiuterfold’s going to induce the youngest to marry him and leave the stage,” said Denleigh, winking at Jubal. “She’d make a charming 4 my lady,’ some day.” “ Thanks,’’ said Winterfold, without moving any feature except his upper lip, which curled slightly. “ Marrying’s not in my line. Besides, 1 don’t consider that Miss Juliet or her sisters would be much good in electioneering, and everything depends on a man’s wife if he has a Parliamentary career before him ; doesn’t it, Mr. Rimmon ?” he said, appealing to David. David was so much aghast at what be had heard, that he could not stammer out a word of reply. He had not understood the, conversation in the least; but he was under the impression that all was not right. So he pretended not to bear when Winterfold addressed him, and examined a picture on the wall, as if he had never seen it before.

44 You’d do a lot in Parliament,” remarked Jubal; 44 you need to have a wife who would do something. And I don’t think Miss Juliet can do anything, unless it’s dancing ; she can’t act at all; and as for singing—well, I can’t think what Springwood’s dreaming about, to put in so many songs for her.” 44 Well, you see,” Winterfold rejoined, 44 the British theatre-goer has not a very good ear for music, and she always gets applauded. But whatever be her merits, she’s not for me, even if I wished it. She’s already the secret property of a certain judge who often dines at nay father’s table, and preaches morality to my young brothers and sisters.” Another ring at the bell. “ Mr. Sheridan Springwood and Mr. Richmond Scratch” were announced, Another ordeal for David ensued. He went through it better this time, however, as he thought. In shaking hands with Mr. Springwood, he remarked with cordiality, 44 Why, I knew someone of your name, Mr. Springwood ; I wonder if it was a relation of yours.” “Very likely, indeed,” replied that gentleman, cheerfully. 44 I’ve a great many about.” At which there was a loud laugh, for which David saw no reason. Where did the people live that you’ knew ?** went on Mr. Springwood, with the utmost good humour, while Mr. Scratch kept as close to him as he conveniently conld, his head perched on one side, taking it all in. 44 In Staffordshire,” said David, 44 the Springwoods lived I knew. They were butty colliers, and worked in the Troworth mines.”

44 In that case,” broke in Denleigh, 44 I can answer for it they were no relatives of this Springwood, who is most highly connected in every way, I can assure you upon which there was another loud laugh, in which everybody joined except Springwood, who appeared, rather annoyed, and curtly disclaimed the relationship. “ Don’t look back, Springwood,” said Winterfold, aggravatingly, 44 or else you’ll have Scratch writing a paragraph about you, in which he will say that the admirable manner in which this gentleman personifies Othello can only be accounted for by those who have the privilege of knowing him in private.” “ If I couldn't write any better than that,” said Mr, Scratch, indignantly, 44 I shouldn’t have been so successful as I have been.”

“ Ah, to be sure,” chimed in Denleigh, 44 you write paragraphs for the Police JSieivs now, don’t you r” “ If I did.” replied Scratch, hotly, “ it might, be possible that you would figure in one of them.” “ Oh ho,” broke from the rest of them.

Mr. Sheridan Springwood had received a deeper wound than appeared on the surface ; for he had never yet played Othello, though he was most ambitious to do so, and had a dreamy notion that he might have made this desire of his public after taking a little too much brandy. He looked upon himself as a spirit in chains, for he was at present playing Blue Bear’d in his father’s theatre, where nothing beyond low burlesque was ever attempted. David felt sorry for him, though he did not in the least comprehend the situation. “ Are you fond of actiug, sir?’’ asked Mr. Rimmon, forgetting his ’part. 44 I am obliged to be, whether I am or not,” replied the actor. “It is my profes-

44 Oh, indeed said Mr. Rimmon. looking at him with a new interest “ I was no-t aware of that.” And he stared at him, thinking within himself that an setor looked uncommonly like an ordinary man. 44 1 don’t know what we've got to amuse you, gentlemen,” went chi David. 44 \Ve might get up a charade, as you axe fond of acting.” A great roar of laughter followed this bold suggestion, in which all joined except Jubal, who looked very angry, and remarked that they were not infante in arms, any of them, and that they would have a rubber of whist as soon ns the other fellows should arrive. They did arrive before he had done spenking ; and were announced : 44 Mr. Rufus Harris, Mr. Hanson, and Mr. Medwin.”

