for it opened a chasm, not only between the blockhead and his forlorn Venus, but between the friends and relations of those sundered principals. One thing was clear the broil was likely to prevent, or at least to delay, the meeting he dreaded.

If only Fortune would now favour him in another matter! He returned to his hotel and made for his apartments. The sound of voices in the sitting-room arrested him at the door, which stood ajar. Looking in, he saw Sir Minim Grainger and Lynton. With them were Miss Welbore and a gentleman in whom, despite the lapse and change of years, he recognised the Member for Muddlebury. He was unprepared for this company; he felt a meeting would be awkward, and, in order to evade it, passed to the sick - room and entered lightly.

Mrs. Goodbody was not there. She had stolen one of those brief excursions which the most careful attendants will attempt while their charges are at rest.

He was on the point of speaking, when, seeing by her face that the patient slept, he caught his voice. He stood and looked at her. As he did so the ghastly reverie of the night before flashed upon him. There were the scene and the actors in that hideous fancy.

He felt the shock of crisis; his heart leaped in him with the sudden excitement of a supreme enterprise of a situation which carried Fate in it. The opportunity he longed for had surprised him. But his spirit instantly quickened to his purpose.

He stepped on tip-toe to the bed. She lay as he had seen her in his vision-more in stupor than in sleep. His first impulse was to take the travelling-case, steal off with it, and run the chance of making away with it and its

contents. A second thought was better.

He stole his hand under the pillow, his eyes on the invalid, his face set in a desperate resolve that had in it a certain shadowy inspiration which made him shudder. He touched the keys, drew them forth, opened the case, laid hand on a manuscript, and thrust it into the deep pocket of his overcoat. He relocked the case and replaced the key.

All this was the work of seconds. It was the nerve-strain of years. The tension gave way the instant it had sped the act, as the bowstring yields when it has shot the arrow. Darkin stood trembling. He seized the bed-rail to steady himself; his agitation affected the iron; he withdrew his hand lest it should shake the sleeper awake.

Should he stay and face suspicion or fly before anybody came? Strange, his will was as if smitten with sudden paralysis; he was unable to decide even while his brain burnt with the peril of delay. His hesitation was an agony; it was but for a moment, but it was long enough to destroy his choice.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor warned him. He stepped nearer to the bedside and assumed an attitude of solicitous observation. In this attitude he was discovered by the two doctors. Sir Minim Grainger looked sharply at Darkin, at the patient, and round the room. Then, speaking in that trained voice which expresses every mood without hurting the sick ear, he said,

'Where's that nurse? Why is she not constantly by our bedside as we ordered? She had strict injunctions to allow nobody, whoever it might be, to enter our room. Lynton, ask those people what they want. Tell them we are very low, and that we are not

likely to be benefited by these intrusions.'

'You need not speak, Dr. Lynton,' said Darkin, in a tone as governed and expressive as that of the professional organ. For my wife's sake I have submitted to what I believe to have been improper instructions, offensively given so far as I am concerned. My presence in this room will not hurt my wife. I have a right to be here. I beg to say it is my determination to stay to the end; if my determination appears objectionable, whoever objects is at liberty to withdraw.'

'They will remain to the end, Lynton; they have reckoned up the hours remaining to us, it seems. Well, we are dying, as perhaps they will not be sorry to know. If they will not let us die in peace, if they will insist on remaining-the point is not worth disputing now-they might at least show a little less ostentatious disrespect for the place and its dying occupant. They might remove their hat, for instance, Lynton.'

Mr. Darkin looked at the toiletglass, and saw that, in his excitement and preoccupation, he had remained covered. He doffed the unbecoming gear, and the action, associating itself with another, reminded him that he still wore the heavy ulster in which he had travelled to Fowler's-alley and back. He had that garment partly drawn off before it struck him that to remove it would be to trust out of his possession the momentous spoil which lay concealed in one of the pockets.

The supernatural cunning and distrust which had wakened in him suggested the policy of putting off an article of dress which was so unfitted to the place that it might well suggest remark and suspicion. He stepped quickly into the corridor, where there was a rack, hung

hat and coat on the pegs, carefully turning in the folds so as to centre in many thick plies the precious deposit.

If I had looked for a hidingplace,' he thought, 'I could not select a better.'

He was back in the room almost on the instant. As he took his seat doggedly, his wife opened her eyes and uttered a feeble call, Blossom!'

Eh!' said Sir Minim Grainger. 'Why, Lynton-why, bless my forgetful soul-where is this person we wished to see, and that we directed to have sent for? Ask them, have they brought the girl, and if she is here ?'

