THE HOUSE OF RIMMON.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XVI, Issue 2715, 30 January 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE HOUSE OF RIMMON.

STORY OF THE “BLACK COUNTRY” OF SOUTH STAFFORDSHIRE. BY JEANIE G WYNNE BETTANY, —, Author of " »• ATJHT SaBCKN'B TWO IJKGaCIKS,” BTC, .1 CHAPTER LIT.—A Day op Mistakes. I The gentleman who overtook Keziah and )|3.| began in a measured voice of suppressed 1 3.4 station — >4 Kizzy, I have done as yon told me. I have 0 t come near you till the time is up. It has 4 . sen very hard, but I have obeyed you.” Keziah crimsoned and trembled, but did not leak. She looked piteously at her compauiou. hen turning to Eiworthy, she said, wearily—--1 8j *4 Why did you come to me ? lam not worth > 5, je trouble. I have been frocen up and no has come. 1 have no right to any happibbb yet,” “ Ah.’* said Maud, 44 how are you to thaw, if )5 fi ou will never let the sun shine on you ? I tell ' it ou, Kizzy, it is time to have done with this * irt’of thing. The way you have kept Dr. El orthy at a distance these two years, is, in my 6*3 uiaion, as grave a mistake as the other one. *6.4 er e is no kind of sense in it. Of course, you ! 7. mst come home and have lunch with us, Dr. i Sworthy.” You are very good, Mrs. Towers,” replied :e doctor. “I will come.” And without any esitatiou, he placed Kezieh’s little black-gloved md on his arm; and they walked quietly on. •* Kizzy,” he said, painfully, “ I don’t think understand you rightly. It sounds as if after 1 H 1 have given up for your sake, and after all bave suffered—it sounds—oh, heafvens, 1 can ardly think of it. It sounds as if you meant igive me up.” “Oh,” returned Keziah, bitterly, ** I am not ke other girls. You have thought me free; ut I have not been free. I have a sin to ipiate. Why couldn’t you have let me alone? ; would have been kinder : kinder ami better i every way. There is only this one thing left utl cau do,” she went on. “Perhaps I can tone a little in this way. Had I been a better ife, and never met you at all—for that was ery wrong, I see it all now—my husband might ever have drunk himself to death.” “Well, Keziah,” said her old lover, with rarity, and nothing more, in his tone, and with is eves looking -quite away from her, “it Bems to me that there is only one person you are utterly lost sight of, and treated uneceroualy m all this; and that is myself. ,ove c in'live through scorn, and separation, nd almost everything except cold apathy, iezi&h, ask would it make no ifference to you if I were to tell you that my >ve was played out V” “Rupert,” she said, “I have prayed that —» jat should happen”—he winced—“ but that is ecause my love for you can never change, aud as never changed. * ’ “ Oh,” said Eiworthy, with a laugh that landed forced and bard, “ so it is the world’s pinion you are thinking of, and mot any feeljg of mine. That being the case, I need rouble you uo further. It caunot matter to ou that I have wasted the best years of my ie in a fruitless love. You care more about be world’s opinion than anything I may after, and would punish the living to serve be dead even now. Well, Keziah, I am not ore you are not played out. lam compelled 8,2(| o suspect that your very womanhood is frozen ip. (iood-bye, Keziah. I will try to follow our example. It seems an easier process than should have imagined.” Maud came down in a hurry now, though - he had been an unusually long time in takiug '•2l ff her bonnet and putting Keziah’s away. 4 “ What is the meaning of this, Kizzy ?” demanded Maud, flinging into the room, and so king at the white-faced girl almost angrily. • What have you done ?” JCeziah began to ory and sob, Pitiable hough she looked, Maud would neither pity nor cmforther. “I am sure you have done somehing foolish, or he would never have gone off ike that. And I tell you what it is, Keziah, ■here is such a thing as wearing a man’s ■atience out, though you don’t seem to thiuk ■t. I don’t suppose he’ll come back again. ■le’ll believe you don’t care anything about ■ ** Tve never known you so unkind to me,” ■aid Keziah, amid her -sobs. “ What would ■be world say, if I married him ? Besides, I ■ould never make him happy. You ought to Ksov that.” ■ “What I do know is, that you’ve never But you don’t seem at all to mind ■taking him miserable. And fancy you talking the world’s opinion. There was a time, when you would have laughed such an Bea to scorn.”

the meantime, Eiworthy had walked into Manchester, and gone straight to ■ his hotel, where he ordered some wine, and for his bill and the time-table. There a train he might easily catch back to He lost uo time. That evening, half-past b, Mrs. Beredith was startled topB? Elworthy’s breaking in upon her in a wild t 0 buoyant manner. She had never feared so • for him before. . ■ “ There will never be anything between me her now,’’he explained. “That is quite She has killed my love. I have no B*ght to ask what lam going to ask. But you, let me call you mother now for a time, will forgive me if I do wrong. I yon to let me ask Lucy to marry me.” d« ■ Beredith started. She had long known secret regarding this man. Was her. to be made happy, then, alter all? *•■** My dear Rupert,” Mrs. Beredith replied, gravely, *• this is not a question for me o« *0 decide. But I think you had better wait.” m Wait!” cried the young man with a tn ■bwage laugh. 10 ■Eiworthy oegan to whistle an air, and lightly into the room where Keziah had ie a: him about his want of .appreciation e. jokes. A little figure was seated near a table, in a brown dress ; and she got up with, evident Is as Eiworthy came in. “ Lucy,” he 18 breaking the ice immediately, “ you won’t it offended r” He had never called her Lucy ig cre J her heart beat fast. “ Lucy, you what a shattered life mine is, don’t you ? not worth offering to any womau. But”— _ he took her hands, aud looked at the face—“ Lucy I must have some rest \ this turmoil, I must end it some way ; j you refuse to toke pity on me, I think I ]jjB v nJ die.” He saw he had made himself clear enough. £ <lc y» will you be my wife, and try to make d forget? You are so good and so gentle ; I you can do it, if anyone ean.” I both can and will,” replied the girl, . : for I have always loved you. I may went home, and found Gerald was out seeing a patient. So he sat the -surgery and wrote the following . Deae Mes. Hacebit, —I have taken the step towards learning the lesson you set in a fair way to succeed well. Miss has promised to marry me. Your eye will recognise the womanly geneshe shows in taking the dregs of a cup other woman hae drained. Well, all that is * trust the philosophy you possess in ■ :c!l a degree may stand your friend as as 1 might have done had things been Remember me to Mrs. Towers, and her for her kindness, I would apololormy rudeness in leaving her without a But no doubt you have explained, and doubt she is extremely proud to have so scaled a woman for her friend, whose of purity quite surpasses my feeble cornI will conterit myself now with less of Puritanism aud something of kindly womanhood. A man wants a 6tone nor em angel.—l remain, vours ■^‘yi

James Elwoethy.” Be returned from the post, and moodily sat town in the surgery and lit a cigar. At length he surgery was filled with smoke, so much so hat Gerald Harvryn, opening the door at a late >our, exclaimed with a good deal of sharpness, Hang it, what a cloud!” It was clear to Eiworthy that young Haxwvn vonld get the facts out of him sooner or later, o he made a clean breast of it, and told him al that had occurred. Gerald appeared very ittle concerned at the first part of the narralion. It was when he told of the engagement that he started, and exclaimed—- * Well, Eiworthy, you have acted like a fool his time. Things done.in temper are always he acts of a madman, and hare disastrous ®Bults. Had you let things alone, Mand would >ave piloted you through, I know she would. But why should you insult Miss Beredith by me ring yourself to her under such circumtttooes, I don’t know.” ‘But, Harwyn,” broke in his companion, in full of suppressed trouble, “ you don’t ®®aa to suggest that—you don’t mean to FPiy that Kizzy”—his voice had a sob in it as her name—“ would have ” u . I fell you this, ’’ said Haiwyn excitedly, hit OU 4,6 preparing to make chapter two AnE er chapter one. How dare you ask hi honest woman to marry you when you are ® * ov e with another, and when you know in heart, if you like to face the fact, that U—have nothing to do

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with it, nothing at all? You have used one woman’s love tor you to stab another whom you love. Do you call that manly ? I call it cowardly. Why should you punish Lucy because you are angry with Keziah ?” “ You’ve been a very true friend to me,” was the reply, after a few seconds, in a low voice. “ I know I deserve what you’ve been saying, every word of it. But. Harwyn, her manner drove me beside myself.”

“You must go to-morrow, and tell Lucy the whole truth. Not a part, mind but the whole.” “ And if I do that, what a cur I shall look ; aud I should forfeit ber mother's friendship, which I value so highly.” “ Weil, I think I’ll go to bed,” said Eiworthy; aud he went away with a slow and weary step. When he was gone, young Harwyn sat down aud wrote a loag letter to his sister,'in which he pleaded eloquently for his friend. CHAPTER Llll.—Decision and Indecision. Ou the Monday morning following, Eiworthy was summoned to Stone Court; but ou his way back he planned to call at the Berediths*. He was quite resolved to follow Gerald Harwyn s advice, and tell Lucy the wholr truth. He heard a creaking of the Uoor but did not look round. But he saw in the mirror the reflection of a shy figure dressed in brown, with a pretty flush on the cheeks, coming into the room. He turned round ; how could he do otherwise ?

The shy figure glided towards him, and put out two little hands, with snowy white frills round the wrists, confidingly and calmly, while she locked at him with glad eyes, and lips quivering with a smile, lie took the hands in his; that was not to be avoided. And now came his task.

‘•You have made a bad bargain, Lucy—in taking me, I mean. It has not gone far. Don’t you think you had better reconsider it?” “It is not a bad bargain if I do not think it one,” Lucy said. “It cannot be a bad bargain that makes me so happy.” He dropped her hands now, and said to her, in a voice that sounded choked, “ I have a patient to see now, Lucy, and must go.” She made no remonstrance at his cutting the inverview so short. She felt no distrust of him.

Laiua Saltring had come into the room, and Mrs. Beredith said to her, “ So our Lucy will, perhaps be married before you, Laura, after all.”

“ She will have to be quick about it then,” retorted Laura, pertly. “ Then it can’t be young Rimmon you are going to marry,” she remarked, rather sharply. Laura laughed lightly. “ Aud why eliould it not be?” she asked.

“Because he’s a mere boy,” returned Mrs. Beredith, with no smile on her face now ; aud because ha has no position.” This annoyed Laura, who could have told more than she chose to tell. So she said spitefully, “ I don’t see why anyone need trouble about me and my marriage. Jubai Rimmon is the property of no other woman, I suspect.” Lucy and her mother both winced under this remark. They understood it.

•* And do you think,” brokeout Mrs. Beredith, with little discretion, is going to marry the property of another woman ?” “If she’s going to marry Dr. Eiworthy, I certainly think so,” said Laura. “ That’s a very unkind remark,” said Lucy. “ You seem to know a great deal about it,” said Mrs. Beredith, affecting a sneer. “ Perhaps you cau tell us what we ought to have done.”

“ Well,” said Laura, “ since you asked me, I think you might have waited to see whether Dr. Eiworthy*B purpose was fixed, or, which is far the most likely, whether he had merely acted under vexation that Keziah wouldn't marry him to-morrow. Iu that case, you may depend “ he didn’t mean to be accepted.*’ “ Miss Saltring,” said Mrs. Beredith, severely, “ we have borne, a good deal from you since you have been with us, in one way or another; but you have gone a little too far this time.” “lam very sorry to do it,” went on Mrs. Beredith, “ but Imustrequest you to go home to your father, as soon as may be ; and I will communicate with him.”

Now this was a very real shock to Laura, who had never before seen such a result follow her plain speaking. Laura had credited Mrs. Beredith with the faculty, learnt in trade, of not getting vexed with people, whatever the provocation might be ; so she started at Mrs. Beredith’s white face, and wondered if she had heard aright. CHAPTER LTV.—Madeline’s Story. “ Well,” said Miss .Saltring, marching into her father’s dining-room on her arrival from Leamington, “ you appear to be pretty jolly on the whole.” So saying, she sat down and began to unloose her things, aud requested that a servant might come and take her boots off. “Aud so you are an estate-agent now, are you, papa? What a droll thing !’* “ I am two or three things,” replied Mr. Saltring. “ And I don’t find it at all droll. It goes along very well indeed. I shall make something by my grapes, aud vegetables, and fruit generally, next summer, I hope. The door being pushed open at this moment, a very lovely boy of about five years came timidly in, and looked shyly at the stranger. “ Come, Lertie,” said Mrs. Saltring. He went to her, but kept his eyes all the time on the stranger. “ So that’s the child they saddled you with,*’ said Laura, “is it? I should think Keziah might have had him back now.” “ Once more you are at fault, Laura.” replied her father.” “Keziah would have gladly had him back, but we would not give him up, he had grown so dear to us all. Madeline would have broken her heart, I believe.”

“ Why, the child’s the very image of her, said Laura, staring at him.

Mr. Saltring thought in a despairing way, “ What have I dona to have such a daughter?” He would doubtless have gone on thinking sadly for some time had not a caller interrupted him : it was Mr. Rockingham. “I had a dear sister once, .Saltring.” Mr. Saltring’s interest immediately showed itself in hie face. “ She was like nobody in the family, and she didn’t get on quite well with her mother and the rest of them. So they all found it convenient for her to go and study music in Germany; for she had a talent for music, and a wonderful voice. Well,” said the clergyman with a pause, “ she never came back.” “She died?” put in Mr. Saltring interrogatively. “No,” said the clergyman, scarcely above a whieper, “it was worse than that. She eloped. It was a bad. man she went away with. And though so many years have passed, I have been making an endless and fruitless search for her. “ I believe I have found her child.” “ Where ?” asked Mr. Saltring, with breathless interest.

