one hearing anything about him that is detrimental to his dignity, or at all subversive of the idea that he is omnipotent with any woman with whom he desires to be omnipotent. In addition to this abstract aversion to being suspected of anght resembling failure, he has a special aversion to the possibility of Kate hearing that another woman, after holding him in the hollow of her hand for some time, can calmly speak of throwing him away, as if it were not an unlikely contingency. These are his paramount sensations. Superadded to these is the human instinct which teaches us to keep every wound concealed.

A moment's observation of Kate and Frank convinces Bellairs that he need not fear detection from them. Frank is eagerly extenuating his own conduct, and trying to prove that Miss Grange's has been such as becomes a modest young maiden (on promotion) throughout; and Kate is listening to him in silence, with a pitying, sorrowful look on her face that damages Miss Grange in her lover's estimation, far more effectually than any words spoken in intemperate haste and anger could have done. "You see," Frank is urging, "when a fellow can't get the woman he loves, it isn't good for him to live alone, so the only thing to be done, is to take the woman who loves him."

"She does love you then; I am glad you feel that, Frank. Well, dear, all that remains for me to say, is, may you be very happy."

"You have no hard thoughts about me, Kate; bless you for that," he says, but in his secret soul he is rather hurt that she can so entirely renounce him as to have no "hard thoughts" of him, even when she hears that he is going to be married to someone else.

"Bellairs is in the same box," Frank says, with a little uneasy suspicion of being a trifle revengeful about something. "In the same box? Do you mean that he is in love with Miss Grange, too?" she asks, kindling into real, womanly, jealous wrath in an instant.

"I mean that he is going to be married to Mrs. Durgan," Frank mutters, averting his eyes from the face that is suffused for one moment by a crimson blush, and that pales the next, under the influence of what must be a most heart-sickening pang to run the white flag up above the red in such a sudden way.

66

Going to be married!" she says, slowly. "Frank! you are not playing

with me, are you? because you are shaking my trust in her, as well as in him—-”

"Then you have been putting trust in him again, foolishly!" Frank half questions, half asserts, "it's no use giving women lessons, however sharp and thorough they may be; they never profit by them. That Torquay business ought to have taught you to have guarded your heart against him again."

66

Why Frank, I learnt it so badly that it did'nt even teach me to guard my heart against you, at one time," she says, with just a touch of this newly-acquired bitterness of hers. Then she goes on to speculate in lowered tones-for the conversation between the other pair has nearly died away into silence-as to the reason why this reticence has been observed towards her; as to the motive that could be powerful enough to throw a shade of seeming falseness over one of the frankest souls that had ever apparently belied itself, within Kate's experience.

"She had her reasons, be sure of that," Frank says, caustically. He is not too well disposed towards the sex at present, and is quite inclined to attribute any amount of envy, hatred, malice, and double dealing to any mentioned member of it. The thought of his recently-acquired Charlotte, and of all he will have to endure at her steady, composed, passive hands, stings him into feelings and utterances of injustice against the whole sisterhood.

"She had her reasons, and I don't think we have very far to look for them," he goes on, scanning Kate's changing countenance with angry eyes as he speaks. "I haven't met with the angelic woman in this world yet who would spare herself the pleasant spectacle of a sister-woman making a fool of herself. Mrs. Durgan was too sure of her own position with him to feel any alarm at the idea of your offering him the most potent flattery you could offer; she was all right, she didn't care for your after-smarts."

There is no sympathy for Kate in either his words or his way as he says all this. Further than this, there is no sympathy for her in his heart. In his estimation she has forfeited everything of that kind, both from himself and the world in general, by suffering affections to wander away in the direction of any other man than himself. True, her state smooths all difficulties of feeling on her account out of the way of his marriage with Charlotte;

but he would have preferred a different process of smoothing altogether.

She likes him so well, so heartily and thoroughly still in her generous, forgiving way, that it hurts her to fathom this ungenerous hardness on his part. There was nothing unwomanly, nothing forward nor unworthy in her demeanour, towards Captain Bellairs. It wounds her love of veracity, therefore, as well as her womanly pride, when Frank angrily assumes that there have been these reprehensible things, and that he is sorry to be compelled to openly manifest his disapproval of them.

"We'll turn to the pleasanter topic of your engagement, Frank," she says, quickly. "Let unrealities and vain imaginings alone, and tell me more about the happy reality you have achieved. When and where do you marry?"

