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the mercy you have heard me pray for so often. Arthur, I wish to go to them at once.'

'In Heaven's name, woman, what do you mean, or do you know what you are doing? You forget that this is written by your niece, and that neither your brother nor his wife has invited your interference. If you expect Welbore to take you to his arms and own you as his erring, but repentant, sister, and so forth, on the mere warrant of this letter, you'll find yourself very disagreeably mistaken. Put the notion out of your head.'

This was said without passion, but in a harsh and sneering tone. The woman sank on a chair as if from weakness, and spoke in a voice which had tears in it.

'I have prayed for this, and I believe it has been sent to me. Something tells me, dear Arthur, that my chance of peace lies in answering this voice which calls me now.'

'The something is an impostor. No voice calls you but your own morbid fancy. You know you are not fit to stir abroad; these nervous excitements are dangerous. And that habit of talking in your sleep-have you considered that ?' It was a little time before his wife answered.

'Whatever happens, I shall go to them. Let my brother turn me from his door; what right shall I have to think that a humiliation to me? There will be comfort in the thought that I have, at least, made an effort to change the curse my life has been to others into some poor blessing.'

'Just so. And, starting in that missionary spirit, I expect you will go far. You are more than likely to bring upon us both that disaster we have evaded, I firmly believe, only by your keeping out of the way of the prying world. We have been safe, if we haven't been very

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'No,' she replied mildly. my own sake too, shame on me! But if I had only myself to think of, I should have spoken long ago.'

'Why not write to your people? What can you do for them by your presence that you cannot do by letter? If it is money they want, send it. They will prefer a cheque to a visit, believe me.'

'I have often told you of the one longing of my wretched life. You know we do not trust the hope of our hearts to letters if we can plead ourselves. I shall see my brother face to face. If he rejects me, let ear and eye bear the blow which will be part of the penance of my great sin.'

Darkin in fact knew how the woman yearned for some such opportunity as Edith's letter gave her. Nevertheless he said,

'I cannot trust your emotion, and must insist on your stopping at home.'

In no way altering her gentle sadness of demeanour and voice, she answered,

'In that case I shall write. But I shall write fully.'

He walked to the window, she following him with her eyes. He came back.

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'That is easily promised. What else can I do, God help me, if that happens?'

'And you will guard our secret?' 'I have kept it all these years.' 'You have not been tempted in all these years.'

She sighed. And he said to the servant who came at his ring,

'Take the dogs and this gun. I shall not go out to-day. Pack my valise, and send your mistress's maid. We start for London by the mail to-night.'

CHAPTER XX.

DORINDA'S DISCOVERY. Two or three days had passed since Talbot Welbore called at Park-place. Dorinda cherished in the interval a soft remembrance of the visit and a fond superstition of its meaning. At last he had come to speak-that was happiness; but it was not to her-that was vexatious. He speaks first to her. She resented the diffidence which loved her in this fashion; she thought of the tender scene which might have ensued had he spoken, as he seemed so near speaking when he stood face to face with her in the house alone.

This embarrassment, this awkward reserve, was hardly the love, ardent of speech and gallant of act, which is the ideal of every woman. But there was joy in the girl's disappointment. She had long waited for so much. She reasonably owned to herself that in her case the initiative was reversed. The attachment and its expression had begun with her. These might have missed -they had not. She felt that her success was partial and qualified at the best; she was aware of the pressure her father had brought into play; she knew that the upshot must be for the man she

loved, to a larger or lesser extent, a marriage of convenience. Yet, withal, she was content. Her heart was set upon the handsome Talbot; any return he gave to her sentiment was enough for her, provided he returned it, provided he sought her for his wife.

For the moment her grand regret was that the declaration for which she yearned should have come to her door only to retreat again so strangely. The disappointment made her eager for her father's return. Every visitor who called made her heart beat faster with the thought that it was Talbot come back to tell his story to herself.

The third day she drove to Dorchester place. She had got an early telegram from Mr. Hardrop, announcing the polling that day at Ballymaquirk, and venturing confident prediction on the result. This served as a fair occasion for a call.

She found Edith dressed, and ready to start for Fowler's Inn. She explained that she had something very private and interesting to tell her brother. Dorinda wished no better than to make the journey eastward; so the cab which had been summoned for Miss Welbore was dismissed, and Edith took a seat with her friend.