“My good friend,” said the clergyman, laying both his hands on Mr. Saltring’s shoulders, “ in your house.”

“ If it is not true, if I am labouring under a delusion, why is she the living image of her ? Why does 6he sing her songs, in juet her tone? Why has she got just her trick "of closing her eyes slowly, and darting them open, till you feel it like a spell ? I never saw but one girl do like that just as she does it. Her eyelids droop till she appears half-dreaming, and then suddenly lift themselves all fire upon you.” “ I want to ask you, can you throw any light, Saltring ? Where does she come from ? She has surely told you.” “I have never asked her,” replied Mr. Saltring huskily. “We none of us have. It would be like not trusting her.” •* Will you ask her where she got the little prayer-book she uses ? I have tried to get it into my hands when she called after service at the Vicarage ; but she always holds it tightly. She never puts it down to look at anything.” Mr. Saltring took care that Laura should not meet Madeline on her return, which was rather later than usual that evening; but Laura saw her come, heard her mother go to meet her, and the two went immediately into the little sitting-room upstairs, which wae the sanctum of the establishment.

“My dear Madeline,” Mrs. Saltring was saying, “ you know me too well to doubt my love for you now ; and if I ask you any questions that may look like mistrust of you, I beg of you not to take it in that way. I am sure no motive such as curiosity or mistrust could have ever given me the courage to ask yon what lam going to ask. Indeed, it is harder for me than you can think. ” Where shall I begin ?” she cried shutting her little hands tightly, and looking away from her friend.

“ Whose is the prayer-book you use at Church ?”

The girl started. “My mother’s,” she said ; my poor mother’s.” child?*** W k° was y° ar mother, my poor ** } don’t know,” said Madeline. “ She would hever let me know that. She said she couldnt have one of the oldest names in Bngiand dragged in the dirt; that is all I know.” tv n starve rather than live the life that lay before me where I wae—that was aU ; that was not crueL It was after her husband had left her.”

“I remember my mother and father quarrellrng when they came home from the ooncerthall. That was when 1 was quite little ” “ What did they quarrel about ?” Mrs.’ Saltring inquired, hoping to get some clue. “ Oh, different things ; about other women,

and other men, dud about father’s going to America, and spending all the profits ; and then he went to America again, and never came back. Then poor mamma was taken up by the proprietor of the concert-hall, and he pretended- to marry her:, but of. course he couldn’t marry her, he . didii*t knqw . whether her husband was dead or" not. I was brought out there afterwards. Then my new father, as he made mes wl 1 him, used to drink and gamble ; and he got nto debt,, and all our things were sold ; and a young medical student lent him money. . . Here her voice faltered a good deal ; but she went desperately on. “He was there on a holiday.” ‘ ‘ Where was it, dear “ At Baden, that was. He seemed to have plenty of money ; and he said if he could marry me, he would set father on his feet. Father raved and insisted, in spite of my youth ; and I couldn’t see poor mamma so miserable ; how could I ? Aud I thought if I married him, it wouldat least make it better for her; so I married him. And it was not Until after my baby was born that I found out it had all been a deception ; I had not been married at all, and my father knew it at the time. They took my baby away: I don’t know what was done with it. I have baeu trying to find out ever since. Aud the girl, having tola her story, laid her head on Mrs. Saltring’s shoulder, and wept aloud. The little prayer-book fell from her lap, and the cover opened, and in it was plainly legible, “ 0.R., a gift from her brother.” CHAPTER LV. —Kinsfolk. At_ 11 o’clock the same evening, when Mr. Saltring entered the vicar’s study, he found him at his table, with his books spread out, and his shaded reading-lamp lighting the table only. “ Now, tell me this,” srid Mr. Rockingham, when he had heard it all with an overwhelming eagerness in his face : “ Has she any idea why she was asked these questions ?” “Not the least in the world. And now this is all settled so far, what shall I do uext ?’* The uext morning saw Madeline and the clergyman walking briskly along a country road. Madeline was unusually quiet after her confession of the night before.' “ My dear,’’ began the clergyman gently, when they had entered a little wood, “I want you to look at this portrait, ard tell me if you ever saw anyone like it.” And he took from his pocket vvith. a trembling hand a portrait painted on ivory of a very loyely girl. She blushed slightly as she looked at it, and h<?r first thought was how like it was to the reflection that greeted her every morning at her mirror. Then her face turned very white as she looked further, and her iips parted, and she cried with a terror-striken look, “ She’s got that locket on !’»

“ Madeline, she was my sister ; she was my sister. Xow&uswer me, have Ino light at all to ask you any question ?” “ I don’t think I quite understand,” she sauL brokenly. “ I can’t collect myself. Let

“ Did you ever see the inside of a locket like that in the picture ?” “ Yes,” responded the girl, in a far-away voice, as if i-n a dream. “ She always wore

“ Her brother’s likeness was in it.” He gave a great sob. “ Oh, my child,” he said, “ look at me. Am I nothing like that portrait ?”

She shook her liead slowly from side to side. “ No, nothing at all like him. He was—handsome,” she said, with ablush. “ Ah,” he returned, with a strange laugh, “ and lam not; that is what you mean. Well, it is quite true; I know that. My hair was black and curly once, and my face had not all these furrows.

“ Should you know your mother’s writing ?** “Oh, yes, quite well; it was like no one else’s.”

“ I know that.” He drew from hi 6 pocket a packet of old letters. She uttered a little cry. There was no doubt about it. It was, indeed, her mother’s writing. She recognised it before the packet was in her hand, and while the writing was upside down before her. She trembled all over like an aspen, aud waited for him to say something. “ O my darling,” he said, “will you not go and look for her with me ?”

“ Oh !” she said, iu an accent of fear, “ I must not do it. It would kill her, even if she •stilllives. .She often said she was dead to you, to you all. Once,” cried the girl, in a sudden access of energy, “she said she saw you; it was Baden. She was singing, and she said she eaw you in the audience, and she had to be carried out. Were you there then, in ?” The clergyman leaned against a tree for support, “I was there, and I remember it well. But that could not have been . . . she. O _God, it is too cruel. I will find her,” he cried. “Go with me to Baden. Let us start to-morrow.”

The girl looked with horror in her face- “ They may have gone from there ; they must have gone,” she said. “My mother always said she should take her opportunity of going to search for her husband, too, and live honestly, if possible.” He winced at her words. They became conscious, too, that somebody was coming towards them through the wood, lightly singing an air from an opera. The clergyman was angry at the interruption ; nothing more. But the girl, her eyes strained larger than ever, stared at the approaching figure with an accumulated horror in her face, not to be described in words ; then, without turning her eyes away, she flung herself into the arms of her new-found protector. “ O Jupiter,” he cried, “ and ten thousand thunders, here is the other of them. Oh diet, this is too embarrassing, quite too embarrassing indeed.” He returned to his old manner, and, smiling, said to the shrinking girl, “ Why did you not look for me and find me, too ? I would have been fond of you, for you are young and beautiful, and would fill my hall. “ Don’t come near her,” cried the clergyman, clenching his fist. *• You will have to give proof you are her father, before I shall let her approach you. Who are you, and what is your name? Your name is villain, whatever your other nanae is.” _ The stranger drew from his pocket, first a cigarette case, and then a card case, upon which was printed : .Engine Telhols. Mr. Rockingham paled still more. It was the name he knew too well as that of his sister’s husband. “ What have you done with my sister ?” he cried seizing the foreigner somewhere between his cravat, collar, and shirt. “My dear sir,” was the conjurer’s reply, “ can you not address me without disarranging so much cravat ? Which of them is your sister? I beg your pardon.*’ “This girl’s mother, you fiend in humaD form. By heaven, had 1 another coat on, I’d thrash you within an inch of your life, you cur Where is my sister, I say ?** “ Are you going to-be reasonable,” he said to the foreigner, aud take us at once where my sister is?”

“That cannot be done in five minutes, even by conjuring,” replied he, still smiling. “ She is in Manchester, where I have taken a hall, it ie some weeks.”

The clergyman was silent e moment or two, meditating what to do. “ Yes,” he said at length, “ we will go now straight to the station, as you suggest.”

CHAPTER LVl.—Death-bringing Joy. The United Arts Hotel, Manchester, wa6 next door to the Folly Theatre, and was patronised greatly by theatrical personages. It was there that the Springwoods were usually entertained by their friends ; in fact, they almost lived at the United Arts during their season.

At about three o’clock in the afternoon referred to in the last chapter, a cab stopped in front of the United Arts, where several young gentlemen, among whom was Jabal Rimmon, stood lounging about the door. Jubai wae not the only member of the party who started with surprise on seeing Mr. Rockingham alight. Winterfold, who wae of the partv, appeared to be much struck, and pulling Denleigh by the sleeve, he whispered, “ Deuce take it if’ that isn’t Rockingham.’’ “Some one you knew, then?” said Denleigh. “ I should rather thick so,” was the reply. “ Comes to our house far too often. I vote we make tracks instantly. He’ll be coming and speaking to us.” In the meantime the three who had given rise to thie discussion had gone into Monsieur Pelbois’ apartments, which were handsome enough. It had been arranged during the journey that the foreigner should prepare his wife to receive her visitors, in order to avoid shock. 1? had been suggested that Madeline should go first and see her mother, and that she should break the new 3 of her brother’s being there to her. Therefore, they were utterly unprepared for the wan apparition that now appeared in the doorway without warning, and fiamed itself there, looking, looking, not at Madeline, but at her brother.

For a long time, as it appeared, they stood so, neither advancing, neither speaking. It was not until the figure in the doorway began to sway gently that the clergyman seemed to gain the power of moving. A single movement hinY to her eide.. Hie arms'yvere round her, clutching her, gloating over her. A new life seemed to rise within her at the magnetic touch ; for who caunot know whether

love lives or is dead, if the hands meet ? Where words and looJks fail, contact-assertz. A glad look came into her eyes. He was going to kiss her. Sbe freed herself in a movicent, and taking a handkerchief from the pocket of the dressing-gown she was wearing, she brushed the fuse bloom from the cjieek be.was .to kiss, and offered silently. " He kissed her as if he would never leave «ff, attet half carrying her, seated her with him. | upon a couch.gggj. ".T “ IiTmZSSSm She did not answer hun- sxfllrested on his shoulder. He waited a lew momenta, and then put the question to her again. He was loath to disturb her, so he rested his own head against hers as it lay on his shoulder, and again waited. He started up. Madeline had given a shriek, and had flown towards them. He looked first at her, and then at the drooping head that lay against him. “ Bring some water; she’s fainting,” cried the clergyman to the husband, who was acting the part of a statue. He seized one of his sister’s hands, and Madeline the other, and they rubbed them between their own. But as they rubbed the hands stiffened within theirs. She had died with her head pillowed on that bosom, and with his arm about her. And let us hope that haappier life than she had imagined was hers. CHAPTER LVll.—Keziaii’b May-day. Never had a brighter May-day shone than the one that followed the tragedy we have described. Maud Towers and her friend Keziah, opened it by going out before breakfast. “ What are you thinking about ?” asked Maud of Keziah, when they had walked along in silence for some time. “ I was thinking how strange it is that Jubai is to be married to day, and that I should have no part in it of any kind.” “ Well, you never expected to have any part in it.” “Oh, no; not for a long, long time. But ours does seem to be such an ill-assorted house.” Their walk bad been at so early an hour that the post did not come till breakfast was nearly over. It brought a letter from Gerald, which ran as follows : “ My Dear Sister, —I never felt so fixed in my life. I don’t know whom to be angry with. I would give anything to find someone to kick. Among them they have got Eiworthy to fix the marriage day. And I tell you he’ll do it. He’s working himself up till he’ll be ill —I hope he will —before the day. That would give us time to look around again. What a fool be was ! But, there, a heart of stone might pity him, to see him. Have y_ou no plan to suggest ? There are so many sides to the question. Miss Beredith herself is a good girl, aud so unselfish—in fact, so true a woman in my opinion —I feel myself a brute to be planning and scheming what will be such a disaster in her eyes. It ought never to have come about at all. Oh, if people weren’t such asses ! I often think that it’s all humbug when people talk about having gone in the dark, and so fallen into trouble. It seems to me there’s more light in the world than these fools can bear, so they ehut their eyes, and walk like that. I don’t know whether you’d better tell her or not. I do wish you could suggest something, for I firmly believe—and mind you fm not joking—that Eiworthy will make short work of himself, if it comes to it.”

Whatever was meant by the last observation, there the letter ended, unfinished, as if something had interrupted the writer. Maud decided that she would show the letter to Keziah. She could not take the responsibility of keeping it from her.

Keziah took it all in, and then, without a single comment upon it, but with a face full of some etrong resolve, she said, “ Gome let us see what we will wear this evening,” and assumed a gaiety of bearing which struck a cold chill to her friend’s heart.

When they reached The Chestnuts, Keziah said, “ I will go in with my uncle a short time, if you don’t mind, Maul.” David would not ask Maud to come in, so she went into her own house, while Kezi&h and her uncle were left alone.