"In London, I suppose," he answers, haltingly.

The pleasant topic will not get itself well and easily talked about, it appears. It is projected in a jerky way into their intercourse, and he is sensitively alive to the fact that Kate is aware that it is not the one about which his thoughts twine most tenderly.

"In London! among you all ?" she replies, softly.

"I don't know about that. My mother is rather queer, and Gertrude gets on the stilts without a moment's hesitation. She's going to be married to that fool, Clement Graham, you know, and she has it all her own way (as the wealthy ones always have) with my mother just now. She may choose to think that I, being her brother, am making a bad match."

"If you never have the same thought it will matter very little what the rest of the world think," Kate says, encouragingly. "I always like men who gang their own gait without veering about with every contrary opinion that may be wafted forth by their various friends."

either very little of the real state of the other's emotions.

"I ought to say something very pretty to you about Frank," he says; "but the fact is, I can't think of anything excepting that I hope he will be happy."

"Thanks; that at least everyone who knows him must hope," Kate answers. "There's a good deal of risk in it." "Yes, there's a good deal of risk in every marriage."

"She'll tone him down a bit. The exuberant spirit of youth won't be able to stand out against that depressing, stolid calm of hers."

"You're not too hopeful for him."

"I'm not too hopeful for anyone in affairs of this kind. As far as I have seen, before the fatal day arrives one or other of the contracting parties awakes to a full knowledge of the folly he or she is about

to commit."

"I mustn't detain you," Kate says nervously in response to this. "Let me congratulate you at any rate, and then-go."

He takes her hand and gives it a strong, long clasp. He looks into her eyes, with eyes that are lighted by the fire of such passionate feeling for her, that it shocks and staggers her to remember that he is honour-bound to the powerless woman behind them, sitting there in her touching helplessness, watching this scene, which must be fraught with so much meaning for her. With a sudden despairing movement of the head, she withdraws her hand from his and whispers,

"Never think that I have a single hard thought of you; weak as I have been, I have never been weak enough to look forward to a happier ending for myself than this."

She passes down among the tall ferns and flowering plants as she says this, and goes out into the garden, out of ear-shot of the farewells which she fears are being interchanged behind her, hoping for one hour at least to herself in which to battle down, to defeat and kill the crowning misery of her life.

But the two men have not been gone five minutes before a messenger comes from Mrs. Durgan, with a request that "Miss Mervyn will come to her at once."

When she goes, she is greeted with the words—

"Now Kate, I'll have it out with you."

said Heath; "but I can satisfy myself on that point when I come up. One word more. She has said nothing but what you have told me ? she has made no reference to-to anything that she saw?" "Not a syllable," said Studley; "indeed she can scarcely be said to have got her senses back yet."

"Give her that, then," said Heath, "and we shall be sure of her for the time we require."

After Studley had gone up-stairs, Heath went into the dining-room and looked round him. The lamp shone brightly; the fire which he had lighted when he came to clear the room was burning in the grate; the jewel-casket and its contents had been removed, and the cloth replaced. One of the hanging corners of this cloth was deeply stained. In making his careful survey he came upon this, and, taking out his pocket-knife, cut off the dark corner, and ripped the cloth above it into jagged strips. That looks as if a dog had done it," he muttered to himself. "What was that he said about a mark on the carpet? Ah, here it is!" and stooping down he examined it thoroughly. It was not on the carpet, but on the hearth-rug-an irregular-shaped crimson stain. Heath considered for a moment. Then he thrust the poker in amongst the burning coals. When he had made it red-hot he pulled the poker forth, and holding it immediately above the stain, let it drop, left it there for an instant, and then rolled it three or four times over with his foot, finally picking it up and replacing it in the fender. think that will do," he said, looking at it, "nobody could doubt but that that was the result of an accident, and now every troublesome trace is destroyed. A close risk though," he muttered, shaking his head, "and with such a fellow as this in confidence, who can tell when he is safe?" He turned to go up-stairs. Then suddenly looked over his shoulder at the spot where that had been. There was a dark shadow there now, he could swear. He stepped back to the table, turned the lamp round, and the shadow was gone. Then with a last sigh of relief he left the

room.