After u hurried touch of hands, the gentlemen placed themselves round two of the tables, and David saw now what they were for. Packs of cards began to be shuffled. At the table nearest to David, Winteri'old, Denleigh, Springwood, and Scratch were seated; at the other, the rest of the party. The waiter came in with glasses and bottles, much to David’s astonishment; aud feeling himself quite like a fish out of water, he made his escape through the ojxen door, that he. might be able to breathe a little. Returning to the room in the coarse of half au hour, he found it in a state of uproar. A sharp altercation was going on between Winterfold and the comedian, in whion a glass hod been knocked off the table and smashed, at which Mr. Scratch abstractedly aimed an empty bottle. David could hardly believe his eyes. He was still more startled when ho observed Mr. Denleigh gathering up half-crowns and pocketing them with a delighted smile. 44 They must be gambling,” thought David. But Jubal assured him this was not the case ; that each man would be given back all his halfcrowns at the end, when the party broke up, which statement was received with a. burst of applause by the company, and which poor Davie took in.

David didn’t smoke, and the drawing-room was getting really stifling by moans of the fumes of eight cigars, and he was literally compelled to absent himself. This he did rather unwillingly; for he was, in fa>ct, anything but easy at the course th Jigs seemed to betaking. .Not knowing what else to do with himself, he went into his dining-room, where on elaborate supper was laid, and he dreaded the moment when he should have to sit at the bead of it.

The noise in the drawing-room increased. He heard a crash, which be afterwards discovered to be caused by the fall of some of the glass )>endants from tho chandeliers, at which Mr. Scratch bad aimed another bottle. Random throwing was always a feature in his form of drunkenness. David thought he would quite as soon enter a lion’s den as go back into the drawing-room. He waited for them to break looee upon him in the dining-room, when they should choose to have supper, which they did soon after 12.

The drawing-room door was flung open, and the party came out quite steadily, to David's great surprise : they aid not appear to be verydrunk. Jubal placed Winterfold at David’s right band. The rest took their seats a 9 they liked, and with an air of heing perfectly at home.

“ No journal’ll get any paragraph from you, Scratch,” remarked Hanson, who was sitting next to him. “You’ve not been looking out for anything, you know.” “Oh, indeed,” replied Mr. Scratch, trying to fix his eye upon the speaker, but failing in the attempt, for that organ would wander all about the room indefinitely, and his month was Stretched into a strange smile, though be was in anything but a good bninonr. “It’s a mystery how he lives at all,” said Medwin, who was upon the other side of

Haaiqn^; 44 He’s 4 always sending in wrong infor maiion.’’; • “ That's qti&te true,” admitted Mr. Scratch. “ You see, when there’s no information, what’s one to do?” David heard this, and asked in some anxiety, “Am T to understand, Mr. Scratch, that you invent things to send as news to the papers?” “ Well, you 6ee, I must live,” was the reply. David forgot to go on carving for a moment. He was thinking within himself that this accounted for statements in the papers getting contradicted the next day. At last David went on with his work and with a valiant effort entered into conversation with Wiuterfold, who was helping himself to the wine rather freely, as indeed most of the company seemed to be doing, without ceremony. “My nephew tells me you are at Cambridge,” be began (he nearly said “ sir.”) 44 Well, no,” replied Winterfold, with an approach to a grin, “ I was there.” 44 Ah.” said David, “ it’s the vacation now, isn’t it ? When will you be returning ?” This question was greeted with laughter, especially by Denleigh, who explained to David that Winterfold was 44 down” for a year. 44 Down ?” said David, interrogatively. “ That is, he’s not to go back to Cambridge ter a year.” _ Oh,” said David, “ I understand you. Your health gave way, I suppose, sir?” 44 Well, no,” replied Winterfold, who certainly did look in pretty good health. 44 1 was sent down. Had a difference with the tutor, you know.” “Yes,” chimed in Denleigh, “and it was an awful shame, for he would have been sure to have come out Senior Wrangler if be had stayed up.” David, out of politeness, felt obliged to continue the conversation. 44 It must be very pleasant at Cambridge. I passed through it once, ou my way to Ely, and I thought it looked very solemn.” 44 You’ve never seen a degree day, have you, Mr. Rimmon?” broke in Denleigh, tossing off a glass of wine as he spoke. David confessed that he had not.