“ But now, unde David, I want to ask you to do me a favour. If I want to go somewhere all in a hurry, will you go with me ? Will you manage it somehow ?” “ You know I will do anything for you.’* “Then I shall count on you,” said Keziah, rising. CHAPTER LVlll.—Joshua’s Joke. “ Before Hackbit died,’’ Mr. Riirtpler observed to Mr. Rimmon, one day when they were alone together, “ he had almost resolved, I believe, to found a family, and if he had kept away from drink, he could have done it. Now, you don’t drink.” “ No, I don’t drink,” echoed Joshua., looking -iIL an expressionless way at Rimpler, and --WOndering what he was driving at. “ Well, don’t you know by this time,’’ went on Mr. Rimpler, “ that money can do any mortal thing ? Some fools accumulate their money till they’re up to the. neck in it; and they die, aud it all goes to some one else. My theory is, the man’s a fool who does that. Let me have enough money at my back to ia6t me out as many years as 1 can live, and I’ll answer for it, the day I die shall see the last halfpenny spent., if it had to be for a soft pillow, bought at the last moment, to die on. Now, you can form a fair estimate of how long you’ve to live ; and you know, and 1 know, that you could live like a lord for the remainder of your days. Gold attracts gold as Barely as a magnet doe 6 a needle. Without any humbug, you’re

a very rich man. Then why not live like one, and enjoy yourself? And,” said he, with a smile with a' good deal of fun in it, “ you can build a chapel if you like ; that will keep up appearances. They’ll make you a magistrate, and return you to Parliament yet.” “It doesn’t really 6eem,” Mr. Rimmon 6aid solemnly, “as if God were angry with me, after all, or else how ie it all my speculations have succeeded so well ? Look at the times I have doubled the money I have put in, at a stroke.”

“ Now’s the time to drop speculating,” rejoined Rimpler, ignoring the former part of the sentence. “ Leave off with your pocket full, or you may find your fortune change all of a sudden, and then where are you.” “ Well,” returned Mr. Rimmon, “ it shall be out of the speculation money. I’ll build the grandest chapel in the Connexion, and we ll arrange about buying the ground at once. “But that is the minor concern after all,” resumed Rimpler. “ You must build yourself a house; a mansion, sir, a mansion.”

“If I build a house,” went on Mr. Rimmon grandly, rising to the occasion, “ it shall be such a house as there’s not for miles round. I have in my mind’s eye a picture of what it should be.” “We will go up to London, Rimpler, and buy the furniture. 1 shall buy the best there is to be had, and give the best price.” So it fell out that Mrs. Rimmon was in the act of laboriously darning a hole at the corner of one of the horsehair chair's, when Sarah announced in appalling accents that a lot of men had “ come for the furniture,” they said. “ What furniture ?” asked Mre. Rimmon. One of the men, after the manner of the Black Country, had followed the maid, and now advancing, said—- “ We’ve borders to move heverything.” “ There must be some mistake,” Mrs. Rfmmon replied, in her own mind dreading lest by some unaccountable means they had been suddenly ruined. The man pushed a paper towarde her. “ This is the horder,” he said. The last room they entered was the spare bed - room. The bedstead in this room wae of a ponderous description, and required a considerable amount of taking down. It happened that the first two waggons passed down the High street of Jumley before this was completed. As they passed with their freight, Miss Dorcas Rimmon was in the act of displaying her latest millinery triumph in her window ; aud she, hearing a coneiaerable rumble, looked out just as they were passing. Her astonishment may be imagined. Joshua's f uraiture could not be mistaken. "What could this mean ?”

In a wild state of alarm Miss Dorcas sallied forth, in a space of time so small that it did her great credit. “ What's the meaning of this, Ann?’* asked Miss Dorcas from the other side of the barrier.

“ I’m sure I know nothing about it.” replied Mrs. Rimmon, beginning to csy. “ I suppose it’s Joshua’s doings.” “ Where is Joshua ?” inquired Dorca9 of her sister-in-law.

“ I don’t know. I never do know,” replied Mrs. Rimmon. ** I wish he’d come home now. I haven’t wished that this many a day.” Mrs. Rimmon in her trouble forgot herself

so far as to make this latter remark, and was soon made aware of the fact.

“ You’re a pattern wife, you are, to say that,” Miss Dorcas began. “"'You ought to be ashamed of yourself--and before the servant too. If you’d been a better wife, it might never have come to this.”

“I’m sure I’ve done my best,” said Mrs. Rimmon; 4 ‘ and it does eeem hard to be dragged off to Australia to end my days in a foreign land, that it doec. I did think to lay my bones where I’ve been born and bred. I’m sure they’d never rest in foreign earth, with foreign flowers a-grdWin’ on it, and foreign feet a-tread in’ over it.”

“Don’t you alarm yourself,’* replied Miss Dorcas spitefully. “ If Joehua is going, as I think he is, ife more than likely he's on the

way. Do you think he’d want to taken thing like you with him ?” Half-past four is the usual Black Country tea-time; ami at that hour tea was ready. Miss Dorcas Jbul sat-on, for iu her own mind she bsKeveM oshua would turn up; and she! was not d|»tmed to be disappointed. That gentleman dm-turn up, just at that time ; «Cud his features did- relax into, a smile at sight’ l - of -the desolate picture that ifieit his eyes as he : entered by the hack way. _ “ Oh, Jo3h.ua, Joshua !” cried Mis. Rimmon, rising from her seat, “ why didn’t you telLme that we were ruined?” “ You bestir yourselves, and help these men lo bring in theße things,’ ’ was the reply. The words were meaningless till Mrs. Rimmon saw with her own eyes packages passing the window, unmistakaby furniture. “ Oh, missis,” exclaimed Sarah, clapping her hands, “ it’s such a beautiful shape, and we’re going to new furnish it.” By the midnight the house of Rimmon had undergone a veritable transformation. The household clidno£, however, retire to rest till much later ; there was too much to admire. Mr. Rimmon was actually on tolerably friendly terms with his wife, except for an occasional snub. He had had his joke, aud it had succeeded admirably ; and he had not explained it to her.

CHAPTER LlX.—The Tains op Feeedom. After her mother’s death and burial, Madeline returned to Mr. Saltring’s without any resistance on her father’s part. Mr. Rockingham had resolved to make inquiries as to the places Pelbois had visited when he had come to Langton; and fortune so far favoured him that it was of Jody Waddy he chanced to inquire first. “ Have you seen a strange, foreign-looking gentleman about here any where ?” Mr. Rockingham asked.

“ An’ if I haven’t,” responded Jody, solemnly looking upwards, “may the Lord ” “ What wae he like ?”

“ I don’t know,” answered Jody. I couldn’t abide to look at *im. He looked black enough, I know that; an’ he pulled a hat over his face, he did, an’ he asked me to show ’iin the way to Doctor Towers’s, an’ then had the face to grumble at the road. An*, O Lord, don’t I wish I had the burying of ’im ; he wor the aggravatinest furriner ** Jody, to his utter surprise, found himself left at this point by the clergyman. He looked after him as he disappeared down the road, with a fixed eye of disapproval. The tiny sittingroom was empty when Mr. Rockingham entered it, aud sat down ou one of the chintz-covered chairs, and looked doton the street through the small window. The doctor was just starting out on his first round, but he came at once to Mr. Rockingham.

“JC hope you will not think,” began the clergyman, with some diffidence, “ that what lam going to say is undue interference with your affairs. It you will have the patience to hear me, you will see that at any rate I nro as deeply implicated as any one ean be in the affair of which I am going to speak, and my only motive is to liberate you, if possible, from what must be, if my surmises are correct, a most bitter bond. A man who has caused me the bitterest trouble my life has known is, I find, also connected with your house.” The doctor’s great chest heaved, and his piercing eyes caught all the expression of the clergyman’s face as he spoke. “ The name of your married sister ia the same as that of the man I have alluded to. I have traced the man to your house.” The doctor’s face became very pale. “ Will you tell me iu the same friendly spirit in which I ask, if that man ever professed to marry your sister?’* “He did marry her,” replied the doctor, hoarsely. “ Can you give me the date ?’* “ It was February, IS —.** “You are sure of that?** “I have reason enough to be sure.”

44 Then,” said the clergyman, “ I am, indeed, a messenger of good t-o you.” “ How cau you be ?” “ He is not your sister’s husband.” “ Explain yourself.” “ He married my sister before that date.”

“ Then it i 6 over, aud 1 have been a messenger of good after all.”

“ You have indeed; you have removed the shadow that covered our house. Death removed one; you have removed the other. If things like this happen to me, I shall believe there is a God of mercy after all.” The clergyman did not begin, as some very young curates would have done, to attempt to prove tothis man of science the existence of a God of mercy. Mr. Rockingham confined his preaching to the pulpit; moreover, he was far-sighted enough to see that Dr. Towers was taking & lesson from a*Greater Teacher at that moment, for he had gryen one little glance upward, aud his eyes were swimming with tears. They walked on a little further, and the doctor said, “ You have been so very k'nd to me, and made yourself so close a friend by what you have done, that it caunot be wrong iu me to you if your sister is beyond the reach of that

“ She is beyond the reach of tha t man, beyond the reach of everyone. Man coul J not free her, so God did it;” aud he added, as if determined to be thoroughly frauk with this man, whom he had respected all along, and now felt a strong affection for, by reason oi their common silent suffering—“My sister had a daughter. Sbe is with me. So God has not left me entirely desolate.”

The doctor looked inquiringly. “ You must guess it already. Madeline is my niece, but I do not wish it to l>e known at preeeut. I must break it carefully to my family. I would not have Madeline suffer injustice at their hands. .She must not go to them or be known to them unless in her rightful position.”

“Pride is a hard dictator at times.” remarked Dr. Towers, with r. sigh. •* That is true,” replied the vicar, “ and my family I have found as hard as ever, even when I took my poor darling's remains to their resting-place in the family vault. But I have a plan in my head that shall right Madeline, and until then 6he shall remain at Mrs. Saltring’s as before, which she is very willing to do.”'

More might have been said, but the doctor’s time was oi importance, aud they were at Che gate of the house he was to visit first. Dr. Towers was so light hearted when he entered his patient's room, so very chatty, that the very sight of him produced a good effect; and when he had left "that house and was once more in a country lane, he found himself unwontedly singing. Then when at last he was at liberty to return home to his usual early dinner, he made home purchases of special dainties in the village, out of their reach hitherto, and sent them on before him to herald the approach of better fortune.

Miss Towers took iu the basket herself when it arrived, and willed her sister’s attention to it.

“ What can be the mecuing of hi 6 spending all thie money ?” said Madame Pelbois, as we shall continue to call her. ‘ * These things must be so expensive. It’s so early in the season.” “Girls,” he said, “I declare for the lir6t time this room does seem to be horribly small and inconvenient.”

“'What do you say to the gabled white house, Amy?” “The gabled while house! Mr. Richardson’s house ?’ *

“ Why do you talk of such things,” answered Louisa aeprecatingly, •• when you know they are quite out of our reach r” “Out of our reach they were,” repHecl the doctor, “so long as other people spent our money for us: but not so if our income were our own. We have never been short of income, but others have spent it for us; that has been it, and that is all ended.”

44 He is dead!” exclaimed Madame Pelbois with a gasp. “ Then he is dead !” “ Dead to you, my Louisa, for ever and ever,” said the doctor, taking her face, so thin and careworn, between hie two large hands. “He is dead to you. He is to you ae if be had never lived. You have had a bail dream, that is all. None of it has ever been,” he went cn, looking with glowing eyes at tbe pale face he held. 44 We must all believe that.”

“ Tell us what you have heard, at once,” insisted Amy. “ You have heard something ; tell us the meaning of it all.** “My love,” said the doctor, 44 there iB nothing to tell but this. Louie is your own, very own sister, just as if she had never gone away ; no one else has auy right over her. There iB no more to tell than that. He has been a villain to you, Louie ; but it ie all over. He baa no right over you: he never had. He dare not trouble us again. Ke was a married man at the very tim** ” He did not finish his sentence, and it was not needed. It wao all understood now.

CHAPTER LX.—Keziah Speaks. “ Momma,” said Lucy Beredith, looking up from some work she was doing, “I can’t be quite buppy, for Rupert looks so sad. I thought at least we should be happy ta-iiaj, when tomorrow we are to be married.” Mrs. Beredith held up her white fat hands deprecatingly. “ Those are only morbid fancies,” she said, “foolish, morbid fancies. 'Wheh I married your father, I wondered whether we Should get on, and all that sort of thing, and what could happen if we did not. But we got ou all right, and were tbe best of friends, though it waen't exactly a love match.”

And her eyelids trembled a little, and her ample bosom heaved. “But,you see, papa had never loved anybody but you.** They were now standing in Lucy’s room, which was in a pretty disorder. Not a chair, nota ta£le, but held its treasure of beautiful garments made-for th£s important event. There were far more thau could have - been necessary ; but as a child has never too many dresses for its doll, so the mother can never get enough dresses for her daughter who is going to be married. “■ Look, Lucy,” said Mis, Beredith, dropping on her knees in front of one of the open boxes ; “all the linen is together in this box. I think it much better that you should have all of oue kind of thing together. Mine was sadly mixed up when I went away.” She took no notice that Lucy did not reply to anything she was saying. It was but natural that the child should be quiet. There could be nothing remarkable iu that. The bodices were uext fitted, and proving satisfactory, took their place in one of the boxes. “ Who is that coming upstairs ?” said Lucy, when she was putting on her dress again. Mrs. Beredith might have admonished herself on the same subject a moment later, for she uttered a wild cry. In the doorway stood Keziah, with a face so white, eyes so unnaturally dark, and a manner so agitated, that auyone might have been forgiven for being frightened at sight of her. Lucy trembled like an aspen. Keziah stared at them both like an animal at bay ; then at all the preparations, ller wild eyes took in everything. With a sudden movement she p’acei herself before Lucy, and was clutching her at arm’s length. “Lucy,” she said, “you cannot do it. You must not do it. You dare not do it!” Lucy had such a terrified look in her face that her mother interposed. “ Keziah,” she said, 44 it is not kind, it is not generous of you to come like this.” “It is, it is,” cried Keziah, looking wildly into Lucy’s face, and not at all at Mrs. Beredith. “I know what it is, Lucy. You have no right to do it.” “ Keziah,” said Mrs. Beredith. pitilessly, “ I must beg you to leave my child.” “Oh, no, no, no,” cried Keziah, “I will never let her go, I will never leave her, till she has promised never to commit this sin against me. Lucy, he is Dot yours, he is mine, mine,” she cried, flinging up her arms, “ you know he is mine.- God knows he ifc mine.’’ Lucy opeued her pale lips, and a voice spoke from between them, that neither of the others would have recognised. It was at Keziah she was looking, .hut to her another she sjioke. “She is quite right,” she said. “ I thought it could never come to pass.” Aud then her form swayed, and she would have fallen ou the floor, but for Keziah ; she was quite senseless in her arms. “Look what you have dene, and perhaps your cruel heart will be satisfied. Oh, 1 would not be you for all the world, to have made so many people miserable as you have. Wherever you have been you Lave brought sorrow, aud all of your own choosing and willing. If were you, Keziah, I would go to the utterwos parts of the earth and hide myself. You are very heartless, wicked girl.” _ Keziah’s great eyes 6tared at Mrs. Beredith, like those of a child who is beaten, it knows not what for. Her face was rigid, and one little hand was so tightlv shut by her side that the mark of every nail was left in the pink X^alm.

