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{Copyright.} A. GIRLING THOUSAND. By JEAN MIDDLEMASS, author of "Lady Muriel's Secret," "The Spider and the Fly," "Poisoned Arrows," "Wild Georgie," &c., &c. CHAPTER V. THE BANDITS. Mr. Stanhope had been very careful when his boys were still young to put their names down for 'one or two of the best London clubs. He was a man who fully believed in association and com- panionship having an immense deal to do with forming a young man's character. It was, therefore, quite without his advice, in fact, without hIS knowledge, that Ferdinand en- rolled his. name as one of the Bandita-a proprietary club having Its whereabouts in a quiet turning out of Pf\!1 Steady going. essentially correct. Henrv SUnhope, 'simh Pr 7 nCVer have known that there was a club had he not been blessed,or cursed, with who wasresolved not to saunter monotonously along the straight paths of life. Yet among the andits Ferdinand was generally to be found When he managed to get leave from Hounslow and slip up to town; very frequently on these occasions not even putting in an appearance in iiaton-square. The Randits. be it understood, were by no means Bohemian; though a few of the elite from that country had strayed among them, they were for the most part offshoots of the upper ten. He lounges in there one night in May looking so morose and taciturn that his greatest intimates Scarcely know him, for Ferdinand, as a rule, is a jocose and merry fellow, and does not allow the cares of life to sit very heavily upon him. Neither is he by any means of a secretive turn of mind. and usually tells his trouble, when the Chronic state of money difficulties in which he is invoked becomes a trouble, pretty freely to those whom he considers his friends. To-night, however. he is most reserved; neither •taunts nor chaff will draw t to What has pfino from him ono word as «7? .g 9 am,8a «ith him. IBlain, «he 'haq 'Um'" 8ayS the Hon* Can't mn °n Cauo''t the disease at last. Sr ^,he"in b«? «»of uu,'ying a fellow?" FerdtnT^f for once in your life, Blain," answered love than T .ne,ver fe,t more unlike being in that « u .°0at tlus moment. I'm out of temper, of Purely I have as much right to be out idiotJ*nper' 1 1 cll0ose» as any other infernal don't mind calling yourself an ernal idiot, we'll forgive you, cried Mr. Blain, ughing,« but you ought to know by this time, rerdinand, that jollity is one of the pass words nere, and that you should leave your ill temper in barracks, or at the Rag, or any other place where May like a little spleen. Come and forget how disagreeable she has been, mv dear boy, and have » gamble." ■*» the devil do you know about she ? What do you know about it, I should like to tnow ? Go and gamble yourself. I won't touch a beastly card to-night. ."Hullo, hullo, has she been trying to make you "give it up? We are beginning to discover at last where the shoe pinches. Don't marry a woman who starts by bullying you before marriage. My dear fellow, it is a mistake." I" Ferdinand looked at him in utter astonishment for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing. The persistency with which they imposed a love affair on him amused him. and as be had no inten- tion whatever of telling them what had in reality upset his equilibrium perhaps this excuse would do as weU as any other. Own to the Bandits that his mother had been lecturing him and had perhaps, if only for a time, made him regret that weakness of his which she said was dragging his family down into the mire—the very thought of such a > thing was out of the question. Take the Bandits as a body, notwithstanding the jollity and camaraderie which they pro- fessed, they could scarcely be designated a set of good fellows; and it was an evil hour in which Ferdinand Stanhope had consented to become a member of the club, since the companionship of the men he met there was calculated to consider- ably strengthen the vices already inherent in his Mature, while the society of noble honourable toen might have considerably improved his charac- for Ferdinand, notwithstanding his big im- posing appearance and grand blustering manners, the weakest of the Stanhopes, and a few persuasive words would always lead him where "Cither Geoffrey nor Irene would ever have been Induced to follow. Alas, that persuasion usually carries its greatest WMgMwhen its points to some down-hill pathway, lo-aay, however. it had been exercising itself for good, when it lud fallen in kindly, loving pleadings from the lips of the only hunoan being for whom Ferdinand professed as deep an affection A8 his naturally unloving nature was capable of. His one redeeming point was that he loved his Another, but he would, indeed, have been almost inhuman if he had been impervious to the con- sistent tenderness and gentleness with which Lady Fedora ever treated her children and their faults. Geoffrey's candid, straight forward character irri- tated Ferdinand; Irene's simple-hearted goodness he set down as childish; and his sister counted for Very little in his life Mr. Stanhope had been quite right when he had at last carried the burden of Ferdinand's short- comings and laid them at Lady Fedora's feet, for she alone had any influence over the young soldier. The only fear was, had Mr. Stanhope done so soon enough? Was not Ferdinand already so deeply plunged that it would take far more than a mother's good advice to enable him to scramble back to the altitude from which he had fallen ? Had Larly Fedora for a Q'loment dreamed of con. descending to consult Mrs. Purvis on the subject of her son Ferdinand's affairs, the housekeeper might, had she chosen to unloose her tongue, have not a little appalled the worthy parents of this most un- worthy scion. But the women, gentle and lowly. Who, in their several ways, were devoted to Fer- dinand, kept their own counsel. It is only in tnomentsof great pressure that a high-bred woman like Lady Fedora makes a confidante of one in her servant#, and had she elected to do so now it would probably have been Mrs. Knight she Would have chosen to sueak with. There was a kindliness and simplicity in the nature of Phvllis's mother which was much more in unison with Lady Fedora's footings than the coarser and more com- Dionplace attributes which Mrs. Purvis possessed. But with Ferdinand's affairs what had either of these women to do ? Lady Fedora would have Mkprl. Strange how little even the most carefully obser- vant mistresses know of the workings of life within their own establishment. Without a word, then, to anyone, strong in the "belief of what his mother's love would effect. Lady Fedora went through 8 somewhat trying inter- View with Ferdinand. The impression left on her mind at its conclusion was that she had decidedly Sained some ground, since she had made her un- happy hoy see the error of his ways. and surely no Stanhope, no lIIanly Stanhope, as was her Ferdi- nand, but would, when he saw the danger in which hi" actions were placing, not only himself, but ^ose he loved, at once lace itand Withstand every uj^ptation which would lure him within its r«Med radius what Ferdinand himself had said, and the !had \l^12ate' almost tender manner in which he think '1er' Lafi-V Fedora had every reason to ;<>nly prob%h?nversi"n' 80 't may be called, not ilighter ^ut certain, and it was with a far Ferdinand c|e en'ered Mr. Stanhope's study, as the square, thu^ 'e door and walked across feel again, so ùe Lady Fedora had expected ever to (hope's had she been by Mr. Stan- As Ferdinand ""atlff' (Purvis watched him acrORS the square Mrs. j What had ha|.pene^ an upper window. (looked so dejected and ca^ .8,le wondered he i»omethino veiy grave. Mon,?Wn that must be °nly thing that worried »n general, the (■not been up to see her for even'V! ^et had i'Was strange. seconds. It By which it might almost have hoo- • that. Mrs. Purvis was Ferdinand's "ttl. inferred -Hess." n °f busi- It was barely six o'clock when Ferdinand i»t. Js father's house, and nearly half-past ten „ 6red ",e obode of the Bandits. During tho ° S many an<i conflicting emotions had been Voi K8 an<l torturing him. For the first hour no w ce "Ut that of the gentle Lady Fedora had been heen',>OUn'' but ^dually its dulcet strains had the t[>verP"W(-red by rougher, louder notes, and by ^ine i j ,md tu,'ned into the Military Club to Whl6 ,be«un to hear only the talk of the hot be lere'to wonder why he should ?8 he hart h er "IK" were> (>n,y» perhaps, not so bad her of late. Ah) Cvdy Fedora, with all "bout Ferdinand, could scarcely dinner jn eP'h of that badness He ate his b h^ur°8e, mood without speaking to boating' eard talk going on around—turf, Bnd his morbj^ aV9, Ferdinand shook himself, Beemed to dje » 'ncreasing as his mother's voice tance, he asked .er Hr,d further into the dis- Bhould he asked t"mself what he was that he things to please a j;:1Ve up all these pleasant chatted so easily of '"an surely those men who IPecked and worried P'easures were not hen- "Come and Dlay a DJ Waa- had asked hi,n? at billi*rds, Stanhope," i0' ',e was hanged if lii-f of a Milliard table, and^u*011!^ » hated the hi,n to frenzy—he °hck of the balls !to £ £ ar,«rto ten! He Woufdnced at the clock— 'him ? uS eome congenial spiriF?i10 tbe Bandits *>nlv'Jie l,ad not Promised he w0u!rtFe would cheer cS Parn°Tised hi« mother he go there- Qe oi?1? eiv« up gambling d not touch a ? thin* £ whataf°ol he had been to t he not'inl^Hf'og to thinks Prom'sesuch °?6 Cw hil»-"elf more heavUy ^"n Hlld Roisters of cnn e turned saint and retired int8?