“Very solemn,” said Winterfold, 44 very. I got sent down because I smiled at one. You’re not allowed to smile in the Senate House. And yet it’s difficult not to do eo when you’re so full of pleasure at the sight of so much greatness. The Public Orator makes a speech in Latin.” 44 Rather difficult to follow, isn’t it?” asked Mr. Rimmon.

“Oh, no, not at all,” asserted Winterfold, 44 We’re examined in it after.”

44 1 don’t quite understand,” said David. “This is it,” put in Denleigh, winking at Winterfold. 44 They think it well in the universities to train spontaneous memory, and oue of the means is to reproduce the Public Orator’s speech.” 44 And when have you to-do this ? Soon afterwards?” asked David.

“The following Sunday,” answered Winterfold. “ Just before the sermon at the’Varsity Church.”

44 1 didn’t know they had anything of that sort in churches,” David remarked, considerably astonished. 44 But I should like to know how they give the degrees.” “Well, the Vice-Chancellor, yon know, he sits at one end.”

“ Does he sit waiting for them to coma in ?*’ inquired David, trying to get details. “ Oh, no. He has to march three times round the town first, in gorgeous robes, preceded by two big fellows with silver pokers, and masks on; and then they walk all the way up the Senate House, when it’s full, to have better effect; aft6r which the Vice-Chancellor sits down, as I told you.’’ 44 Is anybody allowed to go in ?” asked David.

44 Oh, yes. And it gets pretty full, I can tell you.” “I suppose you cheer your friends when they take their degree,” David observed. Winfold shook his head. 44 Oh, no, we’re not allowed to speak in the Senate House.”

44 It’s very strange,” replied David, 44 bnt I’ve somewhere got hold of another impression about that.”

44 Misinformed,” said Denleigh, 44 misinformed.”

44 The best lark is when there are some honorary degrees,” continued Winterfold. 44 Those fellows who are going to have a degree given them, always look twice as grand as anybody else. They quite patronise the ViceChancellor, aud look up with a lofty scorn at the galleries, where we undergraduates are packed like so many herrings. No doubt they would like us to applaud, but, you see, we’re not allowed. Only wish they’d got the Littlego to go in for,” went on the speaker, with considerable warmth; “they’d find it out, and perhaps they wouldn’t be up taking their degree quite so soon. A lot of ’em came aud dined at our college, at the high table, where I used to dine, being a fellow-commoner, yon know.”

44 What do they talk about, now?” said David, addressing the fellow-commoner.

44 Awful rot,” replied Winterfold. “ They did nothing but pay each other compliments. I know one was trying not to get out of temper with another —something about the weight of the world. One said it weighed a quarter of an ounce more than the other ; and that’s how it was, I think.”

“ I say, Fuss,” said Denleigh to Rufus Harris, who was usually so nicknamed by his frieuds, “do you remember when Professor Stargazer had his degree ?”

“I rememVer what followed it, if I don’t remember that,” answered Harris. 44 What was it?” inq-uiied Scratch, anticipating a paragraph. “ You’d better aslc Winterfold; he knows most about it.

“He wasn’t my friend, at any rate. It was my father he knew,” broke out Winterfold, indignantly. “ I don’t know what he called at my rooms tor. I didn’t want to see him, I’m sure.”

“ Then why did you offer to take him to see the boats ?”

44 1 didn’t. It was he who asked me to go with him.”

“ Well, you needn’t have led him through such frightful mire,” went on Harris. 44 Besides, it didn’t look dignified to see him running by the side of the river, as you made him. And it was too bod to get him in such a mess.” “ I suppose he knew what the river banks were likely to be when he asked,” returned Winterfold. “Ho did’nt, I’ll swear.”

“ Well, he wasn’t disgusted with me, at any rate, for he came into breakfast with me next morning, and a deuced lot it cost. However, I had’nt to pay for it; it went down in the bill.”

4 * Do you have breakfast in your own rooms, then ?” asked David, breaking in once more. “ Ob, yes,” replied Winterfold, “if a pint of coffee and a roll and butter cau be called breakfast.”

“ Really now. are you not allowed to choose what you like ?” “ Oh, no, not at all. Plainest possible diet, regulated strictly. Harris had the time of it; hejodgedout, up in Lily Crescent; and he passed the evenings throwing toast into the opposite windows, where another fellow lodged. There are shops underneath, and the toast fell on the people who went into them sometimes, aud lumps of sugar too.’* 44 Who was it started the toast-thro wing,” put in Harris, 44 1 should like to know ? Both of you were were in my rooms at that time, at any rate.”

