under the lowly Twitterley roof. Yet more incredible it is that his mission should be to welcome to paternal arms my beauteous Blossom-the bride elect and consort of his chivalrous son and heir, Talbot Welbore, Esquire, of her Majesty's law-courts. They will rejoice to hear that you await impatient to bestow upon my Blossom the kiss of peace and blooming sisterhood, which will be-must be-especially grateful from my dearest Miss Hardrop, in whom fashionable circles recognised Mr. Talbot Welbore's chosen companion to the nuptial altar-a delusion, I own, at one time shared by poor Matilda Twitterley.'

The spinster would have rambled on further in this style, but Dorinda interrupted her. Turning to Edith, she asked excitedly,

'Do you understand what this creature says? and if you understand her, is this true what she says ?'

Edith, leaning against the counter, hesitated an instant.

'It is true,' she said.

She did not attempt to explain that Miss Twitterley was probably mistaken as to the intention of Mr. Welbore's visit, of which indeed she knew no more than Miss Twitterley in her sibylline speech had disclosed. She knew the point of the question, and answered it.

Dorinda looked at her with a stony gaze which seemed to see her not. Edith saw the poor girl put her hand to her throat, press it as if to keep down the swelling heart within, while she looked furtively round, like one seized in some disgraceful situation who throws a shamed and desperate eye to see how many are witnesses of the ignominy.

Just then the door leading from the shop to the room behind opened, and Dad appeared, hat in

hand, drooped and rusty with the mean toil which spoils like vice itself -an embodiment of that rude low life which contrasts so odiously with the ease and elegance that give a grace and beauty of virtue and heaven. Mr. Warnock had been surprised in his very roughest working trim. When Mr. Welbore called upon Miss Twitterley, and requested her to send for Blossom and some relative or friend with whom affairs might be reasoned, the much-flurried maiden had hastily despatched a passing Arab with word to Mr. Warnock to come at once, as an event of most romantic interest had transpired. The envoy on his passage had lost mental grasp of these terms, which he rendered in a proclamation that the old gal with the wisps desired to see Dad and Blossom at once, all along of some cove as had been transported. In this way he had been taken at a decided disadvantage, and made but a very sorry figure.

After Dad stalked Mr. Welbore, carrying himself in a manner more than ever dignified, important, and severe. He turned and bowed loftily to somebody unseen, and advanced towards the door, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and reserving his distant salutation for the threshold. As he reached that point Blossom presented herself at the door of the room. She was in tears. She recognised Dorinda and Edith, and a fear struck her sharp as lightning. She would have retreated, but stood there rooted by the fire Dorinda flashed upon her.

Mr. Welbore, with a portentous 'hem!' turned at the line of the street to dislocate himself in formal and austere fashion from the place and its people, when he discovered that the performance would inIclude those on whom he had not

counted. His diplomatic faculty was cumbrous, and fitted more for the slow gigantic evolution of vast public questions than an emergency small, unexpected, and directly compromising.

He stepped a little into the shop, and stammered something to Do rinda, who took no heed, her eyes still flashing on Blossom. Her aspect gave little indication of the terrible fact which was piercing through her brain. That creature there was her rival - her victorious rival. The man, for whose love she had abandoned the right of the woman to be sought instead of seeking, had taken her despised sacrifice, and used it to grace the triumph of his idol. And such an idol!

'My God!' she burst out. This cannot be ! That I have been treated in such a way! My God!'

She could utter no more. She gasped for breath. The swelling passion gave a sense of fulness and stifling in the head and bosom. This dry rage was terrible, but the tears would not come. She felt her eyes harden and grow heated till they pained like balls of fire.

An instant more of the fierce emotion and she would have fallen. But the tears came, and brought a dismal relief. It was, perhaps, because his nature lay below all unvulgar levels of nervous sensibility that Mr. Warnock alone showed any presence of mind. When Dorinda broke out into wild lamentation, he promptly shut the streetdoor on the spectacle, which was but dimly caught by the wondering coachman waiting for his mistress on his seat above the kerb.

All present stood and watched in a panic the agony of the young girl. It was bitter. It included even the searing and monstrous thought that the two vile beings, whose laughter had struck her ears

VOL. XXXI.

so curiously at that accursed window, knew all about her, and were mocking at her for the despised thing she was-despised for one of them!

The tempest was too furious to last. The utterance of it soon subsided, and Dorinda stood, her face in her handkerchief, a low wailing sob at intervals giving voice to her wounded spirit. She was collecting herself under the cover.

Mr. Welbore was obtuse, but he saw by this that all was known. Judging that his moment had arrived, he spoke.