^" he?d°finC0^on, would he not be 'jeer^thf theSequen,1y refuse" by. h!s chu'118, who would of flying fee.blm that temporary relief in i WnkinL^ c|inginir wiS T P°or perdinand | ,t1an ? ° fche usual tenacity of a were e 8ubJect of his evident annoy- ance was evidently the best course to pursue, but to meet the views of his companions and act in accordance with his promise to his mother was hy no means so easy since come and have a gamble" was the refrain of their conversation, while "I will never touch a card again was the promise he uttered more than once under the stronp pressure— as he was beginning to call it—which Lady Fedora had brought to bear on him. Again and again they asked him to join them as usual, but the staunchness which was the strong characteris- tic of most of the Stanhopes did n^t absolutely slumber even in this weak member, and he was re- solute—like most, feeble people, brutally resolute— that he would not touch a card that night—almost breaking down his resolve to he politic with his companions for help's sake, till Blain, who was, per- haps, as little vicious as any Bandit, there, sug- gested that, if Ferdinand would not play at least he might come and watch them, and put a little monny on for luck's sake. d To which change in the programme Ferdinand at once agreed; he had m*de no promise about looking on and betting. Good, inno.'ent La<iy Fedora, she knew naught of this side of the picture —playing at cards and having bad luck was her idea of gambling. Could she, about two hours later, have seen her Ferdinand, whom she fondly hoped was back at H.iunslow in bed and asleep, she would perchance have formed a new and by no means pleasing idea of how ruin may be effected by gambling without the touching of a single card. It was not of his mother that Ferdinand was thinking then—he had longsi nee forgotten her warn- ings; or if occasionally a sad glance from hersott eves would see in for a moment to dwell on his downward course, it only seemed to madden him and make him play the higher, since nothing but excitement would silence the remorse that any thought of Lady Fedora would awaken in the future. „ Unhappy, misguided Ferdinand! Fr_>m the moment he entered the haunt of the Bandits that night his ruin seemed inevitable, though, in ac- cordance with the usual caprice of clmnce, for the first half hour after the play began he had backed the hand of a man called Dantry, a half foreigner, and an adept in games of skill, especially ecarte, and had won close upon eighty pm>nds; then the tide had turned, or, perchance, D-tntrys brain was less clear, and by the time the neigh- bouring clocks had struck one, Ferdinand had lost two hundred and fifty pounds-"a mere nothing for a SUnhope," said some of the lookers-on. They little knew to what a heavy total this sum had to be added, or at what a low ebb were already the fortunes of the Stanhopes. Ferdinand, however, knew it well, and though he had been sipping alcohol all the evening, though no habitual drunkard, the announcement of the figure seemed at once to recall his wander- ing senses; and if he hAd looked jaded and out of spirits when he entered the club, it was with such a dejected mien that lie might have been on the very verge of suicide that he left it. The fresh night air to a degree, however, cooled his fevered brain, and instead of returning to Eaton-square, where he had a latch-key, to sleep, he wandered about the streets till morning, scarcely listing where he went or what occurred in fact, he was more th*n once in danger of being taken up by the police for a suspicious character. At last he reached the station, and sat down in the waiting-room till the first train to Hounslow should start. More than once he had thought of going to Eaton-square and having a talk with Mrs. Purvis. but he felt that he could not face his mother; he must communicate with Purvis in some other way besides, he did not wish his family to know that he had not returned to Hobnslow on the pre- ceding day. No Bandit would tell them of that he felt sure; their league was a secret one. Light, however, cannot usually be hid under a bushel, nor was Ferdinand's. A pair of observant eyes watched him at the station that morning, and though he did not see, and seeing would not have recognised, Tom Chil- ton, yet that acute individual thoroughly made up his mind that the big man, who looked as if he had been up any number of consecutive nights, was none other than Mr. Ferdinand Stanhope, whom he had not seen for more than two years. and who certainly had not ihaproved in appearance in the interval. CHAPTER VI. EYES INTO EYES. Money affairs are at such a low ebb with the Stanhopes, though the world knows it not that it is impossible for them to give a ball, as thev had always promised themselves to do, when Irene came out. In fact, it is only by borrowing at a heavy interest that Mr. Stanhope is able to struggle through the season without letting the house in Eaton-square. He has made this effort for Irene's sake, because he does not think it right that her brothers should have all the advantages, while she is deprived of that first plunge into life from which the brilliancy or dimness of most girls' fortunes date. One of the grandest fdtes of the year is then chosen for Irene's debut, which is to be m«t^e at the Russian Ambassador's ball in the last Week in May. Her presentation at Court is put off till the fol- lowing spring, since, owing to the hesitation *bout bringing her out at all, most of the drawing-rooms have been allowed to pass and, though not natu- rally mercenary people, it is devoutly hoped by both her parents that when she is presented it will be as a bride. Mr. Stanhope, now that he has begun to talfe on business matters with his wife, impresses it °11 her very strongly that Irene must marry that season since it will be quite impossible for him to „;Ve her another chance. Sweet, innocent Irene, dressed in virginal wh;tP i She trips down the staircase to receive a Cek bouquet Mr Stanhope has ordered for her fj.^ Covent Garden expressly for this ball, and which he is holding there ready to give her. 4," looks up in his face with her soft eyes, and kigses him. While pressing to his heart the victim he has decided to make her, she says: I. Wish me lots of enjoyment and a happy even- ing, papa." I do, my child, I do," he answers with a gort of wince, as if the edges of a presentiment are cutting him, and then -lie passes on into his stUdy and closes the door. Recent troubles had rendered Mr. Stanhope far too low-spirited to think of accompanying his wife and daughter to this ball. They arrived there when the festivity was at its height. Lady Fedora had no idea that the debut from which she ex- pected so much should be made in half-emply rooms. If Irene was to produce any effect at "II it should be on a crowd nor was Lady Fedora dis- appointed. Innocence and beauty have ne\7er yet failed to make their mark, and niaoy were the whispers of "Who is the débutante 7 How lovely she is!" That reached Lady Fedora's ears, nor could Irene fail to notiPW the buzz of admiration that followed her steps and, instead of making her shy, as Lady Fedoifl' had half feared it would, it seemed to raise her spirits and her self-esteem. Never did Lady Fedor* remember to have seen her child look so spar lj. linglyand bewilderingly beautiful as she did that night. She was a true Stanhope; and, rising at once to the exigency of the occasion, she arranged her dances and parried her partners' compliments avS if she were accustomed to the whole programme. And among the bevy of men who flocked about Irene, solicitous for her hand in the dance, Was there one, Lady Fedora wondered—while she looked from one to the other of them—who was a. sufficiently good parti to claim that little hand for life ? There was the Honourable Julius Blain, with a prospective coronet; the Earl of Monkfieln with a newly-acquired title; Mr. Rudge Jeston, with enough bioad acres to counterbalance the absence of blue blood, and considered by most mothers the parti of the year. Oh, they were a goodly assemblage, and they basked in Irene's smiles and pretty taking ways, till the sight of her daughter's triumph made ¡¡-on!} loving Lady Fedora's heart flutter, and so engrosser was she in watchingthe scone that was being played out close to her that she failed to look beyond the compliments of those butterfly adorers, or to allow her ejes to wander even for one brief moment, to the face of a tall, dark man. who. standing with his back against the wall, never removed his gaze from Irene; he had not asked to be presented to her; he made no sign of admiration, save thatrivetted, silent gaze; and the dark, deep-set eyes that watched her bore so mournful an ex- pression that it seemed almost as if he regarded her as a memory rather than the embodiment of a sweet vision of to-day. He was not a very young man; there was room in his life for. memories. The once black hair about his temples was sprinkled with grey, and round about the deep-set eyes the hand of Time had set its stamp yet, for all this, not only in the past, but now, Prince Sergius Lenskoff was reckoned one of the handsomest men of his day, and to find favour in his eyes was a boon for which many a fashionable beauty in more capitals than that of England craved. He had known Henry Stanhope well in years gone by, when the Englishman was an attach^ at the Russian Court, and Prince Sergius, some ten years younger, was making his first plunge into the vortex, and was enjoying to the full the many pleasures St. Petersburg can offer. They had met but seldom since those joyous, careless davs of their youth—their paths had been along different roads that intimacy had been im- possible— once or twice only at a cheery teie-a-tcte som^c"1 l>aris« during which they talked over rhp hp ">e 0ScaPades in which they had played fven Now, for some years, they had not Prince nor Henry Stanhope know that lnTh««!'e,US WHS in