“ Yes ; and I recollect,” observed Denleigh, 44 that you locked us iu the room till after twelve, and got us gated.” “ Really,” said David, “ I had no idea that gentlemen went to universities to amuse themselves—really I hadn’t.” The three undergraduates laughed on hearing this. “Look here, Mr. Rimmon,” said Harris, with great solemnity, “ I saved both these men from ruin once. The proctor got wind of us, and the slavey let him into the house. You’ve no id«a what awful slaveys those lodging-house ones are. There ought to be a university regulation to make them wash themselves ; you’d say so if you coaid see one. Well, when I heard the proctor coming upstairs ”

“ What is a proctor ?*’ asked David. “ Oh. a kind of university policeman,’* replied Harris. 44 I just locked the door, and let those two swarm down a rope I’ve got, into the street, and there they were, you know ; aud I made out there was something the matter with the lock, until they had gone clean off, down the rope at any rate. When the proctor came in, he Baw only me and my reading-lamp and my books. He was quite amazed when 1 asked him if anything were the matter quite politely, you may be sure. He said he certainly thought he heard an uproar coming: from this very window. I suggested the rooms opposite as the seat of the disturbance, and complained of the difficulty of working while there was such a row.”

“That was a very narrow escape,’’ said David. 44 1 hope it was a lesson to you all.” “ Oh.” remarked Springwood, derisively, 44 1 don’t call that anything of a situation.” “ Yon try it, that’s all,” said Denleigh, hotly.

“He’ll try a rope in another position,” suggested Scratch, who was getting rather far gone, and hiccupped considerably. 44 I’m not going to give you the pleasure of writing that paragraph,” retorted Bpringwood. 44 You had better learn to make use -qjf&hQSe you.have. Oh;” he said, turning tb Hobson,' * 4 l wish I had half that feßow’B chances. He’s

always losing them. Only the other day he was sent specially to report on the health of a certain member of Parliament who had been lying at the point of death, and while he was waiting for latest details, be hanged if he didn’t go and get drank, and when the details were given him, he couldn’t understand a word of it, and there was nothing in the paper next morning about it.” 44 But there was a jolly row,” Scratch allowed.

44 1 wonder they had any more to do with you on the paper,” observed Medwin, who said very little, but generally managed to make that little offensive. “ They knew whom to value,” said Scratch, laboriously. 44 It’s more than you seem to.” “ I tell vou another thing Scratch did,” remarked Hanson. “ Young Rimmon doesn’t know it, I think. He went to a great temperance meeting, where Lord Winterfold was presiding.” “ Ah,” said Winterfold, appreciatively, 44 mydad’s awful on the teetotal question.*’ “You haven’t imbibed much of his spirit, at any rate,” put in Jubal,. laughing. “ I prefer to imbibe spirit of another sort,” replied Winterfold. This was pretty evident from his action at this moment.

The gentleman about whom the story was to be told began a devil’s tattoo on the table wish two glasses, to drown the voice of the narrator. Mr. Hanson only raised his voice, and was perfectly audible; while Medwin, who was his supporter in allt hinge, took the glasses from Scratch's hands, and flung them quietly under the table, for which he was applauded. “ I say Scratch went to this meeting where Lord Wimtex fold was presiding; sent on purpose to report his speech, and be hanged if he didn’t go drunk to the meeting aud fall asleep iu the middle of it, and just half of the speech was reported in the paper next day, and the compositor had to make something up to round it off a bit.”

“ It wasn’t the compositor,” exclaimed the indignant Scratch, “ who rounded it off.” “ That’s quite immaterial to the story,’’ said Medwin. “ Somebody had to round it off*at any rate, whether it was the compositor or the devil.”

“ And yet he wasn’t turned off the paper,” said Hanson. 44 Here you behold him flourishing like a green bay tree. You wouldn't take him to be a poet, now, to look at him,” went on his tormentor.

The whole company agreed that they certainly should not. “ Well, it’s all through a poem he wrote, that got published in the 4 Kangaroo,’ that he got his position. He was only a penny-a-liner before then, and now he can take what he likes.”