'No,' said Darkin, 'I haven't brought her, for the simple reason that she wouldn't come.'

His wife, as he spoke, turned her regard upon him. Expression was already fading out of the lineaments, but entreaty was very eloquent in the poor woman's look. She turned her eyes on the physician and tried to speak, but the effort was too much for her.

Sir Minim made a gesture of comprehension and encourage

ment.

'Yes,' said he, in the cheerful voice which lightened even the shadows of the valley; she will come, don't be afraid. She shall come at once. See, Lynton, how we brighten at that. This is important, and must be seen to. You have told me something about this young girl; you know her; go at once; ask her to come for charity's sake. I shall remain till you return; I wish to see this matter out. As you go, perhaps you would tell Mr. Welbore to step this way.'

'She will be past human influence when he returns,' Darkin thought, as he wheeled his chair so as to present his back to his brother-in-law.

Lynton delivered his message to

Mr. Welbore, and had the inspiration to secure Edith's assistance in his expedition.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

MYSTERY.

THE wisest man is not always wise. Talbot Welbore was not particularly long-headed even for his years, though he shared a common illusion of four-and-twenty, and thought himself a shrewd and deep fellow. His opinion had been somewhat qualified by his present experience, which taught him to think less of himself than of another, and taught him also a weakness in his character which humiliated him even while he gloried in it.

The evil spirit which betrayed him into the display recorded had a bitter reaction in shame and selfcondemnation. Lead us not into temptation. He had wantonly indulged a malignant prompting, and behold the result! He would have liked well to believe that it was not the natural man in him which had played the part of fool and dastard. But he would use no salve nor flattering unction. The facts were too strong, and these proved him a miscreant. He would not allow extenuating circumstances; he was guilty in the first degree; he deserved the worst that could avenge his crime.

To this frame of mind he had come the evening after his escapade. He had quite exhausted the vein of spurious fury, and now revelled in the misery of a futile penitence, such as torments the spendthrift who has sqandered vast and sudden treasure, and finds himself struck down from high estate and warmest affluence to the squalors and contempt of bankrupt poverty.

Not a word had come from

Fowler's-alley or from Crane-street. He had listened with eager ears to every footstep on the landing outside his chambers. Certain letters had been delivered, but none of them was that he longed, yet dreaded, to receive. The Upper Ten should have his first contribution this day; but a copy of that organ lay unopened on the table before him. Even his literary ardour had been quenched. He felt that he had been driven desperate and indifferent to all things. by the calamity of his own provoking. If he went to the bad now, what matter? It would be his fittest fate. The pity of it was that it had not overtaken him before he had brought so much annoyance and trouble upon others.

What ought he to do? If he were more of a man and less of a cur, he would go and throw himself on his knees before her. He would lay his forehead in the dust, and beseech. If he did that she would

assuredly forgive. He felt it; but his wayward soul ignored, in its remorse, the comfortable thought, and whispered that probably the sight of him-even grovelling and repentant would move her less to pity than to disgust.

Had she taken it to heart? Did she suffer? He knew she would pardon and trust a great deal; but he knew that if one belief seized upon her mind, he could reckon neither upon trust nor pardon. Once it struck her that his anger was an affectation meant to break loose from her, she was the woman to let him go, though the dismissal killed her. And what could be more suspicious than the envenomed outburst with which he had retorted what he now owned to be the inspiration of a heart which loved him to self-sacrifice. Every moment that delayed his amende heightened the offence.

While he pondered the position, Mr. Peter Grimble appeared. It was the professor's first visit; and Talbot, guessing that he did not call to gratify a social impulse, greeted him with expectation. The philosopher was in his darksome mood. He waved aside the proferred hand with a 'Bah,' and addressing the graven image on his bludgeon, observed to that grinning familiar,

'The man who meddles in fools' work must be a fool. Where does that conclusion leave me?'

Pausing awhile to think out this question with the air of one who had been rather unpleasantly tripped up by his own deduction, the professor produced, from the lining of his hat, a three-cornered billet, tied with pink ribbon, sealed with blue sealing-wax, which was stamped with the legend, Sweet Sympathy.' This missive Mr. Grimble threw on the table with a gesture of disdain, having previously deposited, in the same rough fashion, three loose volumes, which carried the novel in their aspect. Talbot rudely rent the elegant safeguards of the note, which was elaborately addressed to him in a handwriting he knew, and read

To T. IV, Esq. From M. T. in purest sympathy with beauteous B.