London. widower tho wor,,J Prince Sergius was a np 0f thosn f 2wer witl' an enormous fortune, s;i«.n^ixioru'n" which only few nobles In Yet no mother would have regarded Prince Sergius as &partt, or imagined the chance of his marrying a lair young beauty as otherwise than most remote and already had he been marked dangerous. With the facility the Russians have for languages he spoke English perfectly, and French like a native; his manners, when he chose, were as courteous and urbane as Henry Stanhope's own, but there were times when no man better under- stood how to play the churl. It seemed to those more or less acquainted with him that he w*s decidedly in a churlish mood at the Ambassador's ball, for he never left his place by the wall nor addressed a word to anyone, and as he was not the sort of man from whom people courted a gratuit- ous snub, no one ventured to address him. He had thus perfect opportunity to feast his eyes on Irene's beauty, and watch her graceful form gliding through the figures of the mazy dance, muttering to himself every now and again with bated breath— "Henry Stanhope's daughter; so she is Henry Stanhope's daughter." Once, and once only, he bestowed a glance on Lady Fedora, but speedily returned it to Irene. Henry Stanhope's wife had evidently not awakened I the same interest in his heart as had his child. And yet, after a long, long while passed in gazing I and thinking, he sought the Ambassadress, and begged her to present him to Lady Fedora Stan- hope, the wife of his old friend. One less practised in savoir faire would have ignored the mother and have sought an introduc- tion to the girl, but Prince Sergius was a stickler for etiquette, and he knew, moreover, that people for etiquette, and he knew, moreover, that people like the Stanhopes were unapproachable except with due for, Ladv Feodora was delighted to make Prince Ser- gius' aVquaintance. She had heard milch of him from her husband, who would be pieced to meet her old friend again. In fact. Lady Fedora's gene- rally calm, rep..s. ful manner being tiiken into con- sideration, she became quite gushing in her recep- tion of Prince Sergius, who was not altogether quite as sure a". Lady Fedora was that Henry Stanhope would b8 so very glad to see him. When Irene returned from a visit she had been paying, with one of her partners, to the supper- room, this distinguished-looking foreigner was at once presented to her. She looked at him a little curiously with those clear, candid eves of hers, simply because he was her father's friend. She had not noticed him lean- ing against the wall—not she! She would never forget him, however, now that they had met ffi.es to face, and looked into each other's eyes. What she read in his made her speedilv cast hers down to the ground, and become crimson to the very roots of her hair. It. was .)s.if a sudden revelation had filled her whole soul. What was it? She knew something of love since she had of late been assisting in the somewhat clandestine love nffa'rs of Geoffrey and Phyllis, but, their love wa^ not at all like this, and Irene turned away from Prince Sergius with a little, rapid gesture, that seemed to imply, "I wish I had never seen vou." Lady Fedora thought her rude, and was about either to expostulate or i-xcnse; but the Prince stopped her; he could read Irene's feelings as though thev were written on an open book. He had read many a young, unclo-ed heart before. Mis-! S'anhope will make illowancea," lie said; "I am only a fierce, ugly Russian—no longer voung. But I am her father's old friend." A smile came back to Irene's face at his words. "Fierce and ugly," she repeated. you do not pay yourself high compliments. Prince." He shrugged his shoulders. I love the truth," he repeated, "and while the truth tells me how beautiful you are, it is equally candid in making my own inferiority most appa- rent. Beautv and tho Beast, eh jI It is a fairy story that has been translated into every lan- guage." "You must not flatter Irene, she is too young this is only her first ball to-night," said L'tdy Fedora, protesting, though her heart meanwhile was overflowing wi'h delight. "She has yet to learn how many of the compliments men offer are mere words. "She has yet to learn) hat: I never say what I do not mean," answered the Prince gravely and a little stiffy. It did not exactly please his princeship that he should be classed as "men," and unless Lady Fedora wished to put him down a little, she was, perhaps, just 1\ trifle wanting in her usual tact.. I never dance," he said, offering his arm to Irene; "but if mademoiselle will condescend to walk with me round thpse rooms whieh our Am- bassadress has converted into a perfect bower of beauty, she will, I hope, learn to understand me better." Irene could not refuse; but if she had been gay and at home all the earlier part of the evening, she was shy enough now, as, just touching the Prince's arm with the tips of her little gloved hand, she set off to make the grand tour. Miss Stanhope and Prince Sergius Lenskoff were the observed of all observers. Even Geoffrey, who had arrived late at this ball from some other party, paused to take breath when he passed his sister on the arm of this important-looking Russian. And wherefore? To the set to which the Stan- hopes belonged to meet a foreign prince was an incident of almost daily occurrence. It was the strange attributes, the celebrity that this particu- lar Prince Sergius possessed, which made every- one surprised that he should have singled out Irene for his especial favour. Geoffrey scarcely Ii k"rJ that it should be so—he knew nothing personal.j of Prince Sergius, but he had overheard several remarks made by ac- quaintances who had not noticed that he was near them. He struggled through the crowd, only bowing to several girls with whom he usually danced, each of whom hoped one day to be the mistress of Warleigh Hall, and eventually he reached the place where Lady Fedora was sitting. What is this, mother; why is Irene walking about with that man ?" he blurted out with more honesty than courtesy. Hush, my dear Geof. I don't understand what you mean. He is Prince Sergius Lenskoff, one of your father's oldest friends." My father's friend I There must be some mis- take. I never heard my father tpeak of him." Before you were born—before he was married your father and Prince Sergius were much together in St. Petersburg." Ah My father has settled down into a family man since then, while Prince Sergius—" "Is a widower and admires Irene," whispered his mother. «• Don't, Geoffrey, don't be tiresome— do let things drift-but. this is no place for conver- sation go and dance, my dear boy, and leave me to take care of your sister." Geoffrey did as she hade him, that is, he went away, but there was a troubled look on his brow, and the idea that the names of Prince Sergius and that of his fair young sister could be coupled even during the fleeting hours of a midsummer fStegave him deep displeasure. Meanwhile Prince Sergius and Irene sat among the roses on a balcony, converted into a bower, as it seemed, especially for them, since no one came to dispute its possession with t.hem. And there they talked the gay momenta away, or rather Prinze Sergius talked, and Irene listened or only answered in monosyllables. A new vista was being opened for her, and, almost staggering with emotion, she felt as if she were standing on the confines of an undiscovered country. And after all what was he «aying? No- thing that put down on paper would not, seem worthless and puerile, hut no man knew better than Prince Sergius how to accompany words of no seeming importance with such glances and such a manner as set his listener all aflame. Irene did not then ask herself whether the feel- ing Prince Sergius was arousing was love or hate she only knew that a strange transformation was changing her whole nature, and that never again in this world would she be the same Irene titan- hope who had started forth that evening to the dllnce, clad in a. sweet simplicity, as unspotted as the dress of virginal white that marked her debut- Wise-looking Lady Fedora never guessed what a new light that h" I f-hnu r's conversation with Prince Sergius would cast on the girl's life. How could she? She had never had the good or evil fortune to meet a man of the type of Prince Sergius Len- skoff. But when at last Irene returned to her motherly chaperonage, she saw at once that she was deeply impressed, and it was with joy the good mother noticed it.. If. as she hoped, Irene had won Prince Sergius and his immense wealth, what, a relief it would be be to hei father's mind—how he would bless the decision that one more dTnrt should be made to give Irene the chance of this season. The boys, too, what an advantage to them to have Prince Sergius for a brother-in-law. All this being considered, Lady Fedora rose to depart. Come, Irene, you must not stay too late the roses on your cheeks are already beginning to fade." Good, prudent mother; she had no intention of out-staying her triumph, so she fussed off to go downstairs, feeling quite a flutter at her own heart whpn Prince Sergius offered her his arm, Irene followed in the wake alone, none of her now ex- admirers offering to escort her; it seemed as if by common consent they would not interfere with Prince Sergius. Could they have read the girl's future as it was already mapped nut, even while she fo!\nwed her mother to the carriage, they would have pitied her. Was not some portion of it" perhaps, revealed in her already saddened, grave face? The merry-hearted child had set forth joyously to the u id that night; the woman, with a thousand emotions throbbing and contending for place in her heart, drove silently home from it. (To be continued.)