'Miss Hardrop,' he said, 'I entreat you to accept the assurance of my profound sympathy with you in this very distressing, very lamentable, and, I think it will be admitted by all cognisant of the circumstances, this unparalleled conjuncture. Permit me to offer a word of explanation. You have, I admit, reason to complain of the secrecy observed by me and my family in this matter. But we thought it the more advisable policy to arrange, if possible, without divulging it, a complication so extraordinary and so painful. With the view to such a settlement, I have thought it expedient to waive certain social and personal considerations, and to call here to-day for the purpose of opening negotiations. I have offered terms which, I regret to say, the hon.—this individual, Mr.

'Warnock, sir,' said Dad.

'I thank you-which this Mr. Warnock has not deemed it politic to accept. I am, however, gratified to state that the female principal has consented to a compromise which will, I trust, prove a basis of ultimate arrangement, and will leave my son free to resume the development of those sentiments for you, my dear Miss Hardrop, which I have reason to believe he was assiduously and successfully

C

cultivating when this monstrous influence crossed his path.'

Dorinda maintained the same posture. Mr. Warnock took up the parable, with, however, no more than a general glimmering of Mr. Welbore's meaning.

'See 'ere, folkses all, and you, Miss Aitch; it's well we should see where we are. If there's any other gal agoin' as has a better claim an' footin' in this bizness than my gal 'ere-wy, it's jest like this, Blossom knows 'ow to respect 'erself, an'll let him go. Like a shot. So she has took Mr. Welbore at his word when he come here to-day a-offerin' me five hundred quid to back out, wich I made bold to tell 'im was a hoffence, and nothin' else, likewise a-haxin' Blossom for one chance to let his son cry off an' go. That's 'ard on my gal, that is; but, as I said to Talbot Welbore, there's to be no 'ookin' in on our side; so it's agreed, if Mister Talbot ain't game, that he can walk. I say that it's 'ard on my gal, an' I give notice an' whereas, that if Talbot Welbore stands be Blossom, Blossom an' 'er old Dad'll stand be Talbot Welbore. An' we expect there'll be no foul play on the other side.'

Dorinda now stood, her inflamed eyes fixed on the ground. She seemed to listen, but made no sign. Mr. Welbore had by this time recovered himself.

'The fact is, my dear Miss Hardrop,' said he, 'my poor boy has committed a grave indiscretion —an indiscretion, however, which is not altogether phenomenal at his period of life. As I have ventured to remark, however, we believe it is but a temporary aberration, which prevents him only for the moment from cordially reciprocating those feelings of interest and -and attachment with which you have been good enough to honour him. I have the most confident

expectation that the understanding I have arrived at with these people will be productive of satisfactory results; and I ask you, meanwhile, to suspend your judgment on the conduct of the man who has shown himself so culpably unappreciative of your preference.'

A sudden thought struck Mr. Warnock. Had there been foul play in the matter? Had this young lady, so miserable, so overcome, been wronged? He put the thought in words straightway.

'I'm a pore chap as ain't got no heddication, so, genteels all, your best excuses. But if there's any lady or gent present wot knows any just cause or impedimink wy these 'ere banns shouldn't be put up between my gal an' 'er young man, let 'em step out an' say the word. For, see 'ere, folkses all. My Blossom won't 'ave nothin' to say to any man wot's went an' acted the rascle to another woman. So speak up, Miss Aitch; an' if you've been wronged, wy, wotever's the cost, me an' Blossom 'ere'll see you rightified as far as our part can go.

Blossom caught her breath at this speech, and listened with a heart which ceased to beat for the answer. Had this woman a right to Talbot? A new fear flashed into the girl's soul. Dorinda did not answer. She stood as before, still bewildered by the blow, and in the reaction from the first effect. Mr. Welbore offered his elbow.

'Permit me to suggest that you leave, Miss Hardrop,' he said; 'the open air will soothe the feeling which I deeply regret a member of my family has been unhappily instrumental in exciting.'

The girl drew back, looked at Mr. Welbore and Edith, and gave loose to the passion that had again gathered head.

'You wretches! My father shall know this. He will ruin you; he

has often said it. You know you are beggars, and at his mercy. He will ruin you for this. O, if I had a brother! That infamous-that-your son! How dared he think-how dare you insinuate-that I cared for him? My father shall know all this very day, you wretches!'

With this hysterical outburst, she made for the door, which Dad threw open. It was only when she had driven off that Mr. Welbore and his daughter left the shop. They went off without any form of leave-taking.

On arriving at Dorchester-place, Mr. Welbore asked for his son, was told he had just come home, and sent for him to his study. Mrs. Welbore happened to be out at the time, an accident for which the actors in the interview felt grateful afterwards.