She loosed her hold of the bedstead, and moved her hands desolately and helplessly before her. “What can I say? What can I do?” said poor Keziah. 44 Nobody will believe any good of me, I know. “You could always talk,” rejoined Mrs. Beredith, 44 and wisely enough, no doubt. But all your acts have been foolish, all of them.” ** It is quite true,” said Keziah, with an evident over-willingness to own herself in the wrong. 44 1 have come here now to try and undo some of it.” “ A nice way to undo it,” retorted Mrs. Beredith, hotly. 44 You come to seek for yourself, and to make my child desolate—she who loved him all along, batter, much better, than you did. How did she treat you ? You are proud. You have often said so. You don't like it to be said that he threw you off, and married another. “ Do you think,” broke out Keziah, hotly, in her turn, “ that that is what I have come for ? Do you thiuk I would have come at all, had I believed he would have been happy with her, or she with him ?’* “ I suppose Dr. Eiworthy knows nothing, then,” replied Mrs. Beredith, indignantly. “He was neither blind nor mad when he proposed to my daughter.’* “ Yes,” adsjppred Keziah, in a soft voice, and very sadly, 44 he was both blind aud mad. I have trodden this dark path. I could not let him tread it top. He is my husband before God ; _ no one has aright to take him from me. Lucy,” she said, suddenly, kneeling down by her side, “ can you forgive me ?” “ Oh, don’t,” said Mrs. Beredith, as if she could not bear to hear it. “ Let me kiss you before I go : I may never 6ee you again,” begged Keziah, in an enticing tone, so full'of pathos, few could have resisted it. “ You will kis6 me?’* she repeated. The girl turned her face nearer to h*>r mother, away from Keziah, and moaned: 4 * Some day, perhat>B ; I cannot, now.”

Chapter LX!.—Rest at Last. About 7 o'clock the same evening Mrs. Beredith’s front-door bell rang, and Dr. Eiworthy was announced. ** Mrs. Beredith,” he began, advancing towards her with his chin upon his breast, *• I am come to prove myself a villain. But you must forgive me, fer you will be the gaiuer.” “ I who ought to be happy, am perhaps of a!] men most miserable. In the eleventh hour I come, as I have 6aid, like a villiaa, to beg for my release.” Mrs. Beredith had oue shock, but she had not expected this to follow it. “So you have seen her !” was her reply, in a biting tone. ‘ Seen her !’* cried Eiworthy, throwing back the hair from hi 6 brow with a desperate itnpulieuce._ “ No, I have not. I may never see her again. But I cannot so wrong your daughter as to bind her to me, when with my whole being I love another woman to distraction.” “ You might at least have found all this out before,” exclaimed Mrs. Beredith, shaking from head to foot. “ I deserve all you can say to me,” he answered. “ But, believe me, I* have tried to doit. I have tried not to break faith, but it wa9 not in human nature. You have seen my anguish and my temptation, my hopeless misery for love of that woman, which is as strong to-day as ever it was. Can you not pity me, a very little perhaps, hut still pity me ?

“ She w»!I not talk about dying,” rejoined Mre. Meredith ct last ; “ she will do it.‘ Oh, why could you not have let us alone when we were happy, when the poor child had taught herself not to think of you ? It was very, very cruel of you. She has not deserved it of you.” “ No, she has not deserved it,” said Eiworthy, compassionately. “ I have called myself a villain. If you knew a worse epithet, I would use it now. Mrs. Beredith, hear me. try and hear me. God is my witness that I have tried to fulfil my word to Lucj\ That is why I appear *in so much worse a light in coming at the eleventh hour to break faith with her.”

At the words 44 break faith with her,” Mrs. Beredith fi;oze again. “ You might have spared yourself the trouble, Dr. Eiworthy,” she said ; “ Lucy would not have married you. There is a letter on its way to your house now to tell you so.”

“Do not mistake the situation, Dr. Eiworthy,” said the mother, with a terrible effort evident iu her manner. 44 It ie this other woman who has done it, and not my poor child It is Keziah Hackbit who has been here.’*

Hie heart at these words beat so violently be could hear it. He thought Mrs. Beredith must hear it too.

He cried in a frenzied tone, hysterical laughter breaking from Dim with these words, 4 She has been here ! She ! O my love, my love !** Ke quite forgot he was standing in tbe presence of the mother of the other girl who loved him, aud whom he was forsaking. His cheeks, that had grown so sunken and pale, were flushed with excitement. Wild laughter again and again broke from him, aud then the tears, hot and large, rapidly chased each other down his cheeks, and he repeated again and again : ‘ • She came here ! She did it ! Oh my brave girl, my own Keziah !’* He 6ped along the streets bv instinct rather than anything else, till he reached his own house. He entered the surgery, where Gerald Harwyn whs making an entry in a book. El worthy in two strides crossed the suigery to where Gerald Harwyn was standing at the desk, and seizing his hands, the one with the pen as well as the other, knocked over the ink without noticing it in the least, and shook Gerald’s hands until his coat sleeves were performing the office of blottiug paper in the pool upon the book. 44 Gerald, my boy, congratulate me ! The 4 happy ever after’ time of the story hae come. A deuced long time it’s been coming.” “ I congratulate yon,” said Gerald, in hi«

own mind fearing his poor friend had out his wits. w - fiat tell roe what for.” “ tfea’abeen toher !” said Eiworthy, laughing bciflfieroasly. 44 She’s been to her,** repeat'oil Gerald, checking the words off on his Mgers. Who has been to whom ? Hang it, man, bo a, little more explicit.'* 14 Keziah, of course, ** replied Eiworthy* “ She’s been to Lucy and put it all right. L couldn’t stand it any longer; so, after I had seen the last patient, i went round there to beg Lucy to free me. You know I should have sinned against her if I had married her.” Gerald went on grimly mopping up the ink. “ Why didn’t you do as I told you, and tell her at once, and not let her go on till the very day before the wedding, and then break oft with her. It is a sneaking trick.*’ “ I kuow it is. Go ahead, old man. Pitch into mo ae much as you like. Nothing could make me milerable, now 1 know Bhe lovee ue enough to have done that.* s “ I wish to goodness you hadn’t knocked this ink ovex-. I don’t kuow for my life now whetLer it’s J use or July or August these cases are down for.*’

“They’ll let you know when the time come?/ said Eiworthy. 44 Anyhow, I’m off.” And he took his hat again, and went to the railway station. The train for Manchester was waiting, but not ready to start. He ran the length of the train. Suuglv ensconced in a first-claea carriage, sat Keziah, and by hej side was ber uncle David, comforting her. Eiworthy did not speak to her. He rushed and got his ticket, then quietly stepped into the carriage as the train was moving off; and taking her little hands in his, spoke not one word ; but they looked into each other's eyes, and were at rest. CHAPTER LXII. —Wide as the Pole 9 Asuxdbb. As Keziah particularly wished that her happy wedding should take place from the same heieo which had witnessed her ill-fated union to Hackbit, and as Mr. Rimmon eagerly welcomed any plan which allowed of his showing his newlyacquired furniture to a festive party, Dr. Eiworthy was persuaded to appear at Jumley iu the character of a bridegroom. But we should not dwell upon any incidents connected with this wedding, were it not that Madeline had been specially pressed to come with Mrs. Sait ring from Langton, and had yielded after much solicitation, being quite ignorant that Rimpler resided at Mr. Rinmiou’s. Mr. Rimpler had made a sort of programme f the entertaiumeutof the wedding guests, at Mr. Riromon’s suggestion. After- breakfast the whole party was to be driven to Angle ton Park, the teat of Lord Jumley; and at a pretty country inn on the outskirts of this park, a dainty lunch had been ordered for 2.30. The day was a glorious one, as if to favour thie scheme; snd Keziah hsd scarcely been waved jff before two carnages arrived for this expedition. To every one’s 6uipr.se, and to the gr-xt auuoyauce of some, Madeline begged not to be one of the party. Mrs. Saltring <-ould say nothing in explanation, though she did her best that would content the others. The drive would do Madeline good. Madeline must come; and she, poor girl, with the face of alabaster, at length consented to go. Mr. Rimpler had made inquiries about Madeline since encountering her at the SStrings’, and had recently wormed it out of some one who knew, that 6be was Mr. .Rockingham’b niece. He could hardly have- told why, b-t this feature in the case made him appear to himself a worse villain. It was not then on the daughter of an ordinary music-hall singer that he hail practised his fraud. Such persons were used to that sort of thing, he thought. But it wae a lady, of noble descent, who had been sacrificed by a direct imposition on her own good nature and unselfishness. It was clear the past could not be altered by any amount of cursing and reviling. He took ouchis pocket-book, in which we have seen him make entries : and wrote upon a leaf in it, in Italian, of which language he koew Madeline t<? be mistress: 4 * Be at case. I see you recognize me. I am too much aahamed of myself ever to press my acquaintance upon you. I ser.d this only that you may be sure that I shall treat you as a stranger ou all occasions when we may chance to meet, which is the least I can do to make reparation.” No detective could have imagined, if he Lad looked at Mr. Rim pier’s countenance, that be had ever met this lady before; much less would he have thought he was conveying something to her hand. Madeline knew it, however ; and had she not perceived by his face tbut he did not wish people to know they were anythLcg but strangers, the would have been terrified. She coulcTnot let the note fall, aud show there had been one: so her hanu closed upon it. Madeline moved towards the window of tbe room into which the party w;is introduced, with the slip of paper folded between her fingers, and nobody noticed her. Her b;«ck was towards everyone: and by a subtle instinct some women bave, she ielt *he must take this opportunity of glancing at her paper. How could she guess, indeed, what grave importance might attack to ber knowing its contents at once ? Mr. Rimpler, who was engaged in giving directions to a waiter at the other end of tbe room, knew by her attitude that she was reading the letter. She took her purse from her pocket, and put the folded piper into it, just as she was joined by Maud Towers. The luncheon was a great success, and after it the party set out to walk in tne park. Mr. Rimpler had noticed that Madeline was more comfortable than at first. He was glad of thet; and he now did his best to entertain Mrs. Saltring, who had fallen to his lot since they had come out. All at once, he beheld seated upon a bench r. womau, with grey hair aud a ragged shawl. On her arm was an old canvas bag; and she looked miserable enough for anything. Mr. Rimpler for some reason could scarcely keep down his excitement. He said to Mrs. Salt ring, quietly enough for all that, “We must not see a person look so wretched as that on to gay a day;” and he fumbled in Lis po:ket. Mrs. Sail ring, with pleased eyes, watched him go up to the woman, and bestow bis willing alni6 upon her. She did not hear, however, the few words Mr. Rimpler spoke to the woman, or she might have seen an altogether different meaning in his act. Iu that brief moment he had made au arrangement with her to meet him at the tavern they had just quitted, the next day. lie then passed on, as it nothing had occurred ; aud everything went merrily, and everyone seemed 6orry when it was tune to return to Jumley.

CHAPTER LXlU.—Connubial Amenities. The sojourn abroad of Mr. aud Mrs. Jubai Rimmon was considerably protracted; and it was not until the iirst week in August that a Channel steamer, not too seaworthy, was nearing Newhavcu, with a precious cargo indeed. The journey had been made by night, and the tea looked'as blue as the sky overhead, and the white eliii’s quite dazzling in the morning sunlight. Laura, with a peevish, discontented look upon her face, for which, perhaps, we ought to have some commiseration, since she had been suffering from sea-sickness, was re regarding the pretty view from the deck oi tbe steamer. Jubai, a thought thinner than when we last 6aw him. appeared to be making no effort at ail to brighten the spirits of his partner, but puffed away at a big cigar quite spitefully. At length a small creature in a blue ehawl came on deck and looked timidly about her. She was. speedily folio wed and her arm taken by a lady who appear*d to be her mother. Laura, out of mere curiosity, watched the couple seat themselves on the side of the steamer, and then they turned their faces towards her. 44 Jubai,*’ she said, giving her lord a tug, 44 do you see who that is ?** “ No, I don't; nobody I know.” “ It’s Lucy Beredith aud her mother.” 44 Can’t help it if it is,” replied Jub&l, continuing to puff. “ What a time we are getting in, when we are eo close to. and have been so for ever so long, to all appearance,” remarked Laura, in answer to thit'. 44 Jt is a horrible steamer. You ought to have looked alter it better, as other gentlemen do. But no oue can expect you to be a gentleman.” “There’6 ouly one gentleman in the world, we know,” retorted Jubai, “since Winterfold put in an appearance at Paris. And the devil knows how he found U 6 out.” “ I’m very glad he did,” said Laura, crossly pulling a thread out of her glove. 44 It would nave been dull enough without him. I suppose you didn’t encourage him to come at all, did you r You didn’t want it to be thought at the hotel that your friend was the son of m, lord, did you, Jubai r” She always called him J übal when she vai not on particularly good terms with him, which had been rather frequently of late. “Are you going to sjieak to those Berediths ?” jubai had asked, when a sudden lurch of the ship had sent him ignominioualy into a sitting pceture on the scat near his wife—lke had been standing be fore. But Laura seemed rather to enjoy JubsJ’s di&comfituie as he unsteadily followed hie truant head-gear to tbe feet of the two ladies. He apologised to them as he picked hia hat up and placed it on hie hesd ; and when he turned he saw a young French girl, an article Jubai had purchased for his wife with his uncle David's money, iu the act of receiving a spirited account of hie misadventure from her mi.£trefiu TLit wae too much .Ha

took in the situation at a "lance, and did not go towards his wife, but remained sulkily where he was; and the snip ploughed on through the water, and the white cliffs came nearer and nearer.