(All Rights Reserved.) LAZARUS IN LONDON. By F. W. ROBINSON, Author of "Grandmother's Money" "Owpn, a Waif"; Mattie, a Stray The Black Speck"; No Church," &c. BOOK TIlE NIIST.—CONTINUED. THE SHOP IN SOHO. CHAPTER XXIX. RttCOMMKVDKD A CHANGE. So the romance died out between Hugh Mack- ness and my sister Ella, and existence without it seemed very common-place, and sordid and mono- tonous, at least. I think it did, for the book of our life in Soho was n"t a hot-pressed, gilt-edged Volume of pleasant, facts and fancies. Fact was a hard and unmalleable quality hero, and there was no fancy in Fisher-street,—only sharp competition, find the cruel winter coming when bread would be dear, and coals would rise in price, and the haber- dashery trade be dreadfully slack. Without our sUrplice Work, which was tolerably regular, we three girls iriglit have starved with it, there was a struggle and much pinching to make both ends meet, and withal—and thanks to Lydia's quiet tact—a fair front to present to our friends, and no one guessing th"t we were at times hard driven. Looking nt it philosophically, perhaps it was as well that there were times when we had to face our difficulties together-well for Ella there was not too much opportunity for brooding over the wrongs, the way she had been served," the loss of the lover who had exchanged Ella for the heiress. Tite's Academy did not see us that season there were no shillings to spare, and neither had Ella. nor I any inclination to go. "They will ask me where my Mr. Barton is," said EHa they will question me all round, and I could not face them," she added, with a shudder, if I could afford the money. You don't care to go, I know." u How do you know ? That. Ben talked you out of it long ago." Perhaps that Ben' was right, after all," I replied. And it was not exactly the place for us, she added, nor the men exact ly i he tit and proper persons to meet. Well, he was right. I daresay I should have been the better woman—more con- tented with that station to which it has pleased iod to call me." she said mockingly, "if 1 had never gone there—never seen Am." Ella did not evade the one subject which had ulteied lid life and stripped the tinsel from it. She would speak of Hugh Mackness defiantly as it, were, to prove that it gave her no pain to aliude to the old love and to the past life. She was a strong little woman with It all, and if herspirits werê not so high as they used to be in the old dancing days, she did not fret over her disappointment. She faced her position bravely, or was a better actress than I tl lugltt she would be. Now and then in the night a deep sigh would quiver through the room— when she thought I was asleep, and not likely to be listening—and it touched my heart to hear it. and set me more surely against the man who had cast this shadow on her. But it was only in chance moments like these that I thought she had not lived him down. Still the times were early, and never having thoroughtygot my strength back I waf more ner- vous than 1 should have been under other circum- stances. I had not become settled, the shock ot the two early days in November was still with me; I seemed to be waiting for something, and in dread of something. I had not forgotten the murder of Richard Mackness, as all tht) world had seemed to have forgotten it, ere the Christmas was upon us it was before me in my waking hours.it haunted my dreams wherein my father and Isaac Garboush were two spectral figures flitting to and fro, down dusky corridors and through doors, on the glass of which was written COUNTING HOUSE, and inro that counting house where the deed was done. The end of it would come in time, I thought—and the curtain was not down for good. The horror of it all, and the fear of what might come in its own miserable time, perhaps, helped to keep m6 grave and weak. 1 was waiting for the unexpected— which always comes, they say! And whilst 1 waited, there were those who watched me anxiously as if I were a subject of perplexity to them, as though I were a delicate girl whose health it was necessary to study, aa though I had not been a healthy and strong young woman always. Of course Ben Wellmore put himself out on my account, and made himself excessively trouble- some and inquisitive, pretending all the while to ignore Ihe f/tct of being so, and inventing the most ridiculous stories to account for his interest. I have reason to believe that he postponed his journey to America for some weeks in conse- quence; he was not going in such cold weal h,-r and with the wind blowing tiko that, he said, oh, no—and then he had promised his mother not to start till it was a tine day, he told me, very gravely. At this I Raid plainly that he must tak- me "forafoo) to talk like that," when he an swered, sharply too— Well, I'm not going till you're looking better, and that's the long and the short of it I Oh, really « YAs-oh; really!" he repeated. Are they waiting for you over there all this while ? I asked. Are who waiting?" he inquired. u Somebody's waiting for you in Amfirica—-some- body's sent for you, I suppose?" I replied. "Lord bless you, no," he laughed out. Nobody is anxious about my coming, or wondering what keeps me away. Nobody expects me—I shan't be even interviewed. What are you going for? I inquired. "I'm going to settle down there I cannot account for a sinking sensation that came on just then but I felt very much like an eight-day clock whose pendulum had suddenly slipped down about a quarter of a yard. I had had no breakfast that morning I remembered, and rfobody had been able to persuade ma to eat any- thing, and Lydia and Klla had harassed me so much with slices of dry toast and—ugh !—half a bloater, that! could have made faces at them— hence, I was naturally a little faint. But lest he should think I was likely to be faint about him or his projects I said quite briskly— "There are more chances in the New World than in the Old. I think you are wise." Yea, I think I am," he replied, complacently. I am going to try my luck, at all events." I hope you will succeed." Thankee," he replied, I hope I shall." Ho did not seem pleased to receive my congratu- lations; on the contrary, a deep wrinkle cut into and across his forehead as he looked at me. He was standing at the parlour door, and I was sitting in the easy chair by tho fire, too tired—very un- pleasantly too tired—to work that morning. though I had a. surplice in my lap for appearance sake, and was making believe a hit. Ella was in the shop, and Lydia had gone marketing in Little Earl-street with an eye to dinner. Hen would have wasted all the morning if I had let him. Nothing pleased him more just at that time than to block up the whole doorway, and waste his time talking to me, unt,ill told him he had b f ter go to his work, and that 1 was sorry to see he A'as getting lazy in his old age. Then he would, as a rule, take his departure upstairs. To-day he was so extra talkative that I said at last— Haven't you any work to do to-day ?" "Can't say I have," he replied, "else 1 shouldn't be standing here," which was a direct story. "Is trade bad with you?" I inquired. "Well," he answered, hesitatingly, I don't like taking any long jobs, ns I may start off at any moment When the weather clears up," 1 broke in. Yes—exactly so." he replied, and small johs are not always to be had for the asking. You Mf electricity is like a little bahy at present, and wants nursing and pampering and trying on all kinds of experiments to see what agiees with it best. And it sucks up more ready cash in experi- ments than I care to disperse just now, with my passage-money and my outfit on my ulÍod:) Yes," I said. Do you. likH America P,¡ I don't know. I've never thought about it ?" Haven't you, though ?" Hut I wouldn't leave my own native land for all the world," I said. What I Not leave this beastly neighbourhood!" he exclaimed. Beastly or not, it's my home isn't it ? You have no right "No, I haven't," he said very rapidly, "and I don't mean beastly, of course, It's a very nice place—I like it luyself-I live in it-I wouldn't live any where else in Kngl-nd, but. you ought to be able to do better, you three girfs—to get into a bigger business, or a different bU<lllletls, 01 some- thing-the place doesn't a^ree with you, that's what I mean." Yes, it does." "Ah You don't know anything about that just now. You want a sea voyage,' or a change of that sort to bring you round, Miss Maud—to make you like yourself again -old Edmistoun says 80-1 have been talking to him—had a lot of talk » Pity you had not something better to talk about. I am sure, Mr. Weilmore," 1 said with dignity. "Hewasstandmg at his door," Ben explained, "and I thought I'd ask him—I mean, I thought I'd tell him that you weren't getting on quite as wet! as might have been expected, after a 11 the half-crowns he had pocketed—and he said you wanted a change of air. That was all." Oh, that was all," I said, ironically. Wanted bracing. And if there's a bracing place in all the world it's Woking wav—where my old mother lives—wonderfully bracing. And Miss Lydia says she'd be glad if you'd go, and so does Ella. Don't you ? he said, turning to my sister. Yes, 1 do," answered Eila, very positively. Oh I you've all been talking of this?" "Yes." "When?" "When you went upstairs early last night," Ben confessed. I happened just to mention ii-and 1 wrote to mother about it too. She'd be very glad to have you, I'm sure. She's an amiable old lady, and fond of society—young people's society—and I want her to see you, and all that, you know. And of course you'll hear from her, and 1 hope you'll go-I do really hope you'll go, Miss Maud, for a week or so. Pray do." I'm not asked yet." "But And I could not go, if I were asked. I wouldn't think of it." There, don't go making up your mind before you have had a minut.e to consider it," he cried, warmly; that's like you, alwuy-n in such a hurry to say this and that., without thinking the matter over seriously. You will go, I hope—you won't disappoint the old lady—she's tha dearest old woman in the world, upon my soul, she is! and you'd like Woking. It's a jolly place. Tuere's a cemetery, and a prison, and a madhouse or two, but they all keep themselves very nice and quiet, and no one is obliged to run after thein, of course." What are you saying. Hen ?" I said. And the walks and drives are downright pretty, you know, and then there's the roltll to Guildford, and the Hermitage Wood. and the Silent Pool, and the common, and a breeze strong enough to blow your head off. Do think it over," he added with strange earnestness, 1 want you to get well so bad It Then he walked out of the shop into Fisher- street, afraid of hearing me say again that 1 had made up my mind mt to go. And perhaps I haa then, being a little surprised at this conspiracy against me, or for me—this secret attempt to get me out of Soho into the house of a stranger whom I had not seen in my life, into the fresh air and green fields lying beyond the mighty London where my life was cast, and was shrivelling up a little. It was all a surprise; but I thought it over— talked it over presently with Ella and Lydia, both persistent, both veiy pressing that 1 should accept an invitation which had not yet arrived, both so certain it would do me a great deal of good, and make them so happy when 1 came home to them again all the stronger, better, brighter for my visit. Ella was more persevering in her entreaties than even Lydia, she who I knew never agreed with her half-sister long. "You two would fet quarrelling," I said to her in my room that night, and I should not be at home to play peacemaker." :-ohe shaH have it all her own way till you come back again. "Honour?" Honour bright," said Ella. "But Ben's mother! What do I know of Ben's mother!" "She's a good soul," answered Ella. "I only wonder she has not asked some of us before. And the fowl", and eggs, and butter she has teen FlAnd- ing us for the last three months like a warm- hearted old creature that she is." "Yes." I said, she must be very kind." And well off, too, in her little way, I daresay." I daresay she is." Weil, go then." I have often thought I should like to see Ben's mother," I said. but to billet one'. self upon her —at her expUlse-is quite another tiling.