Talbot saw at once that his father was moved in a very unusual degree. Mr. Welbore told his story, and told it in straight and simple language. His ornate parliamentary style was quite spoilt by the disaster. Talbot was astounded by the disclosure.

'See what you have brought upon us,' concluded his father. "This is what your family owe you. The question is, will you even now save yourself and us?'

'It is now too late,' said Talbot. 'It is not too late. Go at once to Miss Hardrop before she has had time to write to her father. Make a clean breast of the unfortunate business-you have my sanction. Ask her forgiveness; assure her that you have given up this hateful connection. I don't know exactly how these things are managed; but I know that young women are easily persuaded to pardon graver offences than yours, which even now may be greatly qualified in appearance, if only you handle it with a due regard to the interests of all concerned.'

'I understand. You wish me to go to Miss Hardrop, and assure her that I never seriously meant to involve myself with this other girl, that my pledges and promises were the mere machinery of an infamous design, and so on. But what will that avail after all, father? for the discovery that I have heaped lie upon lie, and perjury on perjury, must follow.'

'But it need not follow. After you have seen Miss Hardrop, you will write to this person this Blossom-declaring all relations between you at an end. I have not told you the result of my unfortunate visit to-day. The man called Warnock refused to arrange the affair for money. But the female agreed at my suggestion to release you from any obligation which you might have contracted towards her.'

Talbot looked at his father.

'I will ask you to make this a little clearer, sir,' said he. 'Was there no condition to this agreement?'

'Only that you should express a wish to be released. In that case you are free, and free without the scandal of an exposure in the courts, or the like. But for the coincidence of Miss Hardrop's visit, we might fairly congratulate ourselves on the issue of the negotiation.'

'Blossom has behaved well in this matter, you will allow, father.'

'The woman showed an intelligent comprehension of her absurd position. But the result of my interview was more than counterbalanced by what followed. It lies with you now to prevent the consequences of that accident.'

Blossom gave you that undertaking because she would not pain you, and because she trusts me. God bless her! I will not betray her trust. I cannot change, father. I have made misery enough, I

know; but nothing that I have done can be mended by dishonest shifts.'

'You have already sorely tried my patience; you are now presuming more upon it. I have never been so shocked in my whole life as when I found myself to-day among the company and surroundings of the people with whom you have brought us into contact. There is a simple way to deal with these people. Money will do it. Send the girl a cheque, and get rid of her. It will not take many pounds to solace her for the loss of you, and get her a husband of her own class, whom she will like better, and be more at home with.'

Mr. Welbore was among the most respectable of men; but he thought it well to suppress the fact that he had actually proposed a cash settlement of the matter, and experienced a rebuff.

Father,' cried his son with emotion,' I beseech you, do not speak like that of her she does not deserve it!'

Mr. Welbore's tone and manner suddenly changed. He took a more decided attitude. Regarding his son with sternness, he said,

'There has been too much of this. We are now on the very brink of destruction. The hand is raised to crush us, and will crush us unless you behave less like an enemy and more like a son. I call upon you to do your duty by us.'

'But, sir, if I do my duty, as you call it, in the way you command, it will be as if I had gone on the highway and committed a robbery.'

'I command you, as your father, to obey me in this.'

'I am sorry, as your son, that I cannot. Honour and my love forbid. I have contracted other duty.'

'Yes, to your strumpet. Go, leave my house! Go to her—wallow with her! Give her the chance to boast that the son of Welbore of Muddlebury was the fool who made an honest woman of her. Go, and be the laughing-stock of all her lovers-'

Talbot stepped forward, holding out his face.

'Stop, father-for God's sake, stop! Strike me, but spare her !'

Mr. Welbore, blind with anger, lifted his clenched fist, and, for the first time in his life, struck his son. It was a violent blow, which staggered Talbot.

The 'young man uttered a cry more of surprise and grief than of pain; and while his cheek flushed with the moral as well as the physical effect of the indignity, he looked in sorrowful appeal at his father.

But Mr. Welbore had lost himself in a passion which overflowed all bounds.

'Go!' he cried; 'go, you scoundrel, and never dare to show your face to me or one of mine again! Go, or I'll murder you!'

And stooping, he lifted the heavy fireiron from the fender.

Talbot had never seen his father angry; this rage quite confounded him. He felt it was useless, indeed it would have been dangerous, to reason with a man roused to such a pitch of temper.

He left the room without another word, his father glaring after him till he disappeared. He met his weeping sister outside the door.

'It is all over,' said he. 'Goodbye for the present. I am glad my mother is not in; I could not bear to see her now. Make up a few things for me, and send them to Fowler's Inn-no, by the way, I don't know whether I shall be able to keep on the chambers. Send to Miss Twitterley's.'