Jubal determined not to look after the luggage properly on landing, as the readiest means of avenging himself on his wife foT her want of feeling; and he became better tempered in prospect of this. One thing he meant to look after, and one only, and that was his own bag lined with cigars, on which he meant to ply no duty. lie likewise resolved to get drunk, which he imew Laura objected to, not on moral, but on artistic grounds. Jubal was an appendage ot her own, and she always remembered this when he made a beast of himself, as she called it, tho&gh she appeared to , have forgotten it ust now, when Jubal fell, But than, after all, t was fate that had done that, and J übal chose to get drunk. It has been seen that Laura made no step towards speaking to the Berediths. The Berediths, nevertheless, hail recognised her, and had known her well enough not to expect her to accost them.

44 1 should have stayed for the later ship if I had known they were coming over,’* eaid Mrs. Beredith, rather sharply; *• and if that's Keziah’s brother, lie’s very much of her type.** 44 Why doesn’t he go to her?” reraarkel Lucy. 44 They don’t ttpj>ear to be on very good terms. Oh, nnmma,” she added, turning her wistful face away from the chalk cliffs, and towards her mother. 44 if I had married /ft///, and were returning with him in this steamer instead of you, we should have beeu farther apart than we are now.” The mother sighed, and said nothing. 44 1 see it all differently now, mamma,” went cn Lucy. 44 1 know it would never have done, and I want to tell Keziah so I am sure he now thinks kindly of me. Had I married him, he would have hated me by now. And how much better to be separated from him as I am, than to have him hate me, and I be tied to him. I am sure fate was kinder to me than I knew ; and time is kind. When I last saw that shore. I was wishing I might never see it again ; and now I am just longing to get back and see the old home. It was very kind of Gerald Harwvn to write so often.”

The steamer was at last close to the shore and entering the harbour, and Jubal, leisurely enough, advanced towards his wife and told her ahe might as well gather her traps together that was the phrase he used—if she had loft any in the cabin. They would be in in a minute.

44 Perhaps you may go and inquire about them,” rejoined Laura, saucily, ‘ seeing you are so very steady on your feet, and we are so

44 At any rate, Jubal,” observed Liura, 44 you can look after the boxes, aud 3ee that some of them don’t get carried off by somebody else l .” “They’ll see to that,” replied Jubal, vaguely indicating ho knew not whom. 44 I’m not going to bother about anything except breakfast. vAn infernal wash of coffee they’ll get for us, 1 know.”

“ But really,” insisted Laura, gathering her cardinal wrap about her, and dropping from her pedestal of satire, and mounting that of anger, 44 You must look after the things. Jubal; you know they will be lost, and things stolen out of them. You must stand by all the time they look in them, too, and see they don’t take anything out of all those lovely things I have bought.” 44 Lovely things be hanged,” said Jubal, rudely; 44 what the devil did you want to get ao many things for? It’s through you buyiug so many things that we had to have new boxes to carry them in, and got charged for excess luggage.” J übal kept his word about the boxes; and they were ruthlessly opened and turned over without any remonstrance from him. The only thing he took an iuterest in was his leather bag, which he opened himself and pushed towards the officer with a careless air, ns much as to say, 44 You. may look; there’s nothing wrong with that.” All it appeared to contain was a halferapty flask of brandy and a few toilet requisites. The officer pushed it back towards him with some impatience ; and Jubal, triumphant, marched away with hi 3 cigars to the crowded breakfast room, which looked uninviting enough. CHAPTER LXIY.—An Ominous Homecoming. At "Manchester great preparations had been made for the arrival of the bride and bridegroom. Everything that David Rimraou could think of, to add to the comfort of the young couple, had beeu purchased and arranged for, and David’s hopes ran high; for was not there a chauce that the boy he had adopted would go steadily to business, and sober down in every respect ? In one of these little excursions to the garden gate, David espied a girl of no ordinary beauty, so it appeared to him, examining either himself or his house with considerable minuteness; and, thinking lie might be of U3e to her in pointing out a house she was looking for, he asked her politely whose house she was in search of. 44 Well, now, really,” she replied, advancing towards him with an assurance astonished David not a little, 44 it’s not a house I’m iu search of, it’s a person. I generally keep clear of the houses,” she added with a light laugh. “Yon look,” she went on, “aa if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth; but if you’ve got money in your pocket, I could teach you to alter that. But perhaps you cau tell me where Jubal Rimmon lives.”

44 Look hero,” she said, dropping her flippant tone, and adopting oue with a good deal of womanly tenderness in it, “I won’t take any money, and I won’t 3ee him again if I can help it. We’re not all so bad as they call us.” she added, “and I can’t bear to see any one look like you look now. Good-bye, "sir.” She moved away, but suddenly retracing her steps, she faced David, who was standing where 3he had left him, as if petrified.

44 You go to church, sir ‘r” He made no response. “You do, I know,” she sail, not caring whether he answered or not. 44 Y.'t en you are there next, give a little prayer forme; it'll be the first and perhaps the last that is ever said fi t me.” She turned at once without waiting for a. reply, with hot tears on her cheeks, called there, not by any words David had spoken, but by reason of the integrity of the man. together with the kindheartedness that had shone out cn his face while she had spoken with him. As she turned, a cab drove round the corner at a rapid rate. The girl was walking carelessly and fast, and before she or the driver could do anything to prevent it, the horse had thrown her dowu. The cab contained the returning travellers.

The girl struggled to her feet as the driver pulled his horse up. i>he was n«'t hurt. The cab door was thrown open, and -Tubal Rimmon ctared at her, as she stiggered to her feet, with n look of mingled wrath and amazement. But the knife, we recollect, had been to the grinder's and got sharpened, and the -Tubal of the opening of our first volume is not ‘h; Jubal of to-day.

4 • Are you hurt, you eg woman?” he sail, iu % lordly, indifferent way, as if he did ust know her in the least.

The girl, with a scornful look on her countenance, involuntarily glanced farther into the* cab as she noticed this tone in Jubai, aad met Laura's eyes fastened like a snake’s upon her. ?She took iu the situation, aud said, in deep irony—

“ People are not always clever enough to deceive the wife who is quick-witted. ' Then with a mocking laugh she passed on, not deigning to brush the dust from her garments, and wondered within herself how it was that relations could be so opposite iu nature. For she had gathered from a certain family resemblance, which couid scarcely be called a likeness at all, that David was a relative of Jubal; besides which. Mr. Scratch, while iu a drunken fit, had given Jubal’s address to her, aud had told her he lived with an uncle. She had reasons for encountering Jubal at all costs; but she abandoned the pursuit, for the time at least, so long as other things should not have banished David’s look rora her mind. And a 3 the couple got out of the cab. and the girlturnedthecorm r, J übal muttered a curse between his teeth, and p-23?ed his uncle at the gate without so much as shaking hands, or noticing him in any way. Neither did he liajp Laura out of the cab, nor offer to pay the cabman, which indeed he won! 1 have been puzzled to do, as he nossessed at that moment about three halfpence in hard cash. David, inwardly blushing at uis nephew’s treatment of his new wife, tried to make up for it by extra politeness on his own part, and helped her out of the cab in a manner worthy of Sir Charles Grandison, though we doubt if David Rimmon had ever heard of that gentleman ; and it was quite a matter of course that he paid the cabman. It was plain to his eves that Jubal had very speedily tired of his new toy, if he could treat her like that; and for his own part he could not in the least understand how any man should tire of such a beautiful creature as Laura. Laura, who hail entered one of the rooms. ' turned back on hearing that her maid had arrived, and expressed her pleasure. The two ascended to the bedroom floor, and were so long upstairs that the cutlet 3 got quite spoilt, aud David dreaded—he knew not how much—(fitting down to table, because everything was not perfection Thowdeal oi the tea-tabte and spoilt dishes were rmt de’stiued to be gone through, however, by David, although it might have beeq prefer- j able obstacle that prevented A tele- J

graph messenger came up the garden path, as David looked through the window, ill at ease, with one of the ill-boding terra-cotta coloured envelopes in his hand. David as if in a dream, opened his telegram, audit features worked with evident excitemu. from Jamas El worthy,' •Lear. «ugXoii. and ran ’as follows :— 4 * Corfce at oi.ee. ivextan dangerously ill. Have brought ner norne."' 1

if übal, a cigar in his mouth, swaggered up to hiii uncle, ancTimpudently took thO-tele-gram from him-. 44 What a blessed fool that El worthy is,” was hia comment.

David,' without a remark,-passed out of the room, and iu a dazed way took his hat and walked off.

At the station David hurriedly asked if the last train to take him into Manchester had gone —to take him in, he meant, in time for the last' to Leamington. No, there was a train in now. He flung dowu some money recklessly, and went away without the change. Ho was going to Keziah—Keziah, who was dangerously ill. While David was hurrying towards Learnington, his nephew aud his niece by marriage were turning their noses up in a style that would have given him considerable uneasiness at the half-cold viands; and from sharp language and cross looks they relapsed into silence. Keziah’s sudden illness aroused no sympathy iu them. Nevertheless, it was a jreg to haug a dispute upon. “ Upon my word,” observed Laura, “ you are an affectionate and tender-hearted brother, to ait there stuffing yourself like' a pig, when you have just heard that your sister’s at the point of death.” “Indeed,” retorted Jubal superciliously. 44 It’s the first time I ever heard-you express any interest in Keziah, though,no' doubt, in keeping with your usual all-round good nature, you ve always takeu the greatest interest in her inwardly. Pray oblige me by not likening me so often to such an uninteresting animal as a pig. My ambition doesn’t lie in that direction.”

44 1 liken you to one because you remind me of one. In company you affect all the neatness of a gentleman. In private you emulate your ancestors. I prefer the company of a gentleman to that of a metamorphosed collier.” 44 1 declare, Laura,’’ burst out Jubal, colouring deeply, and the muscles of his face standing out firm and evident, “ it will be the worse for you if you get trying this game on. You may go just a trifle too far. By heaven, you’ll make me silence that tongue of yours for ever, one of these days.” CHAPTER LXY.—Strained Too Far. Perhaps only those who are themselves mothers will understand how bitterly Mrs. Beredith felt towards--Keziah. Yet, hearing from Gerald Harwyn, immediately on her return frqm the Continent, that he had a telegram from El worthy, telling him to make preparations to receive his wife, who appeared very iIL; Mrs. Beredith at once began to relent towards Kez'ah, and unconsciously to frame excuses for her. Keziah happy, Keziah victorious, she could bo angry with. Keziah broken down, incapable of enjoying her victory, perhaps dying and about to forfeit everything. found a place in Mrs. Bereaith’s womanly heart. She reemed to forget for the moment her daughter’s position; for Lucy was the first to hear the lamentation that broke from her after she had learnt the news. Lucy for her part, who had long since forgiven ICeziah, felt piqued with her mother. It was all very well to play the j?art of a forgiving angel herself, but it was a role she did _j*ot cave to see her mother play so readily. So far was Lucy human, though the poor child had scarcely a fault._. Lucy therefore watched her mother's preparations to go to Dr. Elworthy’s, with a silence which might have spoken volumes, had Mrs. Beredith been less absorbed. “ But no one is needed here,” Gerald said. 44 I have no doubt at all Elworthy will nurse her himself ; and,’’ he added, with evident hesitation, “ do you not think that, after what has occurred, Mrs. "Elworthy might find it too much for her, iu her present condition, to see you.” “ Oh, nonsense,’ ’ said the lady, hotly, looking at him with the special scorn other people adopt towards those who are younger than themselves, aud have any pretensions to superior knowledge. “ Meu know nothing at all about that, and I know Keziah much better than you do. It will do her good to see me, and to kuow we are friends again. She has not a bit of resentment It was evening, when a carriage stopped at the door, aud Mrs. Beredith trembled as she thought that within a few minutes she must see Iveziah, and must realise how much she was changed. The hull door was opened. Mrs. Beredith could not go out, but stood behind the door of the room in which she was, trembling a 3 if something were about to break loose upon her. The footsteps passed from the hall up the staircase, and Mrs. Beredith knew that Iveziah being carried up to her room : yet she remained as if glued to the spot. She had lighted u fire iu Keziah’s room ; and she was sure that she heard Elworthy make some angry remark about it. She must have remained huli’-an-hour, stationed in the same spot, when she heard a footfall on the stairs. Sne knew the 3tep w- 11 ; it was Elworthy’s. He entered the room where she was, and where some refreshment was laid. He turned a haggard and angry face on her. She folt as she remembered to have done in a nightmare, when she had been in great danger, and could not even utter a cry. Elworthy sat down without remark, and commenced to es.t, not like a man, but like an automaton. He looked curses when he happened to glance her way; yet he was not specially angry with Mrs. Beredith. He was at war with the world. He was at war with the fate that had dashed the ripe fruit from his lips. Mrs. Beredith was not that fate, but she was part of the universe that beheld his misery, and he resented her presence. When he had finished eating, he rose to go, and just observed, as if addressing a stranger who had chanced to be there—

“ Be sure you do not bung the door wlieu you go out.” He left the room, and went Gerald had remained with Iveziah while Elworthy snatched a meal; and he found him bathing her head, which was once more shorn of its curls, with eau-de-Cologne and spirits of wine. The room was almost absolutely dark. The tire was screened. Rugs had beeu laid all along the lauding, that no footfall might be heard. Gerald was about to ranks some remark iu a low tone, but Elworthy impatiently signed to him to be silent.