* M We might arrange about the expense, or make some return presently," said Ella. What return?" Well, I don't know exactly. Ask her back to Fisher-street after Ben has gone to America, and take her to the British Museum," said Ella. I laughed, but did not say again very positively that I would not go. I would wait and see what kind of invitation it was like, whether it was very hearty mid its writer wanted me to come, or had been pressed by her big son to ask me to come. I should know by the style of the epistle. Wonder- ful foreknowledge of most of us is to know when we are wanted Wonderful mess that writer makes of it too—clever as he thinks himself!—when he asks any poor soul out of compliment. And two letteis—both country lettera-ca.me to int by the morrow's first post. Here they are without comment— From Mrs. Wellmore, Woodbine Cottage, Woking. Nov. 11th,—13—, MY DEAB "4.UD PROTHBROB, My SOli tells me you are ailing and weak; pray come to my quiet little cottage and get well. I should so like 10 see you. 1 shall lit! very if you will come, and if an old WOIIIHD'S ways will not trouble you too much. 1 6.ltvect you. Your friend, REBECCA. WKIXMORK. From William Protheroe, Bath Hotel, Bournemouth. N0v,11t.h,-18- My DEARKST CHILD, Lyilia writes 1.0 me that she thinks it is my imperative "uty to a;-k you to spend a few days here, and that the Seli air woul he hi^h'y htlllelicial in your present state of lieah h. f have IH, reason to be reminded of my duty -imperallve tlrtll.h"rwlse-uy olle who ls ollly allied to 10" uy m.miage, and who should not be tilt? first to assert any claim upon lIIe wblch she does not legally possess. 1 hav" & right to be treated with courtesy and respect—as 1 have always treated her, as 1 treated her mother till the last moment of her decease, as Lydia knows, U you all kllow. I am very sorry you have been Indisposed, alld 1 am only grieved thAt my mealls do not allow of my offering anyone even my favourite child-a boll- day at my expanse at present. I wish tiley iJid. 1 have not cum" illto illY legacy; I have only had a paliry fifty pounds on IlCCOUllt, I have 110 ready money, or scarcely all." ready money, now, and am here on sufferance till It pleases lhe 6XtlCul",rs to tile estate to adviince me the amount to which I am legally entitled, I call110L get. aw",) from this place, which is lowering to the system unless olle is weak at the chest, which let. us all thank Q- is not the case with me and 1 think 'he delay ill 1Ilakill¡( another advance—1 do not want it JkXL alld cruel. I am recommended Briehton by a piiyjlcian whom [ have consulted here. Tell Mr. Mllek "e5S whell you see him tlHtt this place does not agree wilh me. The chemists' shops are numerous, and delJresslllg to II. sensitive nature like my own, and peuple wil,1t hhlck things ovel. their mouths give me Ii tendency tu qualmishness. Nevertheless I alII think- • u^ of yon very much. Whan I am at Brighton, and when I really fe-l as if I were my own master and there is & little spare cash to disburse, you will be the first I shall eonsi ier—the first whom I shall call upon to come and allure the fresh air with me. I suffer from dreadful headaehes you will be sorry to hear, and the visitore at the hotel 1 c>tllnot uear, Tney are 1J0t of my c(lI.ssln RnV way-they are terribly mixed. Please post me early copies of the Mouey Market Review, The Hullionist, and the. Mincmg Lane Machine by Friday's cnuiury mail, and I willsettle with you for the whole amount immediately I return t,.> town. Those papers are notin demand here, people thillklllg of lJothillg but their coughs. Mean- while with love to you all. Believe Ole, Your a.ffect.ionate father, WlIAIAM PBOXHKKOZ. CHAPTER XXX: PERPLEXKD. I answered one of my letters the following day, nnd the second letter I took 24 hours to consider before committing myself to the responsibility of II. rcply. To my father I, first, gave the informa- tion that 1 had not seen Mr. Hugh Mackness for some time, and was not likely to see him again. Secondly, that I had received an invitation into the country from Mrs. Wellmore, of Woking. And, thirdly, that after a conference with Lydia, it had been found too great a strain upon our present resources to send him the three papers weekly which he required, and which Lydia thought had better be ordered by Mr. Protheroe of a local book- seller. We were always so very much pressed towards Christmas time, and the business in Fisher-street that year was not, prospering, indeed was abso- lutely going down hill with the hard times which had come to many of its inhabitants; and Lydia point-blank refused to send the newspapers, Klla had objected to this, "as if a shilling or so a week were going to ruin us," she said. It might," said Lvclia so gravely that I feared she was keeping something back—some bad news of the tllkillgS," or of the tuxes, or of a trouble in saving up week by week for the rent, which the ugent would call for-like a fhish of lighl,ning-on the very dav iI, was due, like a hard-hearted mon- ster as he WIlS, for all his smiles and smirks. "Is—is anything wrong?" I asked, nervously, of Lydia. No. no, Maud," Lydia hastened to say; "but we must be careful for a time, with the trade going away from us; and there are three of us to keep, and we must have some new stock for Christmas we«k. And father can buy his own newspapers surely ?" I am not doing my share of work," I said, and yet you want ma to go into the country." ,1 For a week or two very much indeed," said Lydia. There will be one less to feed," was my rueful answer. There will be one of us, at least, to get well and Strong," said Lydia. One of us cried Ella; what do you mean V" Is not Maud one of us ?" asked Lydia, sharply, and wp did not put any more questions to her, although in doubt as to her meaning. The following day, having well considered my next step, I accepted the invitation of Mrs. Well- more, much to everybody's delight, especially that of Ken, who I am almost sure danced in his ro £ »i thai evenins;, he shook the house so violently. And et he was not coming, too—that was an under- stood thing between us. I had told him very gmvely liefore giving him my letter to his mother to post,, I was not, gOing toO be harassed by his lookinu in, and running down at all times and seasons," and he said with alacrity, "Certainly not. You and the old lady will be all to your- selves. It is not likely you want me to bother you." Of course not." I'll just show you the way down though, and introduce you to the old lady, and make matters a little squnre at Woodbine Cottage." Hut » An<1 t'n coine back by the last train, upon my word I will," he added, not allowing me to finish my sentence;" you can't travel by yourself all that way." It's only half-an-houfs railway journey." And you won't travel by yourself," he added, with rather more firmness than he was in the habit of exhibiting to me. Very well," I said. I was rather glad he was going. It would re- lieve me from the embarrassment of meeting a perfect stranger such as Mrs. Wellmore was, after all, and he could show me the way to his mother's cottage and make himself generally useful. And two or three days afterwards—and a very dull, fogtry day it wlIs-l bade Lydia and Ella good bye, and being still weak and childish in my way, •shed a few tears at parting with them,as though I were going away for a long time. They kept bright faces for me, although I could read a little story behind Klla's fatewellsmile. Come back well and strong," cried Ella, just as you were before—before lather got rich, she added drily. I Take care of her, Mr. Wellmore," were the last word" I heard Lydia MV. Trust me for that," said Ben. Then we went, down Fisher-street together, and Mrs. Rond rushed to the door to look after us, as in duty bound. "fjoing into the country, I hear," she said, and Mr. Wellmore, too Not on your honeymoon, is it?" "Oh! no—nothing of the sort," I answered. "She's going to my mother's," explained Ben, shortly, t/ien we were out of Mrs. Bond's range. Hut we were not free from all inquiries—from people who asked embarrassing questions and communicated bad news. Sal Garboush loomed out of the fog, and was I upon us before we were aware. She stood block- ing up the pavement, a tall, gaunt woman, who seemed to have got thinner since I had seen her a few days ago followed by a small army of boys and girls who were making fun of her style of progression, which had been a trifle vacillating, and which she had cut short every twenty yards to stop and harangue her tormentors, ana call them terribly had names. She was sober enough this morning, and, in lieu of a bonnet, had drawn her check shawl over her head and ears, and was c'utchinj it under her square double chin. There was an odd, ar.ive look on her broad face, and she did not break into smiles like a clown, as she generally did upon meeting anybody from home. I here was a seriousness about her which was almost refreshing at first sight. H"llo," sue said in a deep bass, "you and him together. 