Mr. Dodd chanced to be looking out upon the square in search of an idea on the Egyptian Question -for the Sphinx was in those days, as in ours, thrusting importunate conundrums upon the European Edipus-when the carriage entered from under the dark arched way. The apparition was not strange. Beauty and fashion frequently adorned, like passing gleams of sunshine, the dingy place. The fortunes spun so quietly out of a thousand subtleties, for ever working in the perpetual twilight of this gray lair of

the law, came back to it glorified out of their dark origin in the radiant toilettes of fair young girls and smart or stately equipages from bright suburban homes.

Mr. Dodd, recognising the ladies, was struck with an instant panic lest the call should be to him, and, bounding out of sight, seized a brush and a comb, and, wishing himself very serious penalties for having permitted such a surprise in his dismantled condition, commenced a frantic effort to render himself visible to such visitors. While, armed with the weapons named, he struggled manfully with the sudden crisis, the carriage had drawn up, with a sweep round half the court, at the fourth doorway off.

Edith's message was brief. Her aunt had written from Chadleigh Manor, in answer to her appeal, saying she would come. Talbot read the letter, which contained but a few words affectionately expressed. Dorinda, watching him from her seat near the window, noticed how thin and haggard he looked. She had perceived a like change in his mother, and wondered at the cause. At this news from his sister she saw the young man's face light up, and, in the sudden gleam she caught, it seemed to her another glimpse of that secret trouble she had already perceived, and felt so anxious but so unable to understand.

Whatever the hidden care might be, Talbot put it behind him for the occasion. He entertained his visitors with an account of his début, the day before, in the case of Hooke v. Golightly. Dorinda was lively and familiar; she felt at home with him now, as if they were engaged.

As they chatted there came a swish of wings, and Silverwing, landing on the window sill, hopped inside, with the air of one who

knew his whereabouts very well. Such an entry was, of course, a surprise to the ladies, whose interest was all the more excited by the fact that the bold and handsome creature wore round his burnished neck a thread with a "button-hole' of half a dozen pansies attached thereto. The two girls gave a little cry of delight as Talbot held out his hand, and Silverwing at once fluttered on to the open palm.

'O, but this is a romance !' cried Dorinda. 'Who is it talks the language of flowers to you, Mr. Welbore, and does it so prettily?'

Talbot laughed, but threw the bird off. The pestilent fool, as if conscious of his mission, made a little circle in the air, and fluttered back; but had the grace to stay outside, strutting up and down the window-sill, parading his decoration, and turning his sharp importunate eye upon the company.

The incident was sufficiently singular to excite curiosity.

'She thinks of him,' said Dorinda archly; 'pansies for thoughts, you know. That is very simple.

There should be a billet doux among the leaves. Catch the little postman - pigeon, and read his message for us. We promise to keep the secret-Edith and I.' It was rather awkward. The little trophy was, of course, from Blossom, and Talbot was aware that the inch of paper wrapping the fragile stems probably contained a tender word or two, meant for him only, and to be seen last of all by Dorinda Hardrop.

He explained that the bird was one of several belonging to somebody in the neighbourhood, which in idle moments he had amused himself by entertaining. He went on to say, with gravity, that the pansies were probably the grateful tribute of a dependent with a lively sense of favours to come. Animal

instinct was, he thought, quite equal to an amiability of the kind.

This amused the ladies; but, as if in mocking echo of their laugh, there came a chuckle from the costermonger's yard below. Looking, they saw a couple of rough fellows surveying them with the offensive regard of men enjoying a malicious criticism well applied. Finding themselves observed, Job and Bandy Sam bent their impudent regards upon their work; but an occasional sidelong leer, a remark which had sarcasm in its undertone, a dry chuckle, told that they dared to see something ridiculous in their betters.

'These should be relatives of your belle fruitière,' said Dorinda, angry with herself for being angered by the deportment of such creatures. She alone had noticed it, for she was afflicted with that terrible sensibility which sees offence in every look and laugh, and is always in ambush for personalities.

'These?' replied Edith, carelessly glancing at the coarse ragamuffins below. 'Do you see a resemblance?

'I do certainly. All these creatures resemble each other, like cattle. That horrid-looking man, who is doing something with those oranges-I should think he is her brother or her husband. He is very like her.'

As like her as the Satyr was like the Nymph-as Caliban to Miranda. Poor Job-Blossom's brother, or-or her husband!

Talbot enjoyed the grotesque absurdity of this idea. Dorinda looked at him.

'You seem to know these people?' she asked.