Iu the meantime the unhappy husband aud G raid were discussing Keziah's case.

“ When did you first notice anything strange in her ?” Gerald asked.

*’ I thought she was not natural on our wedding-day, but I hoped she’d be all right when we got away. She seemed gloomy, and complained of a weight on her head and a tendency to fall forward if she stooped the leant bit. She described it as top-heaviness.” “The brain is terribly congested,” said Gerald. “ There’s no use in having further advice, is there ? These cases always require the same treatment. There’s nothing but quiet and the nursing we shall give.” By Elworthy’s sugges ion, Gerald telegraphed for his sister, who arrived next dav. Maud entered the house by the surgery door by mere accident, and was met by her brother on the threshold. He suddenly, at the sight of her became very red; aud Gerald had oue of those transparent complexions on which the slightest tinge of pink shows conspicuously. This did not strike Maud a 3 being at all remarkable. till she noticed in the surgery a neat little lady in brown, whose colour was rivalling Gerald’s at that moment. Maud merely glanced at her, and took her for a patieut un comfortable in the presence of the doctor, and wa3 going to pass through the surgery, when Gerald in a hesitating manner suddenly introduced her to the little brown lady. “ My Bister, Mrs. Towers—Miss Beredith,” he said. Maud stretched out her hand and grasped Lucy’s, that trembled and fluttered like a little bird in hors. 44 1 am so glad to meet you,” Maud said. “ I have heard much good of you, my dear. Is this the way, Gerald,” she added, “ or perhaps Miss Beredith will show me ? ’ “ I was just going,” stammered Lucy, very ill at ease. “ Oh, don’t go yet.” said Gerald impatiently. “ I’ll show Maud. I want to speak to you.” It did not appear to have taken Gerald long to show "Maud upstairs, for he came back very quickly, and had not lost the red colour upon his face ; and Lucy’s returned at right of him. “ What did you want me for?” Lucy asked, in her gentle voice. “Ah!” said Gerald, taking a bottle down from a shelf «nd critically smelling at a cork, “ I wanted to ask you ’ how you liked my sister.” The surgery door here opened, admitting a little boy who called for “the mixture and powders.” 44 Whom did you say it was for?” Gerald asked, impatiently and roughly. “ Mother,” replied the small boy, staring all the time at Miss Beredith. “Damn you.” said Gerald; - 44 why can’t you say her name?” ~ ■ The boy didn’t look much taken aback by this ; he was probably used to being sworn at. Bat Lucy did look very much ihocked. and marked her displeasure by quitting the surgery with a cool bow. In the meantime, Maud had found her way

through the darkness of the room to Iveziah’s j side, and sat down beside her without rustle or sound of auy kind. Keziah, nevertheless, with great strained eyes, in which there was no astonishment, only fixed wildness, watched her seat herself, and immediately addressed her. Maud was startled tat hear herself called by her name. " - . . . . . “ You see, Maud,” ICeziah’ began, as if she •were continuing a conversation that had been commenced at some other tithe, “yob: may all be sorry, but. you.can’t help me away' from here. He need not have left me here; ho could have done something else. But it seems natural that you aud I should be together, doesn’t it r” she babbled on. “We have borne a great deal together, haven’t we? Coma, we must try to move under that shelter ; see, the projecting rock. One step; the lava, it’s coming again/’, and Keziah began toapring.forward in the bed. Her husband', who had been in the shadow, came at once, and tenderly put his arms about her, speaking to her in tones so full of pity and affection, they might have moved the hardest heart. with a strength quite astonishing, repulsed him with both her hands. “There is but one I love, and he has left me to die miserably htxev No one else shall come near me.

Two days later, David Rimmon was sent for, because Iveziah had taken up a new cry; she continually asked to see her uncle. . Keziah, restlessly moving her head from ore side to another, staring into the gloom with the great eyes that would never blink, clutching with her two little hands from time to time at her shaved head, aud incessantly muttering, at last dropped oue little hand on David’s, which was resting upon the quilt, then convulsively moved her eyes towards the hand she had touched. 44 That is uncle David’s hand,” she said, in a more natural voice.

“It is, it is, my darling,” said David, beginning to rain tears iu treat splashes upon her hand, that was so hot. 4 1 At your service for ever my lamb,” ho went on, so gently he might have been born a refined gentleman instead of a collier’s son.

44 I’m not afraid, now you are come. He left me here to die.” The the lids closed over the strained eyes, and as her husband, worn and anxious, softly entered the room, he saw that Iveziah was asleep. 44 God be praised, he said to himself. “ She will recover now.”

It was two hours before Iveziah opened her eyes again, and David was still there, and his hand was clasping hers. Elworthy pointed to some beef tea, and Mrs, Beredith carried it to Keziah. Strange freak of brain-maladies, that during them those best beloved are sometimes abhorred. Elworthy, who loved Iveziah better than his life, and whom Keziah loved as lew women ever have loved, this Elworthy was the only one Keziah would not allow to approach her in this illness. If he administered either medicine or nourishments, shewasßeized at ones with frenzy; and all those little tender offices, to ha ve performed which would have made his lot less hard, he was obliged to forego. At !) o’clock the next moruiag, as Maud passed the surgery door on her way to breakfast, she heard her brother iu conversation with someone ; it was the little lady in brown.

44 1 could have blown out my brains for it,” she heard her brother aiy, “ the minute after : aud if you had never come again to inquire as usual, I should have done it. I tried to write to you two or three times to tell you how sorry and ashamed I was, hut I couldn’t.”

“ You ueedu’t mind about my opinion,” replied a gentle voice. “It can be of no moment to anyone.” “ But it’s everything to me,” eaid Gerald, raising his voice ; “ everything, Lucy, because you are everything, more than everything to me. With you I could be happy anywhere, under any circumstance. Without yop, I would rather die than face it. Oh, Lucy, give me one little word of hope, and make me happier than man ever yet was.”

When Keziah bad slowly crept back into life, Lucy Beredith, who unceasingly made inquiries after her progress, was admitted one morning to see her. At mention of Lucy, a little flush came into Keziah’s cheek, and she eagerly looked for her coming. Maud was in the room when Lucy came iff with her gentle step, trembling visibly. She advanced towards her in a moment, and takiDg her by the hand, led her to Keziah’s bedside. “Kizzv,” my pet,” 3he said in a caressing tone she had never used to Keziah until her illness, “I must intro luce this little lady to you afresh.” Something trembled on Keziah’s lips, but no sound came.

“ She is soon to be my little sister,” said Maud. 44 Yes, it is quite true, you needn’t look surprised. She is going to be Gerald’s wife.” Tears now welled into Keziah’s eyes as she fixed a glad look on Lucy, who iu her turn flung her arms about Keziah and began to weep. It was the knowledge that Lucy was sure to act in this way that had caused her banishment from the sick-room up to this time. 44 Maud,” said Iveziah, in her old impulsive tone, 44 I am too happy to stay in bed. * Can’t I b-1 dressed to-morrow f I am sure I am quite well.” 4 : We will see all about that,’’ replied Maud, pursing up her lips, and nodding to Lucy to go. Lucy bad to hug Iveziah over and over agaiu before this cau Id taka place, declaring she was never so happy in her life. During this scene Elworthy came into the room to see. ns he Slid, that his patient was not being ill-used ; and at the sight of him a lovely light came, into Keziah’s eves, which only he ever called up. He silently sat dowu beside her and took her little hand, and the two looked into each other’s eyes as if they could never tire. 44 Come, Lucy,'* said Maud* 44 we are de frop and they left the room.

Lucy, as she went tripping along the street on her way home, thought how wonderfully Maud had got over her husband’s death. She did not realise that spiritual wounds, like physical ones, must be covered up.

CHAPTER LXYI. -Mr. Rim plus’s E:«:ubThe advent of Jubal among the Spring-woods, on the morning but one after his return, was hailed with delight. “ He’s never happy to 3ee people join our board, unless it’s to his own interest,” said the son, who had just quarrelled with his father. “ I guess the governor wants you to cash up, Rimmon. »’ Jubal was engaged in speaking to the ladies, and did not hear the last remark distinctly, for which reason Spring wood the younger repeated it as Jubal seated himself. Jubal, having Had little money ns a boy, was most ambitious to be considered 4 ‘ flush,” as he teimed it, now he was a man ; so be remarked, with the air of a lauded proprietor. “ Y'ou shall have it tomorrow, Spring wood. I’ll bring it myself and go to the play afterwards. I would pay you now, only a fellow can’t go about without anything in his pocket, you know ; so it’ it will be all the same to you. I’ll bring it in to-morrow.” When the party rose to go to the theatre for rehearsal. Jubal went home, and was astonished to find a gentleman in company with his wife. It was our old acquaintance Mr. Rimpler, who had come over, he asserted, because he wished, if possible, to re-establish friendly relations between a father aud a son.

Mr. Rimpler soon perceived that by this beginning he had made a false step. It was quite certain, from the manner in which Jubal curled his lip and tossed his head, that his ambition did not lie in that direction. The wily Rimpler instantly threw out another bait. “ A mere figure of speech,” he said, throwing a kind of derision upon his last words. “ But it just be to your ad vantage that the property should come to you.” 44 1 thank you greatly. Mr. Rimpler.” said he, sneeringly, “ for the interest you take in this matter ; but it is just possible that r have means of ray own. without help from you, for directing my father’s property into the right channel.’*

“ Yery well,” responded Mr. Rimpler. rising with a smile ot a demon on his face. 44 I came willing to make terms with you. The time for that has gone by. I now feel myself at liberty to use any information I may have about you aud year proceedings, in any way that mav seem to me good. I have the honour to wish you goo-d-dav.’’ Mr. Rimpler had had another purpose in coming, compared with which, the one he assigned as his reason was but insignificant. It had been a growing belief with him for a long time that Jubal had possessed himself of the missing papers belonging to his father, the loss.of which had hung ever since like a sword over Joshua Rimmon s head. Aud as the fates usually favoured Mr. Rimpler’s proceeding, they did not forsake him in this. He had found Laura in one of those spiteful moods in which she would have sold her dearest friend, y He hadjobtained from her, almost with ease, the papers he desired ; for Laura had made herself mistre&3 of every secret possession of JubaPa long ere this : and he had not a Jock proof against her keys. There was this great difference between Silas Rimpler and Laura Rimmon. Silas would stop short at nothing, provided he wa3 to be the gainer by the transaction ; Laura did her meanest actions with scarcely a thought of personal gain, that is, so far as the golden calf went; though in its proper place, far from ignoring its attractions, she showed hersel f remarkably skilled in winning it to herself. She would stop at nothing to satisfy a moment’s spite, ohs would have sacrificed any one in the world for this. But ; aha woulTequaUr have sacrificed, herself.

Mr. Rimpler did not immediately return to Jumley. Strange to narrate, his destination was the Spring woods’. It was after midnight, aad Mr. Rimpler stood in the street watching the stage exit. Many passed hiin on their way out without noticing him! at all; and he noticed no ' one until the manager and proprietor bitnself appeared. When' he came out, Mr, -Rimpler, after the manner of one who has met someone by appointment, linked his arm iu Spring wood the elder’s, and, without ceremony, went to his apartments with him. i 44 Where have you hidden yourself all this time?” said Springwood, looking with more ■astonishment than warmth upon Mr. Rimpler. 44 It has nevey£;beea my way to tell anything, however trivial, unless "there was an occasion for it.” Rimpler replied. “ That’s true, at any rate,” returned Springwood. “ And to tell you another piece of truth, you are not qnite so welcome as you seem to have taken it for granted you would be.”

44 Nevertheless,” rejoined Rimpler with a smile, “ my visit will not be unpleasant to you, that I am aware of, this time, for it happens to be an extremely simple matter I’ve come about, and one that Gould scarcely prove annoying to you or to auybody. I have come to tell you that I have seen Nancy.” 44 You have?” exclaimed Sprixigwood in astonishment.