Scratch suggested that he should like to take some cherry brae dy, and forthwith he helped himself, after which he turned very affectionately to Springwood, and announced his intention of dying if Juliet did not return his affection. 4 ‘ She cares no more for me,” said journalist, 44 than if I were nobody,” which was probably the truth. David began to be alarmed at the prospect o some private revelation. None followed, however. But Scratch fervently promised Springwood that he would write the best notice imaginable about tbe new burlesque then coming on. “ Look here, old fellow,” be slid, “ you shall write down what you want me to say, and I’ll put it in form.” So Springwood and Scratch shook hands, and Scratch invited himself to lunch at Springwood’s the following Monday, where he would catch a glimpse of Miss Juliet before she went to rehearsal.

Here, without any prelude, Mr. Denleigh announced in song his intention of not going home till morning. All the company, except David, joined him in this, and a great noise ensued.

It was about 3 o’clock in the morning when a flood of light shot across the path from The Chestnuts, and seven rollicking figures turned out, still insisting that they were not going home till morning. Most of them had not far to go, fortunately. But Springwood and Scratch had to get into the heart of Manchester somehow. As a matter of fact they didn’tTget h )me at all that night, owing to Mr. Scratch’s sitting down on a stone in the high road, and refusing to stir, declaring in sepulchral tones that this was the headstone of the grave of his fallen genius. As for Jubal, he was stretched at full length under the diningroom table, until his uncle and the waiter carried him upstairs ; the former, wretched and dazed, not in the least knowing what action to take, and repenting as bitterly that he had adopted Jubal. CHAPTER Ll.— The Denleighs. About two miles outside Bowdon was a dreary stretch of land, productive chiefly of thistles. A widish brook intersected this piece of waste, and pollard willows of gaunt and weird proportions flourished on its banks. No other trees were to be seen, with the exception of three solitary straight poplars that stood sentinel over a bed of osiers. The land was put to no sort of use, and had a man-and-God-forsaken aspect rarely to be met with, but not easily to be forgotten. No cows grazed there, no cottagers made use of the deserted place to run pigs or ducks out, no birds ever seemed to be singing in the immediate neighbourhood ; not even a donkey browsed there, though his favourite herb was most abundant. A narrow footpath lay right across it by the side of the brook, and finally crossed the brook by a little bridge, with a rail on one eide only. The path was not much worn, as there was a more direct road than across these fields to almost anywhere it could lead to. At one season of the year it nearly always became flooded. The people who owned this land lived in an old-fashioned great house, situate in a valley about half a mile distant from it. Tbe reader might conclude either that there was no master to this establishment, or that he was abroad. Neither was the case. Colonel Denleigh scarcely ever left the house, which everyone else in it devoutly wished he could leave. They led but a dreary life, except when the colonel's nephew and a chance friend came home from Cambridge. Mrs. Dealeigh, a tall lady, with much to boast of in the way of ancestors, and an indescribable air of never for a moment forgetting that she used to be young and goodlooking, invited such society as could be got together, considering that her husband was a confirmed invalid, and a thought too likely to quarrel, and that she was encumbered with a rather plain daughter, who, if she did not know that she was plain, had the lesson prettywell drummed iuto her in her daily contact with her worthy parents. It will be imagined that Winterfold*B advent was a perfect godsend. 44 For who knows,” said Mrs. Denleigh to her husband, when be was in a rather better temper than usual, which was not saying much, 44 but wLathe may marry Amelia off our hands ? Ido think there’s nothing so disagreeable and irritating to see a girl metamorphosed into an old maid under one*6 very eyes.” “ None of tbe other fellows that have come here have married her,” retorted her husband,

Mrs. Denleigh was so accustomed to this kind of remark that she went on without noticing it. 44 It’s of no use to take Amelia to dinner parties and to balls. She doesn’t show there. She shines in a domestic light. Therefore if we wish to marry her, we must bring young men to stay in the house and see what ehe is.” “If she shines in a domestic light,” said the irritable father, 44 it’s more than hex mother does.”

This conversation, with slight variations, took place at least cnce or twica in every vacation, when Allan proposed to bring a friend home.

On Sunday morning following the party at Tbe Chesnuts, the colonel, with the aid of the the butler and one or two more servants, had been landed in the breakfast parlour, and was angrily looking out on a dreary stretch of lawn, aud a partially frozen fishpond at the bottom of it. There was no newspaiper, and this always vexed him. It was the one drawback to Sunday, in his opinion. For this reason it war but peevishly that he replied to the greeting of Wiuterfold, who entered the room as fadedlooking as any painted beanty appears at her breakfast-table after a night’s revel. “ Morning,” grunted the oolonel. “Think we shall have any skating?'’ asked Winterfold, rubbing bis bloodshot eyes with a

44 How can I tall?” replied the colonel. “ The weather’s nothing to do with me. I wish they’d bring that breakfast in. Where's Allan ?'*

44 Here, uncle,” said that gentleman, entering the room as washed-out as bis companion. 44 Do you want me for anything F” 44 Where’s Amelia?’* 44 Hang it all, uncle, what’s up With you this morning ?” The colonel made no reply, but continued to scowl through the window.