'Forgive the freedom. But True Love weeps, and hence this mute appeal. Must Constancy proclaim you for a perjured swain, and most forsworn lover? Is it the old, old story? "For his bride a soldier sought her" (true, it is, alas! the barrister may be equally false and fickle). "And a winning tongue had he. On the banks of Allan Water (Conscience will substitute Fowler's alley), None half so sad as she."

'Emboldened by the spectacle of her winsome's woe, M. T. would

fain ask T. W. if the above lay is to serve for epitaph to B.? Abandoned by her chameleon-knight, like the Lady Yocelynda in The Broken Tryst, sweet B. pines. She languishes. But M. T. still believes 'tis not foul perfidy, but rather some passing cloud, such as whilom estranged the heiress of the Dean and the chivalrous captain of the Horse Guards Blue. The work, Love's Lunacy, wherein this exciting episode occurs, is herewith forwarded, marked at the pages of reconciliation. (See volume the third.) Clinging with weak woman's trust-for B.'s sake-to your honour and your faith-this from M. T. to say, "O prodigal heart, return, and all shall be forgiven."

'P.S.-Repentance and return shall be hailed with maiden glee, though Thomas Warnock rail at "cads" and "pups," and vow, in coarse vocabulary, "the game is up."-M.T.

2. P.S.-This, by hand, entreating immediate and sympathetic response.-M. T.'

This summons did not strike the man it was addressed to as particularly absurd. It was, to begin with, no more than an inflation of the fair writer's ordinary manner. In the second place, the reader's mood, distorted out of its natural and commonplace channel, was fitted to this sort of extravagant utterance. Anyhow, it was a welcome word to him.

His first impulse was to rush to her there and then; but he curbed himself, and decided to drop an instant line to Miss Twitterley, owning his sin, proclaiming his contrition, and announcing the hour when he should appear to do penance in person. This arrangement, he thought, would make the business less awkward for all.

'Mr. Grimble-Professor-shake

hands. Now, you must give me your hand. No angel of them all could bring me more welcome tidings than you-little of the seraph as you have about you. I'll ask you to sit for a minute or two and amuse yourself with these books before you while I scribble a line in reply. There's Buckle's History at your elbow.'

Mr. Grimble, as he seated himself, pushed the volume from him with his stick.

'History pah ! Philosophy teaching by fables. Historianbah! A fellow who prowls by the stream of Time, sir, and, whenever he comes upon a clear spot, dumps in a theory more or less like a whale, and makes all muddy as elsewhere. Does that define it or not?'

'That defines it to the letter.'

Mr. Grimble, glowering on the young man, folded his arms and leant back in his chair. Talbot took pen and ink at his desk near the window. It should have been a simple act to write a few words in reply to Miss Twitterley's communication. But Talbot's full heart, finding vent, overflowed in a torrent that swamped many pages, carrying him quite away on the flood. He wrote for twenty minutes, and then had not finished. It was an epic. The Professor had subsided into a doze, which was becoming audible in swelling diapason when the office lad announced Lynton, and that gentleman entered at the word.

Greetings were brief.

'I've come straight from Fowler's-alley,' said Lynton, not, perhaps, sufficiently noting the presence of a stranger. 'Profound sensation in that quarter. What have you been exploding among these people, Welbore?'

exerting himself to 'secure mercy and pardon for me, has been waiting half a century for a letter I find I have spun out to a history. I'll ask you to wait five minutes while I wind up. By the way, let me introduce my friend Dr. Lynton to you, Professor.'

The Professor snarled sleepily. Talbot could not refrain from asking after the attitude of the other side. Lynton's information was not agreeable.

He

'They are in a decidedly black humour with you, especially Mister Dad. "Pup" is about the most reverent term in his mouth. won't have no more to do with you, he says. Though a pore chap as ain't got no heddication-no, poor devil; I beg his pardon-he complains of your dodging and deceitfulness. He says he doesn't blame you for funking: he only blames you for acting the sneak. These are his wild and whirling words. If you wanted to break off the thing, he says you should have spoken frankly, and not played a foul trick.'

'You saw her?' 'I saw the girl.'

'How does she take it, Lynton ?' 'I could gather that, though much puzzled, and certainly much distressed by your behaviour, she has not quite made up her mind that you are the very bad lot Dad makes you out to be.'

'My heart of gold!'

'When the old gentleman saidand according to his view, not without sound reason, I think— that you had made the row for a pretext to cut loose from your engagement with the girl, by Jove! she struck an attitude fit for a heroine of romance. You should have heard her protest. Poor girl! See, Welbore, take care you are not treating her badly.'

'I'll go to her this instant!' cried Talbot, rising in his enthusiasm.