44 I told you that it was my wish not to know what was done with the child. 44 Yes, you did,” said Spring wood with emphasis. “ And we haven’t told you.” 44 But I have changed my mind. I particularly want to trace the child, and I am most anxious to know if what Nancy has told me is true. She says it was a collier’s wife she confided it to, called Barker. Is that true? And i 9 it true that she lived at Jumley ?” 44 Yes, that’s quite true.” CHAPTER LXVll.—Jubal Detected. David Rimmon had been abseut at Leamington about a fortnight, when Jubal came home one afternoon to Laura with a face of ghastly pallor. 44 Laura,” he said, closing the door of the drawing-room, in the tone of a man who must speak to somebody, even though it will be to one who will not sympathise. “ Laura, T’m in au infernal mess.” 44 I’ve got caught in a trap,” he said. 4 ‘ There’s only one chance for me. I’ve sent a telegram to my Uncle David.” “For goodness’ sake tell me what it is,” said Laura, blocnhed in her turn. Jubal blurted out his fiext words like a man who does not simply turn a tap on, but pulls it ■out boldly. 44 I’ve been helping myself to biß crash, that’s it, for this long time past. It wouldn’t have come to light at all, if I hadn't gone in for such a big lot this time. They’ve paid all the other cheques without sny question ; but when I went to cash this one, this morning, the clerk went and talked to somebody else, aud they looked at the cheque with a magnifier, and kept comparing it with some others ; and at last, he just stepped up and said. ‘Mr. Franks will come down and see Mr. Rimmon about it.* And I, like a fcol, said he was away from home, and said where he was. And they said, ‘Well, Mr. Franks would run down by the evening train, and see him,* at that cursed Elworthy’s. So I telegraphed to uncle when r got away, telling him that the business he would hear of that evening was my doing, aud begging him to forgive me; and he’s 9uch an infernal ass, he’s sure to do it, unless his confounded honesty goes against it : so now you know our chances. It shuts up everything here, of course, We shall ha ve to go somewhere else, Laura ; and I shall make my father cash up for us.” With this he left Laura and went to his bedchamber. He thought the tide bad come to the flood with him, as regarded his throwing his throwing his father into consternation, and posesfing himself of what he chose of his ill-sqtten gains. In three minutes he came downstairs iu a towering passion, and, darting into the room with an oath, clutched Laura by the throat, and glared in her face as though he would have murdered her. “They have been stolen,” he hissed, “and it is you who nave done it, you mean, deceitful, thieving wretch.” Jubal did not seem to think for a moment that these epithets might be equally applicable to himself.

“ You have ruined us both, you she-devil.” He flung her from him. brutally kicked her, left the room, and went and got drunk. So drunk did J übal Rimmon get that night that he was unable to raise himself at one o’clock the next afternoon: and he was in this condition of splitting headache and abject wretchedness when David Rimmon entered the room where he was.

“ Jubal,” said David, with a grave dignity, surveying the handsome lad with the bloodshot eyes and the tangled curls who was looking everywhere but at him, 44 Jubal,” said Dfltvid’s steady voice, “ we are to forgive up to seyepty times seven ”

“But when we are forgiven, punishment follows us. Not that I feel I have any right to punish. Vengeance is not mine. I foi’give you, Jubal, and I have not exposed you ; but you must leave my house, aud win your bread for yourself, how you caul” Jubal’s heart sank, aud he groaned heavily. “Shall I tell you the reason?” said David. 44 You have ruined me. You have beeu steadily and deliberately ruining me ever since I have taken you. I have always been remiss iu looking at my accounts, knowing 3 had a good surplus at the bank. Would to God this had not beeu the case ! It might have saved you from this sin. But had you known precisely what was in the bank to my account when you presented that cheque, you could not have gone nearer to taking everything. I have not now money to pay my mill hands their wages due. The little I have invested cannot be called in at a minute’s notice. In the meantime I must borrow or ” bue he did not finish his sentence. He left the room

and inquired for Laura. He would inquire a long time before he found her. She aud her maid had quitted the house the night before, without leaving a message.

In the meantime Jubal had roused himself to make some preparation for going, he did not precisely know where. It was at this moment that he realised that he had offended everybody who could have helped him in his extremity, including his Aunt Dorcas. While he was paekrag up, a happy thought struck him. He would go and say good-bye ro his uncle. Everything, even his attitude, should indicate his despair and his dejection. He would thank his uncle fervently for the great kindness and forbearance he had always shown towards him. In fact he would act such a little piav as should take David’s too-yielding heart" by storm.

This thought gave him so much hope that it was with considerable difficulty he brought his countenance to show the requisite amount of despair. David was sitting in the room he had formerly called his parlour, in an attitude of dejection and thoughtfulness, when Jubal softly opened the door and made a humble step into the room, then advanced no farther, but stood, hat iu hand, his beautiful eyes only momentarily glancing at his uncle, and then drooping at once. David would have said sometoing, but he could not begiu. Jubal himself opened the conversation. 44 I am come, sir,” he began with a great show of humility, “ to say good-bye to you, and to ask your pardon for the villainous way I have requited all your goodness to me.” Here he choked a littie. “ We may never meet again on earth, sir ; I do not deserve that we ever should. But I shall think of you night ami day, and try hard to live as you would have rue. though you will never know.” Jnbal choked again. 44 And now,” he concluded, stepping forward with great hesitation, 44 will you shake hands with me before I go ?” David, with swimming eyes, rose to his feet, and rushed upon his nephew, flinging his arms about him, and holding him convulsively. Then, under his strong emotion, he relapsed into his native dialect, “ You muu stay wi’ me, Jubal, we wonna talk o’t again,” and he fell to weeping aloud. But to thi3 Jubal replied nothing at all. David ordered in some refreshment; and then said he must go and try to make arrangements to get money to pay his hands. Jubal dutifully offered to go with him. David was very glad to find that Jubal would take any kiad ot interest in his affairs. He began to feel cheerful in spite of his difficulties; for if Jubal should gain in character by his misfortune, he would bear it very willingly. The two went out together, David’s arm linked affectionately through Jubal’s, to the amazement of the servants, who had never seen such a tiling before. When they had left the house, David spoke to Jubal about his sister, “I am sure that Kizzy has felt it,” he began, 44 that you have never sent a massage to inquire about her. She asked as soon as ever 3he was well enough, if you had made any inquiry, and she would have an answer. Her life was saved by a miracle, Jubal, even if 3he is out of danger now.” 44 Yes,” said Jubal, penitently, 44 that’B another of my sins. Should you mind me going to Leamington, uncle ?** David’s eyos beamed. “ M 7 dear nephew,” he said, affectionately, 44 what do I care for my own misfortune in this matter, if it is so to change you ? Yes, go to Leamington, and be good to your sister.” When Jnbal was in the train for Learnington, David lingered about the carriage door, wondering aad wishing that there might be something else he could do to show Jubul how b* was feeling towards him. Jnbal looked

out of the carriage window with a subdued face, and his eyeß met his uncle’s in a franker manner than they had ever done in his life. 44 Wbat shall 1 tell Kizzy from you, uncle?” he asked.

“ Tell her, I shall come to see her again when I h'aVe settled iny business.” Jubal presented himself at his brother-in-iaw’sflbe morning after his arrival, not without Borne fear and trembling. Gerald Harwyn was the first person he saw, and despite the change in JubaTs looks, Gerald instantly reoognized him, probably on account of Jubal’s frame of mind at the time, which was more in harmony with his usual frame of mind when he had been a pupil at Lionel Harwyn’s. Gerald had heard no particular good of Jub»l sincethen, and consequently was not very cordial in his reception of-him. “ I didn’t think of seeing you, Mr. Harwyn,” Jnbal began in a conciliatory manner. “It’s not much to be surprised at nevertheless,*’ replied Gerald drily, “ seeing that I live here.”

44 It hadn’t occurred to me. I have come to see my sister.” “ There is a proverb,” broke in another voice, which was that of Dr. Elworthy himself, who had just entered, 4 ‘ Better late than never. For J my part l am inclined, to the opinion that in ' some cases it is better never than late. I wonder you have the audacity to come, after the manner you have treated your sister,” went on the doctor, warming. 44 During her delirium I have had to listen to a repetition of one conversation you had with her, I believe the laßt, until it has made my heart sick.” Keziah, however, was overjoyed to think that Jubal had come to Bee her. She had always loved this brother. “Oh, Jubal,**she exclaimed as he came into the room, “ I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve come.” There was light in the room now, and she feasted her eyres on him. He came forward with a bashful air, which had so long been foreign to him. “I have had lots of dreams about you lately,” went on Keziah, “ but not one that you would care to see me and she held him away from her and feasted her eyes. “ I was always so fond of you, J übal; and we’ll begin ail over again and forget that we have ever quarrelled. Jubal, I had begun to think you really cruel, and that yon would never come near me again. I was quite wrong. We ought to be good friends, yon and I. There were only two of us.” CHAPTER LXVlll.—Collafsb cf the House of Rimmon. The palatial residence and the Methodist cathedral were actually commenced. The foundation-stone of the cathedral had been laid by Mr. Fumies, M.P. for Jumley; aud there had been a great demonstration. St. Martha’s Church steps had been crowded wit h spectators, cn using no little annoyance to the vicar, who had come in person to remonstrate, but had received a Black Country reception, which is equally strong for or against, as tha occasion may require; aud on this occasion it was against. It would have pleased Mr. Rimmon, could a foundation-stone of .the palatial residence have been laid, too, with like display ; but he could see no way of bringing this about. Although he had only thought this in the innermost sanctum of his heart and with all the doors shut, the wily Rimpler was aware of at least the direction his thoughts wore taking, aud awoke to the knowledge that this Rimmon property would slip through his fingers if he did not bestir himself. There was but one way to this end. He must possess himself of power to disestablish this owner of a future palatial residence ; aud he was certain in his own mind that Joshua Rimmon would rather lose all in this world than have his memory scouted and scorned when he had left it. So with a brain accustomed to keep facts in working order, he laid hands on the right article at once. He had possessed himself of more than he had expected. There was that other paper which had been so long in the possession of the grandmother ; and Mr. Rimpler, reading that, had been thunderstruck. “ It would transport him,” he said. He had been carefullv gathering up gold dust; and close to his hand had been valuable diamonds. He wa3 being carried on to fortune, and the orderly brain, rather than auy consciousness of his own, had told his feet to carry him to Springwoods’ on business we have heard of. Since meeting Madeline at the wedding, he had reproached himself pretty genuinely, considering what a hardened wretch he was, for having separated Madeline from her infaut, aud for telling her it was dead: and he determined to trace it if possible. If he should ascertain that Madeline would care to possess the child, he would ao far make reparation for the terrible wrong he had done her. He had come home, and learnt, almost without asking a question, the fate of the woman to whom his child and Madeline’s had been consigned, and, more than this, he had learnt that Keziah Rimmon had adopted it.

Mr. Rimpler, by dint of keen sceut, had discovered Toker, the man who sigued the document which had been in old Mrs. Rimmon’s possession. He, however, Mr. Rimpler found, had definite plans of his own, and showed no disposition whatever to aid him. Mr. Toker had been keeping his eye on Joshua Rimmon for many years, with only occasional intermissions during special absences at gold diggings and elsewhere. He had been au accomplice of Joshua Rimmon’s in some piece of work that would not bear daylight, before his marriage. “ Doe 3 anyone else know this secret of yours aud Mr. Rimmon’s?”

“ There’s only one person in the world, I believe, knew about it, and that was Lis mother, aud she’s dead. She got. a letter o’ mine, I always think; anyhow, he never got it, and never dared ask her for it.”

41 What if the paper is in my possession?” Mr. Rimpler next observed. “ Look here,” Mr. Toker replied, 44 1 see the game you’re at quite well, and I’m not going to help you to play it. I wouldn’t ’a’ told you this, except that I don’t care a for nothing

Mr. Rimpler was just returning one day from giving some directions, and viewing the progress of the palatal residence, when he met Mrs. Rimmon coming post-haste towards him. It was evident from her manner that something terrible had happened. “ Oh, Mr. Rimpler do come home as quick as you can,” she said, “I don’t know what has happened. He’s awful.” “Who?” inquired Rimpler. “Oh. Joshua; come on.” “ What’s the matter with him? He was all right when I came out.” “So he was; but a strange man came and saw him, and ... he was very queer when he saw him. Well, I went into the diningroom, and Joshua, he stared at me like a wild thing, and I asks him what’s the matter. And oh, Mr. Rimpler, he can’t move and he can’t speak, but I’m sure he knows everything.” To his astonishment, on the threshold, whom should he meet just arrived from Leamington, hut Jubal. “How i 9 he?” asked Rimpler of J übal.

4 * Is anything up with him ? “ I believe he’s paralysed.’*

The two rushed to the dining-room together. There sat Joshua Rimmon, with eyes fixed in an agonised stare and appeal that showed as plainly as anything that his intelligence was intact. First one addressed him, and then the other, but no sound was elicited from him, nor yet a movement. Silas raised one of Mr. Rimmon’s arms. It fell like a log of wood when he loosed it. If ever eyes tried to talk, Mr. Rimmon’s did.