1 hat's sumfink like. And how are you both ?" We are pretty well, thank you, Sal," answered Hen;" whitt's the matter with you this morning?" The old chap's done it at last, shot if he ain't," said Sal. Done it ( What has he done ? He's gone and caught the bloomin' roomatics awful—and can't set up this morning," said Miss Garboush he s like a hubby—won't move—won't do anything to shake hisatilt together." J'm very sorry," I said, he was all right last night." That's the wust of him—he takes you sudden like, and puts all your day's 'rangements out." Have you had the doctor? "TIle parish cove looked in fer arf a minit—jest put his silly head round the door, and for two pins .<1 shut it in," said Sal," and wot, do yer think he says ? I hope not bad news." He says he mussen't be moved,and he shouldn't wonder if he don't go off." Go off Hook it altogether. That's a pooty nice mess, ain't iI P" Wnat are vou doing for him?" '«sked Ben. •• Wot clln fdo?" said Sal helplessly-. Eh ?'' said Ben, not hard up again ?" Not a penny, Mr. Wellmore, not a penny, Miss Mud-and that's tho blessed truth. I daresay that's Elumlink to do with his complaint, for he didn't get anythink to eat yesterday." Nor you ?" "Oh! "10 used to it—It don't matter to me," said Sal, I can stand a heap." Why didn't he tell us last flight P" I asked. "Oh! catch him saying a word to you lot t That't hisrubbitching pride—perhaps hers right," she added, but you might have had a bone or two," "Sally," said Ben, after fumbling in his pocket, u here's an odd shilling—get- the old man some- thing, and tell him I'll come round iateto-aight and see how he is." "Yerwilljl" Yes." I know if yer says yer will, Ver will," remarked Satty then yer ain't goin' to be married, you two, this morning'?" And Sal gave one of her broadest grins at the suggestion. Not this morning. Sal," said Ben;44 too foggy." 1 did not like this light way of treating the posi- tion, and might have said sometMbg severe to one or another of them, u 6 .1 had not ioiestalled me by a laugh which roused the whole street, and brought Mr. Perkins, the young man in the same line of business as ourselves-the" alarming sacri- fice opposition monster—to his shop door to see what was the matter over the way. Wouldn't be able to see which was which," said Sal. Ah, well, have the sun on the kepple o'! ya, when you two git spliced. It's wot should be, and I'll lose a day's work but wot I'll see the weddin'; and I'll have a drink that night if I never had one afore. Yer see—yer ony wait an' |see! "I believe, Sally, you've been drinking already, or you'd never go on like this," I said, half re-1 proachfullv, half indignantly. I ain't, on my soul and body, not a dram,' said Sally, with gravity; not the ghost o' a chance— no sich luck. Is this all to the old cove's account, Mr. Wellmore?" she added, looking closely at the shilling in her hand. Yea, every penny of it. Don't forget." He's to have a loat from the perish when I go round for it" yer know ? He won't want no more bread." That is all for the old man," said Ben, with emphasis. Werry well—who's a goin' to sneak it? On'y I'm a bit upset, and wants keepin' together with a drop of sumfink." Get some coffee." Sal tossed up her head and said, with withering contempt— "Muckery!" We were thinking of proceeding on our way, but as we made a step forward so did Miss Garboush. She had evidently not done with us. Ben glanced at me askance and smiled, and Sally Garboush, very watchful as it proved, said very quickly, and almost resentfully— What are yer larfin' at ? I was not laughing," responded Ben, politely I was about to tell Miss Protheroe we should be late for the train if we did not step out a little faster. Good day; look to the old father, Sal— don't forget him." I'll put the sHutters up to-night for yer, Miss Mud." "Thank you, Sallv." And yer won't forgit to see the old cove when yer comes back to-night?"she said again, with a steady stare in her great dark eyes at my com- panion. No. I have said I won't forget." I'm a thinkin' said Sal, biting her finger nails as if in some perplexity, that I'd go and see him now if I was you." Now ? repeated Ben. "He's in a queer way, yer know. He mayn't live till yer get back if the fog gets on his chist and he begins to bark. Lor, how he does go it then! And," added Sal, "he wants to see yer werry bad, t'm sure. Why didn't you say so before?" asked Ben. "I thought the night 'd do; but there, if yer'll go now, I'd be glad." Have you been waiting in Fisher-street to tell me this ? asked Ben, curiously. WeIl-yes-I 'ave," confessed Miss Garboush. Ben stemed to consider this communication with grave attention—not to regard it carelessly, or as the passing fancy of an eccentric woman. His manner certainly surprised me; there came a sud- den shadow to his face, or I readfacea badly. Maud," he said, I should like to see old Isaac for a minute, if you don't mind very much. The court is only a few steps back. and he may want to say something. He may be going to die," he added, in a lower voice, as though fearful of dis- tressing the feelings of the daughter who, after all, had said the same thing. I will go with you," I said quickly, "I should like to see him too." « No—the place is not fit for you," he replied. I know what it is like. 1 have been amongst them with Lydia before now when anyone has been very ill." Yes, yes; but you were strong then; and this may be something catching." Rheumatics! And he may have something to say to me alone. If you will walk quietly down the street it will be better." I'll see to her," Sal said, to my dismay, till yer come back ag'in. We'll go on slow down 'ere, and wait opposite the Regent—if yer don't mind, Miss Mud—if I'm 'spectable enough for yer, now yer've got a new dress on," she added, with a little envy of my new merino. "The evening will do, I daresay, Maud," said Ben, irresolutely, and reading my objections pretty correctly, unless—unless—there is any particular reason that he has for seeing me." Is that likely ?'' Ben hesitated, then he said frankly— "Yes. It is very possible." Pray, see him then I said. There is no hurry for this particular train. I will go back home and wait for you." "No. There is another train in half an hour. Don't, go back. Walk slowly on, Maud—please/' Very well." I was a trifle bewildered, but the impression was deepening upon me that it was better he should go, and go alone-that it was necessary even. Some of myoId fears seemed to rise before me, even from the mist about lie streets, and there was a vague suspicion on my mind that I was connected with this new departure from the even tenour of my way. Ben turned back, and at once strode away very quickly, and I went towards the end of Fisher- street—with the tall woman by my side as guide, philosopher, friend, protector, or whatever I might like to consider her. The fog seemed to deepen suddenly in Fisher-street, and the men and women flitting by to become shadowy and impalpable figures after Ben Wellmore had gone. They were lighting the gas in the shop-windows here and there too, and unearthly coughs were sounding out of the gathering gloom. It's a rum day for the country," Sal Garboush said. Yes; but I shall be out of the fog there." "I know it's bright and green," commented Sal, though I on'y seed it once when I was a gal. I don't think I should hke it a bit now." Why not ? Give me the streets at any time—the life in 'em, and the row in 'em," she answered almost fiercely; "I should be a ravin' mad un' without sumfink to keep .me goin'—I can't bear bein' still, Miss Mud. I've too much sperrits, and too much fun in me to muddle about dead and alive fields." Yes," I said, for the want of a better reply at the moment. Give me plenty to do and all over the place," she continued. Not nussin' the old gaffer though, that gives me the creeps orful—I can't abide that job. When he's crusty and obstinit, and won't eat and drink, and keeps a korfing and a korfing, I allers want to smash him." -1 think you ought to be buying something for him now." « In a minnit or two—there's no 'urry, and Mr. Welhnore left me in eharge of yer. And I ain't a goin' to lose sight o' yer, till ho comes back. Not me!" He is an old friend of yours, Sally ?" Yes—he is," she answered, and there was a sudden brightness in her face as she spoke, and a dispersion of the sullen cloud that had settled upon her broad countenance some time since—"nun better in this 'ere world than him—and nun so good as ever I cum across, or ever shall if I live till Thooselum!" "You must not make him vain by telling him so, Sally," I said, laughing a little at this sudden panegyric. It won't spile him." was Sal's confident reply, he's too good for this world—he won't live, yer know, werry long. They'll want him where the good 'uns are all in the lump together—a singin' hymns and things—where the likes o' me '11 never have a chance o' goin', and don't want to, either!" "Sally I" 1 exclaimed. "I axes pardin," she said with a new humility, I don't orfen get on religUa toe-pics, but when I do I thinks of Mister Welhnore—allers o' him." "I had no idea he was so great a' favourite of yours," I remarked wonderingly. Yes, he is. He doesn't look down on us—he doesn't put on airs in talkin' to us—he 'elp8 us— he's one o' us, without the bad that's in us—and he takes our part when we're much druv' He was here long afore you came," she went on with ex- citement, "and oh! the good he's done! Not to me—no one can do me no good!—but he's stood by me at a pinch, and that's like a gen'elman, and knowing I'm past prayin> for. Yer don't twig." "I do not understand," I said, very much amazed. And yer never will. Only understan' this—that it's for his sake and 'cos he likes you gals that the eaffer and I likes the lot o' yer too, and will allers do our best for jer. And if he's fond o' yer, Miss Mud. why you're a lucky one, that's all." Why, Sally," I said, endeavouring to give a lighter turn to the discourse," you must be in love with him yourself to talk like this!" I don't know nuffink about luv," said Sal, thnughtfuXy don't think there is sich a thing outside of a thrayter; but I'd rather drop down dead here in this blessed gutter than any harm should ever cum to him." The woman's manner struck me into silence. It was strange and new, and yet when she was sober Sally Garboush was always strange. "Not quite right, poor Sal!" I had heard Ella say more than once, as if in extenuation for her es- capades, her frivolities, her deep drinks at the Feathers. And she did not seem quite right that morning as we stood in the streets waiting for Bon Wellmore. He did not keep us waiting long. He was soon at our side, and as he approached us I saw he was looking very grave and stern. (To be continued.) =

