one, and the farmer left the house without requiring to see Mavis again. The doctor sent for Jane to come to him alone, and she found him looking both sad and disgusted.

'He's gone?'

'Yes, he's gone; and first, here is the key. He declined seeing the poor thing-he was plainly frightened, but he said he did not see the good of it, and hated corpses.'

'I am so glad.'

'Well, as you care about it so much, so am I. The man is a curious creature; I never came across a meaner or more odious one. He was going to bluster and bully, but he dropped that tone very quickly, when he found I knew all about him, and would be prepared to justify my professional conduct in the case. I had only to hint at certain discoveries I had made-there, there, don't cry, she is safe from him now-and he sneaked as abjectly as he had blustered boldly.'

'And what is he going to do?'

'He is going to give her a proper funeral. I have promised to choose the ground. I know your parents' grave; it shall be close by, if possible. The funeral must take place on Saturday morning, early, for he and his daughter have to go on board the "British Queen" in the afternoon. He said he presumed her preparations were all made.'

'Mavis is quite ready.'

'He will not come here in the interval.'

'I am glad of that.'

'He will send a carriage for his daughter and her luggage in good time. She will have to go to his hotel. You must prepare her for all this, poor girl! I undertook that for you.'

'I will see to all that concerns Mavis.'

'Well, then, I must leave you. Try and get her to lie down, and sleep, if you can. I shall see her to-morrow.'

Dr. Chad kept his promises, and the inevitable business was all well and duly done; but he did not see Mavis on the following day. She had begged, Jane said, that she might not be disturbed.

The funeral, attended only by Wynn and Dr. Chad, took place at the appointed hour. In due time afterwards a carriage, with a servant from the Railway Hotel on the box with the driver, drew up at 108 Cecil Street, where the blinds were up again, and the maid who opened the door was told to inform Miss Wynn that she must be quick, as the luggage had to be sent on board at once.

The maid took a letter off the table in the hall, and handed it to the servant from the hotel.

'Miss Wynn ain't been here this two days,' she said.

She

left this letter to be kept till sent for by her pa. So you'd best take it to him.'

Half an hour later the same carriage stopped at 108 Cecil Street. Wynn jumped out and knocked furiously at the door. On this occasion it was opened by Jane Price. She looked composedly into his face-it was livid.

'Where is my daughter?' he stammered, but without crossing the threshold.

'I don't know; but if I did, I should not tell you. She has escaped you, like your other victim, my sister. You'll have to do without a victim for a while, David Wynn.'

She moved the door to close it; but he put out his strong hand and held it back, while he said in a tone of fury that made Jane turn pale in spite of her scorn of him—

'When you see her next, give her my curse!'

CHAPTER XIV.

TEMPERED WIND.

THIRTY years ago the Euston Road enjoyed the distinction of being the chosen home of artists in tombstones, manufacturers of metallic monstrosities for the adornment of gardens and the correc❤ tion of smoky chimneys, and agencies which provided governesses for school and family consumption. The deep set three-storeyed houses, with their narrow windows, had a gloomy look, for the gardens were mostly occupied by plaster images, stone monuments, and terrible creations in lead and zinc; where this was not the case, the horticultural art was a good deal neglected, and the rockery, with a preponderance of oyster shell, had been cultivated to the exclusion of the bigher ideal.

The wire blinds of the ground-floor windows of a dull but very clean-looking house in the Euston Road were inscribed in white paint with the words, Metge's Agency and Registry Office;' while a board hoisted on poles above the entrance gate bore the inscription, Home for Governesses.'

On a fine day in early summer, Miss Metge, the 'Principal' of this agency and home, was more than usually occupied with the morning's letters. The routine of her work was not generally of an interesting kind, although it sometimes brought her in contact with remarkable scenes of life's history; its nature was monotonous, and its tendency was depressing. Without sharing the views of the sentimental novelists of a bygone day respecting the charms, the virtues, and the woes of governesses, and the hard.

heartedness and hauteur of their employers, Miss Metge was constantly faced by the fact that toil, loneliness, exile from home, at a time of life when life is fairest, and, to the fortunate, most promising, fall to the lot of a sadly large number of young English women who are very ill-fitted to bear them. In some instances, however, she was inclined to commiserate the employers of these young women fully as much as she pitied themselves, and to regard the difficulties of the position as pretty equally divided. A case in point was in Miss Metge's mind at this moment, while she was entering, in a long book with initialled pages, the names and addresses of the writers of a number of letters, just received. She had selected two from the number, and placed them on one side. under a paper-weight, for separate consideration.

Miss Metge was a short, round, solid-looking woman of fortyfive, with a pale complexion, thin, smooth dark hair, a broad sensible forehead, eyes which, although light in colour, were remarkably penetrating, a clear voice, and a quiet but businesslike manner. She was invariably dressed in a well-worn black silk gown, with cambric frills at the neck and wrists, and she had never been seen without a small three-cornered black gauze shawl of unknown antiquity, and a contemporaneous pair of cobweb-like lace mittens. Her occupation was a humble one, and not lucrative; but it never occurred to anybody to doubt that Miss Metge Was a gentlewoman. The front parlour, of which she made an office, and where she passed several hours every day, seated behind the wire blind, and intent on the business of the agency, was plainly furnished, but scrupulously clean, and arranged with a peculiar precision and handiness. Miss Nestle would have regarded Miss Metge with esteem, and recognised in her orderly papers, accurately kept books, and calmly superintending aspect, evidences of a spirit akin to that which presided over the Museum.

Presently Miss Metge rose and, with some of her papers, went into a back parlour, communicating with the front room. There she remained a short time, and returning, applied herself to the two letters that she had laid aside.

She was still occupied with these documents when the clang of the gate apprised her that some one was coming, and looking over the top of the blind she saw a lady approaching the house, attended by a grey-haired man-servant in a very sober livery, that yet had not an English look about it.

'She is early,' said Miss Metge to herself, as she replaced one of the letters under the bronze hand on the table, put the other in her pocket, and went out to meet the visitor at the hall door.

VOL. LIII. NO. CCXI.

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