44 1 see von kuow what we are saying.” said Jubal, in a high-pitched voice, to "his father. “ So it’s all the same to me. You take your turn now of listening while I talk to you, you infernal hypocrite. I have known villains, and villains enough, sinoe I left this cursed roof; but the most diabolical, hypocritical, and sneaking villain I have ever encountered has beeu my father. For my own existence I do not you. It has been a curse and Dot a blessing to me, considering the nature you endowed me with. I do not believe it is in my power to be good or honourable. When I was a child, I hated you. When I grew older and found you out, I despised you too. And what have I turned out now?” And Jubal laughed a scornful laugh. “ I shall die on the gallows yet.” Perhaps eyes can never show their true power of speaking until power of speech and movement are gone, while the intelligence remains. Mr. Kiuunon said with his eyes. 44 Kill me, but say no more,” as plainly as his voice could have spoken. 44 Put me out of my misery,” his eyes kept pleading. Both Jnbal and Silas Rimpler understood these eyes. Jubal. as if pushed on to tear his father limb from limb morally, by the archfiend himself, gloated over his father’s agony, and replied to the look of the eyes—‘•When did you ever spare me? What reason have I to’spare yon ? You spread your ill-usage of me over years ; I have to take my revenge in an hour. What shall make me stay my hand ?’* Mr. Rknpler turned his face away, from sheer agitation, and closed hia eyes to shut out the sight of Mr. Rimmon’s anguish. 44 Look you, young Rimmon,” he said, “drop it; he’s bad enough, he’s dead beat ” “Go to the devil,” said Jubal, brutally. 44 Yoa are only better than he is in one way ; you are both of you devils, only you didn’t, pretend to be an angel of light. In the other world you talk about,” he went on, addressing

his father, “you’ll go to your reward safe enough, and if I don’t follow you to torment ycu after death, it shan’t be my fault. Bat at least yon shall do this much, yon shall make a -will, if I hold your hand that holds the pen, villain that you are.” Mr. Riinpler felt, and showed plainly in his face, that he was himself utterly checkmated! he had never been so nonplussed in bis life. . “Yes/you scoundrel, you shall do that at least,” Jubal went on in mad passion: and he turned hurriedly to search for paper aud a pen. 44 1 shall not witness it,” eaid Mr. Rimpler, standing up sturdily, and he marched from the room; and that action of his, the result of disappointed ambition and anger, Was the means of saving his life. By some strange chance the garden door opposite was open, and Mr. Rimpler abstractedly entered it, and marched about the gravel paths in an angry manner, and cast his eyes on one object after another. Some one else happened to espy the garden gate too. It was no other than Miss Dorcas. She entered, seeing Mr. Rimpler there. 41 What is the matter, Mr. Rimpler ?** she said. 44 People say they have seen Ann running about without any bonnet on.” But the answer to this question was never I given. The earth appeared to rumble immediately under their feet. They started, in their terror, and gazed at each other. A louder report followed, and the earth shook. “ Oh, God,” cried Dorcas, pointing with her forefinger in a tragical manner, it’s the house ;’* and as they looked, the forepart of the building shuddered and fell with a mighty crash. A single shriek was heard. Yet another crash followed, and a chimney stack was flung with immense violence into the garden gateway. Another crash followed. The masonry which had been supported against the part that had just fallen, gave away, and the .garden doorway was now completely blocked. 44 Why don't you go out and see who’s in the house ?** crieh Dorcas, wringing her hands. 44 Will you have the goodness to tell me which way ?” retorted Mr. Rimpler, angrily, 44 with that infernal glass all over the walls ?*’ 44 You a man !” sneered Miss Dorcas, 44 and afraid of a few cuts and scratches, to save human life !”

“ Who was iu the house ?’* shrieked Dorcas, who had now some difficulty in making herself heard, such was the hubbub in the street outside the garden. 4 ‘ Your brother and your hopeful nephew,” replied Rimpler. A female figure now advanced along the road, accompanied by a doctor ; and when she taw what had takeu place, she flung her arras into the air and shrieked alcud mistress, where is my poor mistress?” That mistress was iu the crowd, with eves fixed and glassy, staring at the ruined house, when another mass of masonry fell. 44 Which room was my brother in?” cried Dorcas, turning her head to where Rimpler was standing, frozen with fear, and expecting, as much as he ever expected anything in his life, that the ground would open under him next.

“They were in the dining-room,” replied Mr. Rimpler, iu a voice that sounded weak and unlike his own.

44 Then the Lord have mercy on them,’’ said an outsider who had caught the words, ‘ 4 forthey’ra buried fathoms deep,” which language was very expressive if not accurate. There appeared to be nothing for the crowd to do but to watch the loosened bricks fall one after the other or in a mass.

44 Why, who’d a thought this was undermined ?” cried a voice in the crowd. “ Mr. Rimmon’s often said to me, as how his place, and the land by St. Martha’s Church, and the other piece he’s a-building on, were the only pieces in the neighbourhood he was sure of. lie’s a fool who ever buys a house in the Black Country, says I, for its sure to be built like the house the Bible tells us on, on the sand. They may talk about knowing whether a place is undermined or not. But it’s what nobody can say : only it’s more likely yes than no, when a house is in the middle of a coal mine country, aud it only wants a man to be a bit out of his calculation to make a cutting go under your house or not.” But even while the crowd, breathless, watched the ruin of the house, so familiar to them, another rumble and a crash were heard at a little distance. At this eound Mr. Rimpler gave a yell. The noise did not frighten the populace as his yell did. Panic seemed to seize them ; they all rushed frantically from the spot, leaving the imprisoned Dorcas and Rimpler to do what they could. Miss Dorcas, seeing Sarah moving away last of all, called out suddenly, “ Sarah, good, kind Sarah, don’t you think you could move some of this from before the door ?”

44 No, I don’t, miss,” said Sarah from the road, determinedly. “But I’m here too,” cried Mr. Rimpler. 4 ‘Sarah, I’ll give you a sovereign when I come out. You’re very strong, Sarah. If I were to help, don’t you think you could move something?” “You’re in no danger there.” said Sarah. 44 1 venture to doubt that,” remarked Mr. Rimpler rather sharply. “ She’s going away,” cried Miss Dorcas to Rimpler, “she’s actually going away, and there’s nobody there now.”

‘•Sarah,” roared the despairing Rimpler. “I’ll give you two sovereigns. Five! Ten! I’ve got it on me. I swe;ir I have. Sarah,” he fairly howled, “I’ll marry you, I swear I will, if you’ll let me out.”

Sarah wa3 too far off to hear this latter proposal. She was following her mistress, who had been taken into a neighbour’s house. A considerable time passed, during which Mr. Rimpler sat down on a stone to await death, and occupied himself in tearing up all his private notes into minute fragments, which act of folly he intensely regretted some time afterwards.

After a while the crowd began to gather outside again: but nobody seemed to think of liberating thoso who were in the garden.

“What was the other noise?” cried Miss Dorcas to the crowd in general. Incredible as it may seem, the other sound had been produced by the falling of what was built of the Methodist cathedral and palatial residence. It was a coincidence, that was all. To this day, however, the Black Country people lock upon this catastrophe as the direct work of the hand 01 God; and not r« man could be found, much less a woman or child, who would venture to m ike use of any of the rubbish thus spread upon the ground. To this day it remains ; a single brick has never been carted away. 44 We can die but once,” he remarked to Dorcas.

“ And after death the judgment,” she added consolingly. “ But we’ie in no danger of dying here, you fool.” Mr. Rimpler felt like a man charged with a revelation, ai he replied ominously, “We are all doomed.”

It must be recollected that Miss Dorcas had been brought up amongst this sort of thing, whereas to Mr. Rimpler it was a very unpleasant novelty. Certain words he had heard Joshua Rimmon read iu the disagreeable prayer-times which had been inflicted upon him came vividly into his mind ; and like a prophet who speaks not from choice, but from inward compulsion, Mr. Rimpler cried solemnly, “ Whither shall I flee from Thy presence.? if I fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, I cannot escape.” He could not recollect the passage correctly, but he remembered the spirit of it. Dorcas now became very anxious to get out on her own account, for she imagined herself shut up in the garden with a madman ; aud she again appealed to tbe crowd. But it was a matter of great difficulty tor them to dislodge the stones, however much they might be disposed to do so ; and it w*a not till dark in the evening that a way was made for the imprisoned pair through debris. When Dorcas had passed through the aperture, a figure was seen to follow her rapidly, and then to disappear: and from that hour Mr. Rimpler was never seen nor heard of at Jumley. CHAPTER LXIX.—The Last. Some weeks later Keziah was made aware of what had occurred. The knowledge of it had been carefully kept from her till she should be stronger. Elworthy then only told her such details as were absolutely necessary. The bodies of her father and* brother lav beside that of Keziah’s first husband in Jumley cemetery. Mrs. Rimmon had over since been at the Berediths’. Mrs. Beredith herself had fetched her as soon as she had heard of the catastrophe, and with her had brought the faithful Sarah, who had refused with many tears to be separated from her mistress. On Keziah's inquiring about Laura, Elworthy told her a plain fact, ajid her name was not afterwards mentioned between them. She had not gone home to her father ; she had quitted England in company with Winteyfold. What Elworthy did not tell Keziah was that the iron safe in which Mr. Rqnfnou kept his papers had beeu extracted from the ruin, and that in it had beeu discovered sufficient evidence of Joshua’s preposterous hypocrisy and wickedness. This nad somehow got bruited about, and was in everybody’s mouth, and a frightful scene had occurred in the cemetery at the interment; for Black Country people when roused to indignation become savage. They came by hundreds into the cemetery and dragged the coffin from the bearers, dragged'it ignominiously along the gravel path, and wonld have burst it open and torn the corpse limb from limb had it not been for a special body of ; police ordered to the spot by the forethought ,

of the officiating minister, who had. befS funeral, had sufficient warning that so M of this nature might be expected. A special watch was kept at the gr& aud night daring the first fortnight interment, till the spirit of indignation & passion had had time to cool a little. A will was discovered in the iron safe, everything absolutely to Keziah, and to Mrs. Rimmon. Elworthy told hi# wj but added, “ And I know my Kizzy blame me when I tell her that in her hare absolutely refused the money. 1 never prosper. Your uncle David and talked it out together, and we are both i not to touch & i>enny of it,” 4 * Should you be afraid of going a loi Kizzy?” 4 4 How can I be afraid of going an with yon?” she asked, almost in au tone. 44 Well, then, Kizzy, there’s a splendi ing for me at Sydney, and I am not means. And Gerald Harwyn has bou practice here, which gives me some mon m hand.” 44 What docs mamma say about it?” asked. “She is quite willing to go auyi Elworthy replied; 44 and I ought to tel he added with a smile, 44 that two faithi of youi-s insist on accompanying us, so be quite & party. Both Sarah and refuse to be left behiud, and I have p to take them, on condition that you co the plan.’’ A couple of years later on, & travi turned home to England—no other, : than young Edmond Saltring, now bronzed, whiskered fellow as to be uni able—was recounting to a group of in listeners at his father’s table stories of Harry’s exploits, and news of friend#, no idea I should meet any one 1 It Sydney,” he was saying. 44 And 1 surprise after another. I was walkiu the High street, when I saw coming me Keziah Rimmon—l beg her pardo Elworthy—and she doeen’t look a ds She hau two beautiful children wii Leonard, you know, and a little girl uame was Lucy Maud, she toid me. never even heard that they had settle She made me promise to go home whi see the doctor and tbe others. I had n got into the room, mother,” he said, nd her especially, 44 than I heard Mr. Rocks voice. Yes, he wai there, and Mad #l Bertram, lhey are actually settled the “ And I wonder you never wrote to that Dr. Elworthv and all ot them hail Byduey. Dr. Elworthy has got a 1 practice; and I must not forget to 1 that Mrs. Rimmon looks positively And you know the two servants they t with them ; well, Wilson’s with them ra she just worships little Maud. But Sarah, she’s actually married.” 44 Well, I wouldn’t have believed th* could have left them,” said Mrs. Saltri tone of a woman who bae received shock to her confidence in human uatur 44 Ah,” said Edmond, 44 1 thought I take you in. She has married the coachman, if you please, and they botl the house. And who do you thank ii way out, just for a six month’s visit?” “ Oh, we know all about that,” m Saltring. 44 And we think it would k better if Mrs. Towers settled out tin them, for she has been like one lost e» Keziah went away.’ 44 Well, why don’t you suggest it to h perhaps, she will ?” said Edmond. “ It's no go, my boy ; Layton has tr game,” said Mr. Saltring. “She can that grave ; and I.ayton told me that st not even go on a visit to her friend wit absolute promise from him that if she die while away, her body should be ! back and laid by her husband.” 44 And what has become of Juball David?” Edmond asked. “Oh, he was in low water for a littk said Mr. Saltring. “I expect that Jul an expensive article. But he has 01 over that. And they bay he spends a every day in writing to Keziah.” 41 And Jubal’s aunt Dorcas, does she Juraley now ?” 44 Oh. yes. She stood her ground 11 everything. She said she wasn’t goin? the country as if she was a villain aad factor. They say she has made a nic*i for herself, but she still keeps on th 44 And what will Maud say when shc-J said a laughing girl with rebellious • ringlets to a husband who was smiling i her as if she was the most wonderful a ( creation. “She will say I have grown dnj , matronly,” went on Kizzy, with a pod ripe lips. 44 I’m afraid I shall growl And truly, as her husband looked at ij did see a plump roundness of outline was very pleasant to behold and spoke# as to her contentment, as did thej dimples that had found their way sons her face. But Keziah’s eyes, always sol I ful in her stormy days, how lovely iul grown in her new life ! “ I used to say,” observed Dr. Els gently and proudly stroking the blacij *‘tbat your beauty yet lacked «ometa know now that it was happiness.” “ I»o you think, Rupert/’ asked earnestly, “ that one can blot oat cm 1 sins by watching over others, aad prs their like fall ?” 44 No, my Kizzy.” he said, shaking hi sadly. 44 God only can do that. Yd doing your work, Kizzy, for that isn to-day.” “ I‘cannot but do what you call 4 my* cried the girl, her face growing cbeertt moment, and covered with tippling su “If my happiness could not come ou; how, I should die of it, I think. As: 1 she went on, saucily tossing her bead trying to kill me of it, just, I believe, to me for having kept you so long from m 1 “I understand all that now, Kia eaid : “ even that was all your noblei You would punish yourself. You kno« don’t you, dear, that punishment andi are not ours to deal with ? But there 1 calling.” In a moment, at that call, Kizzy bad I husband’s side, and a# she passed throi door with a light step her husband gaa her, and thought— 44 Worth all the si Worth all the nursing ! To have this heart at last, for ever and for ever with! TUB END.