When Amelia <;ame in, and nodded to ber cousin and his companion, and - kissed' tiio colonel’s forehead,, she seated herself at tbe table to dispense the breakfast, which had been brought in on her entrance. Perhaps she was a trifle plain, but she looked very pleasant, which was a credit to her in such a place. 44 Are you going to help me tip to the table or not?” said the ooltrael to.his nephetf. f ,. 44 Why, certainly, sir,” replied the individual. %t But you might ask in a different manner.'” ’

And Winteriold on one side, and Denleigh oto the other, escorted the bristling colonel to hie aeciutomed seat. Conversation was not readily made, as the two young gentlemen had headaches; the elder gentleman, a general ache all over, produced by combined rheumatism and goat, which, in fact, had crippled him. As for Amelia she never talked much—perhaps because her elders haa set her the example of talking a great deal more than they should have done. She did, however, ask if her cousin and Mr. Winterfold were goiag to church with her. 44 We may as well go,” said Denleigh to .hi* companion, rather than in answer to hie cousin. 44 We may see those girls.” 44 What girls?” inquired the colonel. 44 Well, to tell you tbe troth, we don’t know,” replied Allan, “ but we know where they live, and I wish aunt would call on their folks.” 44 What are they like ?” the colonel proceeded to ask, with a show of interest. “ Rather difficult to describe,” said nephew. “They are both tall. But I think the dark one’s the prettiest. She’s morn piquant, at any rate.” The oolonel, who was always desirous to add to his acquaintance any gooa-looking women, mentally resolved that his wife should call upon, them, whoever they were, and invite them to his next dinner, if they could be got to come. But he remarked aloud, not being able to m press this to bis wife at the moment, that he did wish Mrs. Denleigh would leave off that habit of bavin** breakfast in bed, and oomo down, as any other lady would. Before breakfast was finished, Mrs. Denleigh did arrive, but dressed for church. “ Look here, aunt,*’ began Allan at once, “ I’ll show yon those young ladies I spoke of to-day. They are sure to be at church, and uncle wants you to call on them.” 44 Which I shall not do until I can ftnd out who they are,” raid the proud ladv, with a haughty and disdainful look at her husband. 44 If army gentlemen are content to make indiscriminate acquaintances, they can scarcely expect their wives to follow suit.” __ That morning after church Denleigh managed to get the Rector’s wife to introduce tbe ladies in question to his aunt. After a few commonplace remarks, the ladies passed on, aad,Mrß. Denleigh asked the Rector’s wife who they were. “They are two widows who live together, •ras the reply. “ Very quiet, and keep a great deal to themselves. I have heard. My husband has beeu insisting that I should get them out.” “ But do you mean to tell roe,’ said Mrs. Denleigh, “that that one with the short black curls is a widow? She doesn't look out of ber “She is a widow, and h*s & little boy. I have seen him out with his nurse. Bnt she ie very gross-grained, aud a ill hardly let you look at the child.” A few minutes later, as they were walking i along the road bordering on tbe waste land we have epoken of, Winterfold descried two black figures moving leisurely along at tbe side of the brook. He indicated tbe fact to bis friend ; and when once tho ladies of their own party had turned round tbe corner which led into their own grounds, Winterfold and Denleigh i made a simultaneous rush towards the little i 1 bridge that led across the brook into the waste land, and then walked leisurely enough towards

the two black advancing figures. “ We must take off our hats, because, yon see, we have been introduced,” said Winterfold. “ We’ve no need to wait for them.” They were quite close to the ladies now, and off went the hats. The two girls bowed slightly and gravely, and passed on, talking together. The young men were now uncertain what to do. 44 We may aB well go on to the high road,’* said Denleigh. “ They are bound to come back this way, unless they go by tbe high road ; ior that way leads nowhere except to our bouse or else following them. Deuced cheek, whichever it is.” And as the stranger passed by them, they greeted him with a haughty stare, which he returned with one equally haughty. (to re continttkd. )