'I should know them,' he answered. 'From my first day here they have forced themselves on my attention. I thought of having this window nailed up, to prevent the distraction their noise and move

ment, their talk and habits, used to cause me. The thing became amusing, though, when I got used to it.'

'And when something else came to visit you through the window besides the sound and sight of these wretches.'

Dorinda pointed with playful finger at Silverwing preening himself patiently at the end of the stone ledge.

Talbot attended his fair visitors to the gate of the Inn, and had hardly returned when Mr. Dodd was upon him.

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They're gone!' cried the member for Kilruddery, in a tone of disappointment. I thought to catch 'em, and I would too, but 'twas all that infernal collar-stud. The head came off, and I lost ten minutes looking for another. The ten minutes sealed my fate.'

'I can only offer you my heartfelt sympathy, Dodd,' said Talbot, as he unwound the little telegram brought him by the pigeon-post.

'That's poor comfort now. You might have kept her till a fellow had time to titivate and present himself in proper form.'

'Well, I didn't know your intention, my boy. Had you dropped word, I should at all events have known what you wanted me to do.'

But you might have brought them up with you to give me a call-that might have struck you; knowing how the land lies. I'm not an ogre in his den.'

Welbore, smiling at Mr. Dodd's extreme coolness, promised to remember that gentleman's wish at the next opportunity.

The carriage turned westward out of Fowler's Inn, and had made half a mile of the great thoroughfare, when Dorinda, whose thought dwelt with the displeasure of a vague suspicion on the occurrence at the fatal window, suddenly ordered the coachman to drive to

Crane-street. The man knew his destination, and put round.

'Edith,' she said, 'we arranged some time ago to see this paragon of yours face to face. Now that I remember it, we shall examine the miracle, and see how it collapses on a nearer view.'

A foreboding of disaster seized poor Edith. But she was wholly unequal to the emergency. It was only when too late that she hit upon even the simple device of pretending a personal engagement elsewhere.

It was some time since Miss Twitterley had had a call from her former pupil. The little spinster received her visitors in full curl. She rushed from inside the counter to meet them. She kissed their hands, and fondled those members with her own. She shook her curls, and skipped and uttered little shrieks of delight-in a word, her enthusiasm was at its full.

'O, honours and raptures for ever! O my sweet Miss Hardrop, and her lovely and bosom friend, Miss Edith Welbore, combining to enhance the interest of an exquisite romance! O, how can humble hearts express their gratitude! Now indeed is love triumphant in its course!'

'You are the same,' said Dorinda, who had somewhat coldly endured her excessive demonstration. Just now what you were when I was a child-not the least change in appearance or manner. We have called to see this beauty of yours-the young girl you call Blossom. Is she about?'

Dorinda spoke as if she were demanding the exhibition of some marketable article from the miscellany strewed about the humble shop. Miss Twitterley looked from Dorinda to Edith.

"Yes, Miss Twitterley,' said Edith, her poor heart sinking before the danger of the position.

'Miss Hardrop and I have been talking about Blossom, and if she is here we should like to see her.' 'If she is not here, let her be sent for,' said Dorinda.

With that, Miss Twitterley precipitated herself in a fresh ecstasy upon the young ladies.

'O, thanks, kind Cupid, god of love! And, sweet, sweet ladies, pardon and forgive; but soul-felt emotion will assert itself when crowning favours are showered upon my winsome. Most interesting to relate, my charming Blossom is at this moment experiencing the bliss and rapture of adoption by her future father-in-law, with Mr. Warnock present to harmonise. Shall I intimate to the distinguished member of Parliament for Muddlebury that his lovely daughter and her enchanting companion claim the happiness of sharing in the tender ceremony?'

And Miss Twitterley, ready to speed at the sign, looked eagerly for assent. Dorinda stared at her as if she thought the little woman had passed from eccentricity to downright madness. What did this harangue mean? She passed her suspicion with her eye to Edith, but met a new and more startling surprise in the confusion and distress of her pale and trembling companion. At once the sparks of blind jealousy raised by the incident at Fowler's Inn, but raised in so indefinite and disconnected a way that she could not even discern what the feeling was that made a soreness in her mind -this crude spark flamed up.

'Do you mean,' she asked, 'that Mr. Welbore is in this house at present?'

Miss Twitterley answered, with the bright air of one conveying agreeable tidings,

'O, yes, my fairest Miss H. Incredible as it may seem, that eminent politician is at this moment

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