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[All rights reserved.] I BETWEEN MTDNIGHT AND DAWN. By INA LEON CASSILIS, Author of "Strangely Wooed—Strangely Won "Guilty without Crime;" "The Mystery of Weeping Cross," &c., Ate. 18 411 that we see or seem But a dream within a dream ?" —tieU/ar Allan P.r.. CH 4 PTER XXXIV. THE LABOURS, • "Breathinj1; stern farewells. From greyand ivied walls, where ruin greenly dwells." Byron, "Has any fresh evidence cropped up? Have you heard of any clue, that you wish to go to Ding, wall? "asked Laurence Desborough. He was in Una's drawing-room. He had come by appoint- ment to escort her and Evelyn Barrington to the Row, and the two girls, ready habited for the ride were sitting on the sofa. Una had written that morning to Desborough stating her intention of going with Evelyn to Dingwall the day after to-morrow," and asking Desborough to accompany her. No clue worthy of the name," she replied "but I have an idea of my own, and I want to verify it." "Of course," said Desborough, "if you wish to go, I am at your service." "Thanks. Here are the horses." On the road the party met Max Caerlyon, riding with two ladies and'a brolhar barrister. Una reined her horse back to Caerlyon's side for ii few moments, letting Desborough ride on with Evelyn but, she soon r, joined the two, a;in' uncing as Sh3 did so that she had asked Caerlyon to accompany them to Dingwall. Whatever Desborough really felt about this arrangement, he pretended to find it very agreeable, and said it was fortunate they had metCHerlyon, not suspecting that the supposed rencontre was pre-arranged. Caerlyon saw Una that evening, and the "order of procedure" on the morrow was settled. "I only hope," Max said, anxiously, as he took leave, that the weather will favour us; otherwise the whole thing must be postponed." The weather, however, proved propitious, and the parly left by an early train from Euston- square. From Dingwall they walked to the wood, and, not without some difficulty, found their way to Dead Man's Hollow, for Una could no longer guide her companions as she had done on the day of the murder, and Caerlyon knew his way better than she did, having, since that first time, visited the spot in his professional capacitv. Desborough seemed bewildered by the intricacies of the woo t, and prophesied more than once that they would all lose thomselves. Very keenly, though covertly. Caerlyon watched Desborough when at length the place of the mur- der was reached, but the man betray- d no con- sciousness of guilt; such emotion as ha showed was only consistent in one who beheld the spot where a friend was brutally murdered. But this stoicism was no more than Caerlyon expected, and did not for a moment divert his suspicions. He knew the world too well to fall into that popular superstition which holds that a murderer must needs betray his guilt when confronted with the corpse of his victim or brought to the scene of his crime. This is true of such an one as Macbeth—a man by no means wholly bad—but there are men whose consciences are so dead, whose sensibilities are so blunted, that, without an effort, they can face their crime with far greater equanimity, indeed, than many a disinterested individual, who has no reason to shrink from the scene of a murder, save the horror ot unlawful blood shedding which is.furtunateiy, instinctive in most of us. Dead Man's Hollow bore ample traces of its gvttn notoriety. The long grasN and fern were trampled down, the underwood was broken and in some places crushed to the earth, which w.is strewed with fragments of boughs, portions of which had been carried off as mementos. Names, too, and devices had been cut into the bark of some of the trees, and great pieces of bark had been peeled off. in order, pro' >ably, to serve the same purpose as the dissevered bits of boughs. The whole dell looked as if a tempest had swept over it; and so It had—a tempest of vulgarity and bad taste, and no hurricane ever wrought more mischief than these. Desborough stood by, with folded arms, while Una went slowly over the ground between the spot where her husband was struck by the assas- sin's blow and the gully into which the body was flung. He wondered what whim had induced her to make this examination, the object of which neither Miss Harrington nor Caerlyon seemed to understand. And well he might wonder, since the object of Una's journey to Dingwall Wood had nothing at all to do with the wood itself, and the examination of the ground was merely a blind. Presently the girl came to Dellborough's side. I am ready to go now." she said, quietly. He could see that. she was agitated, though she reso- lutely controlled herself. "Has your journey been in vain?" he asked, anxiously. I cannot tell yet," Una answered, truly enough. I think not; but I will I ell you later." It seems strange," Desborough went on, that the police have not be. able to discover anything mnre of the man who was with Herbert at the races" Why so strange ?" said Caerlyon, joining them. I have no doubt myself tint that man was the murderer, but lie was not new at crime, and was well able to bwfBe the not very brilliant intellects of detective policemen." So it seems," returned Desborough, thought- fully, as they all turned away from the dell; and no more wns RSlid on the subject. Caerlyon had intended, as they crossed the field on their way to the Dingwall road, to make some rematk aboul, the Larches, and so lead to a request from Una to explore the ruin, when Evelyn un- consciously played into his hands, by suddenly pointing to tlie house and asking whose it waS, It belonged, I was told," said Caerlyon, to a Squire Tollemache, who, assisted by his son, ran through his property, and now the place is in ruins." "Is that the Squire Tollemache you were talking of one day at Ercildoune?" asked Desborough. "The same. I daresay we could get into the place if we tried. Do let us try," said Una and Evelyn, almost in a breath. Ruined houses are rather dangerous places to explore." remllrked r>-sborough. "One never knows where a broken plank or a worm-eaten staircase may give way, and let you down %-ith a crash." A solidly-built country house would hardly bo reduced to such decay in the course of ten or fifteen years' neglect," said Caerlyon, smiling a little; "our ancestors knew how to build for the time to come." And we can walk carefully," added Una. There was no more to be said, and Desborough followed where Una led. As they approached The Larches they saw that the use was surrounded by tolerably extensive grounds, entered from the front by large carriage gatos, which now hung rusty and broken on their hingt's. The lodge was closed, the broken windows were boarded up, the door was cut about and de- faced by the jack-knives of natives, who had carved their names or sundry artistic devices thereon. The broad drive was covered with weeds; the trees looked gaunt and straggling. If any of the party had been versed in arboriculture they would have seen that these trees had been neg- lected for a much longer period than ten or even fifteen years: in some places the branches grew so wide and low that carriages and horsemen would have found passage difficult. Traversing what had once beeu a pleasant, but was now a mere wilderness, the explorers found themselves before the long low frontage of the house, which certainly presented a dismal nppear- anee. Some of the windows were whole: but many were entirely, others partly, broken. The ivy climbed freely wherever it listed, long tendrils hanging loosely and waving to and fro in the wind. Weeds grew on the once trim terrace. Everywhere dirt and neglect reigned supreme. Thehatt-door was fast shut, but a trial of one of I the French windows opening on to the terrace proved that entrance at this point could be easily effected. A shower of glass fell wit hin, and the casement fell back from hinges too rusty to stand I a vigorous onslaught. The room was large, and almost void of furniture, the ook panelling dirty and defaced, while spiders held high jinks" in all the corners, and even extended their webs across the ceiling. What a wretched place!" said Desborough, looking round him. Who could imagine this being a home?" Una shuddered, and went out into the hall. The same ruin everywhere met the eye. The broad staircase was filthy, but otherwise not damaged, but the chambers opening from the long corridor above were counterparts, in » more or less degree, of the reception-rooms. In one of those, however* was a curious old worm-eaten cabinet, which I attracted Una's attention, and in looking at it and questioning Desborough on the subject of old cabinets in general, she did notseain to notice that Caerlyon hnd left them, but even as she looked round for him, he returned, explaining that he had been exploring some of the rooms on the other side of the corridor. There is another floor above this," said Evelyn,, is there not? Let us go and see what that i&. like." Ascending the stairs, which could not be immediately found, and presently were discovered I behind a door, the party entered a corridor some- what similar to that they had left, but lower and narrower, and the chambers opening from it were evidently those formerly occupied by servants. At the extreme end was ahugeiron-cliiinpedoaken door, the apparent purpose of which was to en-I tirely shut off some portion of the building from the rest. Such a door in such a place could hardly pass unnoticed. Unll. was, at this time, walking in advance. Desborough by her side. Pointing to the door, she said, Wonderingly- Where in the world does this door lead to ? How strange to have a great dungeon-looking door hke that up here." I wish I could enlighten you," said Desborough, smiling. "Perhaps there is a dungeon behind it." I shall see," answered Una, and she advanced to the door, and IBid her fingers on the handle. The door yielded to her touch, but ere it had opened an inch, and before a glimpse of what lay beyond could be obtained, Desborough sprang forward and seized the girl's arm almost roughly, his face white with terror. "Are you mad?" he cried. "Stand back— Then, as he met Una's amazed look, he Bushed scarlet, stammered, and forced a laugh. I was so afraid for vout" he eaid, I—I thought—there might be—some—some danger. One never knows in these old houses." "I do not know what very great danger there can be, Mr. Desborough." observed Caerlyon, coldly, and somewhat haugtttity and as he spoke he opened the door, and disclosed what at first looked like a blank space; but, bending a little forwards, he beheld a wide and deep well, above which the outer walls of the house rose on all sides, so that fi-om without nothing was visible. "What a horrible place!" said Una, looking down; and Evelyn asked what it could be in- tended for. I suppose," said Desborough, who had now recovered his presence of mind, the Tollemaches used In the old times to push through t,his door anyone they wanted to get rid of. I know of a similar contrivancein an n'd manor iio ise in York- shire, and that memory flashed suddenly into my head when I saw you open the door, Lady Una. You must forgive me-" I have nothing to forgive," said she. "I might have stepped across the threshold, and been dashed to pieces below." But Desborough was wondering within himself whether Max Caerlyon was satisfied with the explanation given. He made no remark, except, as lie closed the door again, to express surprise that it had not been locked or ba: red up. They traversed the rest of the building, but failed to find anything of special interest, and all breathed more freely when they reached the pure spring air outside once more. One feels as if one had been in a vault! said Evelyn, shivering. "And that horrible well!— think of the bones that may be lying at the bottom I certainly thought for a moment, Air. Desborough, that you knew about the well! I I ? lie echoed. I never saw the old house be- fore. I don't know what ma^e me suddenly re- member that place in Yorkshire where there is a door like that, opening upon a deep well-an in- spiration, I suppose." "A fortunate inspiration I" said Caerlyon, who overheard the reply, as it was intendc-d he should and there was no irony in his voice, whatever there was in his mind; but when he bade Una I' farowel' at her own door his eyes met hers vith a fiitsh of triumph The ruse had been a. perfect success. What must be the next step ? I CHAPTER XXXV. A LOCK OF HAIR. I wart," said Max Caerlyon, about a fortnight after the Dingwall journey, "a lock of Laurence Desborough's hair." He was sitting by Una's side on the sofa one evening b • had called on busir ess," and perhaps few counsel would object to transacting business with so lovely a client, especially when the client I had no objection to counsel's arm as a support, and counsel's shoulder as a resting-place for her head. "A lock of Desborough's hair!" repeated Una, looking up into her lover's handsome iace why do you want it?" "Surety you can guess: to analyse it." Una mused for a moment; then her delicate lips began quivering she smiled—laughed out. Comedy is so close to tragedy, and the comedy of this idea was irresistible. In a moment there flashed into her mind the position of her pleading with Desborough for a lock of his htir, and his yielding to her prayer, under the cond impression that she wanted to wear it next to her heart, whereas it would go straight to the laboratory of an analytical f-homist. Caerlyon laughed too. How could he help it? "Perhaps he would refuse," he said, after a pause. Then I will sulk," replied Una, promptly. "Nor will I give him one of my own in relurn. He shall have something elsa—a flower will be best. He would hardly dare to hold to a refusal."s Besides, he would not suspect you. When shall you see him ? "To-morrow morning." Then I shall hear from you again. Una, you know I have been making inquiries with a view to finding out the truth concerning that. 'uncle' of Desborough's. Also I see the necessity of dis- covering where Desborough lived in London while I was at Ercildoune, and whether he was at home on the Dingwall race day. We cannot neglect any collateral evidence, since the only evi- dence of identity is founded on a vision or spiri- tual discernment, and could hardly be accepted by a jury. For such work the services of a detective are indispensable, and I have discovered a fellow who. I think, will do the work admirably. I believe I shall succeed in proving that the 'uncle' was a complete fabrication; in finding out where Desborough lived and in unearthing the fact that on the Dingwall race day Desborough was ttway from his rooms. I may even succeed in tracing him to Dingwall. I have long ceased to believe in the uncle. My impression is that he was afraid to be in the same house with you and me, lest I should discover his feelings towards you, and the uncle' was an excuse to make a graceful escape." He is a very clever man," said Una, but he has met his match And he had—in the woman as we!! as the man— for Laurence Desborough had no suspicion when, the next morning, Una came forward smiling to greet him that the pretty white hands were bait- ing a trap for him. Hut it was not till he rose, reluctantly enough, to go that Una, who, throughout the interview, had retained her reticent manner, unbent, and looking up to him archly, as he held her hands in his, said— Mr. Desborough, I want to ask you a favour ?" "Mr. Desborough he repeated, reproachfully. Una's eyes fell; her colour rose. It caRt her no small effort to use the man's Christian name. Laurence." she said, after a pause. My dear one! you know there is nothing I could refuse you." "A very simple thing,"she said,with that coaxing manner that nothing masculine can ever resist," a lock of your hair." Hfreyes were fixed full on his face as she spoke, and she saw a sudden flash across his features— not of transport, as should become a lover to whom his mistress prefers such a request, but rather a "tarOed look, as of a man abruptly confronted with something equally unexpected and unwelcome; the next second he smiled. You shall have it," he said, on one condi- tion." No conditions!" lifting her finger; those are for me to make." But you will give me a curl nf your own hair in exchange?'* No," shaking the golden curls;" you shall have this"—taking a flower from the bosom of her dress. And she took up from a table near a little \lR it, of scissors. The next moment a lock of the coal-black hair was in her hand, and the flower from her dress in Laurence Desborough's. "Now go," said she, half laughing; "you have been here too long already, and Darnleigh is coming shortly. I shall have a scene with hiin if he meets you here. Good-bye! you may come again when I write, not before." So she got rid of him, and, when he was gone, »he quickly and shuddermgly wrapped up the lock of hair in paper, and locked it in her desk and then she went to her room sr.d washed her hands. Before 'he evening that lock of roal-black hair was in the laboratory of one of the most eminent analytical chemists of the day. Una Herbert was a sadly unromantic inamorata. (To be c01ltinut.J..)

THE BATOHEUIR STATUE TO TFTE fDTTOR OF THE WFEKXY MA It, —I venture to think that the Corporation 01 Cardiff have too readily assented to provide a site for n statue of the late Mr. John Rstchelor. 1 am at a loss to understand what there was in the life, or character, or achievements of Mr. Batchelor tc mprit any such distitoction. If his friends and admirers, who, I admit, are numerous, choose to erect a monument to his memory, of either gold, or silver, or brass (probably the most suitable material), or of iron, or miery ciav," let them do so by all means, but let them pl'ioe it in the Liberal Club-that standing monument to the hypocrisy and inconsistency of the teetotalers and other saints of the Liberal party-or in one of the Board Schools, which attest his lavish and reckless expenditure of the funds of the ratepayers of Cardiff, to which he did not contribute one farthing! But what I object, to is „hat the effigy of such a man should ba permitted t ) deface one of f he public places in the town, tv the horror and aversion of 1\ large section of its inhabitants, who see nothing to commend, 'out,on the contrary, very much to condemn, in Mr. Batchelor's career; Who and what was this man to whose memory such grotesque and absurd honour is to be paid ? That he was possessed of more than ordinary ability I do not doubt, but that such ability was persistently misused and misapplied throughout the whole course of his turbulent life I venturs solemnly to assert, notwithstanding all that can be averred to the contrary by the fawn. hig syeophants and silly nincompoops who now affect to claim for him a spurious credit in which they seek themselves to sha.rp; Instead of applying diligently to business pursuits, anc achieving by me.».isof them that honourable posi- tion of success and commercial eminence, united to wealth, which his late brother at Newport attained, he neglected his own concerns and the just claims of his family, and preferred to play the part of a demagogue, and to pander to the pre- judices of the uninstructed and the passions of the multitude. Tn the year 1839, when this locality became the seat of disaffection, which developed into the highest crime known to law, and when a rabbis army attacked the peaceable inhabi- tants of the town of Newport, when the guilt of high treason was brought home to tho leaders of the insurrection, Mr. Batchelor was an active member of tho; seditious agencies then in existence, and he found it alike expedient and convenient to leave this neighbourhood for a while, and to take up his abode in the United States. True to his early proclivities, he continued throughout life a restless man, a discontented demagogna. one always inveighing against time- honoured institutions, the higher classes of society, and the Throne itself. No doubt he was an active and not unsuccessful organiser of party. This one merit he possessed, and this alone. I imagine, is the service which compels the posthumous re- gard of his followers, and asserts his claim to a niche in the revolutionary Pantheon. What services, let me ask, did he ever render tc Cardiff ? Was he not one of the most active pro- moters of the Canton Market?—a scheme fraught with grave disaster to the commercial intereatsand social well-being of the town, and one which, after the lapse of a dozen years or more, the corporation were compelled to purchase at the expense of the ratepayers. It oannot be denied that the sci>em». of the Penarth Docks was promulgated to injure alike the interests of the town and those of Lore Bute and that it was greatly aided by the per- sistent and unscrupulous support of Mr. John Batchelor. That an individual wboss energies were thus exclusively devoted to extraneous subjects should succeed in business could scarcoly be expected-— and it did not excir.e surprise that this idol of the popular party should suesumb to insolvency—a debtor to an amount approaching £50.000, and with an estate which represented lers than Is. in the £ ■ Many a family has to this day had to suffer for the losses they sustained through giving credit to Mr, Jolla If his acimirors and followers really wish to re- move the unpleasant associations connected with his memory, they could not do so more effectually than by paying his debts. This would evince real respect and be suggestive of an honourable self-denial. But to put up a statue in a public place in Cardiff to commemorate a man whose achievement was to leave unpaid nearly £50,000 is a wanton insult to the body of his creditors and an unmeaning, but preposterous, illustration of hero- worship.—I am, See., CENSOR.

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