"I

"Yes," said Studley," she took it quite quietly, and scarcely knew what it was I believe you can do anything with her now-and in a few minutes she fell into quite a peaceful slumber. Poor girl!" he muttered, "it would be almost better for her if she never woke."

"That is entirely a matter of opinion," said Heath, "but what we have to do is to attend to business. This wretched affair -brought about, mark, by sheer necessity, not by any wish of mine-has changed the whole programme; the money and jewels plainly are no longer safe here, they must be removed by me instead of by you as we originally intended, and no steps must be taken towards parting with the diamonds for months to come."

"Where do you propose to take the things?" asked Studley.

"I think to Paris, but I have not decided yet," replied Heath.

Why can't I take them?" asked Studley eagerly. "I cannot remain in this place; I shall go mad if I remain here.'

"And what is to become of your daughter?" asked Heath, turning upon him savagely. "She cannot go from here; she holds our lives in her hands, and you are answerable for her. You must remain here professedly in charge of your sick child, and all the inquiries that are to be made, and all the work that is to be done outside must be done by me."

"When will he be missed, do you think?" whispered Studley.

"That is the first point on which I intend to assure myself," said his companion. "I shall go to town the first thing to-morrow morning, in order to ascertain if his intention of coming here to-day was known to anyone."

"I shouldn't think it would be," said Studley. "It isn't very likely that a fellow who was coming down to pay money which he had lost at cards, would care to inform anyone of his errand.”

"No," said Heath, "I think you are right there. And there is another reason why he should keep silence."

He pointed as he spoke towards the bedroom door.

Studley at first looked up at him blankly, but suddenly he said, "Great heavens! I had forgotten all about that. If she really cared for him, it is enough to turn the poor girl's brain."

"That is an additional necessity for keeping a strict watch upon her," said

Heath, "and that duty and responsibility must necessarily devolve entirely on you. However, she can be safely left now for a few minutes, and I want you to come down-stairs and help me to pack those things in the portmanteau."

When the portmanteau-a strong black one, with Studley's name on it in white letters-was fully packed, it was found to be very heavy indeed.

"You will have some difficulty in carrying this, won't you?" asked Studley, who had to take both his hands to lift it from the ground, "and yet it would not be advisable to give it into anyone else's custody."

"I can carry it well enough," said Heath, "and you may be perfectly certain that no one else touches it, until its contents have been deposited in a place of safety. By the way, I shall want to be up early in the morning, and to get across to the station before the omnibus starts. Is chance of obtaining a fly in the

village ? "

"They keep one at the Lion," said Studley; "but the train before that which the omnibus meets goes soon after seven o'clock."

"That is the one which I intend to take," said Heath. "It would be advisable for me to show early at the bank, and I have rather a hard day's work before me there. I shall lie down in your den for a few hours, and I am sure to wake in good time. You, I suppose, will sleep in the chair by your daughter's bed-side?"

"Yes," said Studley, "I suppose I must."

"You will be guided in your conduct to her by circumstances, remember," said Heath. "From the little I have seen of her she is a girl of great force of character; but you will have sufficient influence over her to keep her quiet for forty-eight hours. In that time I shall be back, and we can consult further. Now good-bye."

He put out his hand, and had held it out for a minute before Studley met it with his own. For an instant an angry flush rose on Heath's cheeks, but it died away speedily as he repeated, "Good-bye; remember all that depends on your care and watchfulness!" When he reached the captain's room, Heath smoked a pipe and read a book-he could not have told you what, the first that came to hand-before stretching himself on the ragged old ottoman which was to serve him as couch. When he had blown out the light and

closed his eyes he fell asleep at once, and slept calmly and peacefully until daybreak, when he arose, and taking the portmanteau with him, walked off to the Lion, where he roused the still slumbering stable people and ordered a fly.

Some of the younger gentlemen attached to the banking establishment which was still known as Middleham's, were a trifle late in putting in an appearance the next day, for on Monday morning they were accustomed, as they described it themselves, to "cut it rather fine." Sunday was for most of them a day of pleasure and recreation; in the summer time they "to the woodlands did repair," and boating excursions and campings out, and dinners at the various pretty suburban places of resort, the return from which was often prolonged late into the night, rendered their forced early rising more than usually disagreeable. Even during the autumn and winter, Sunday was the chosen day for these social gatherings among themselves or with other joyous fellows of the same age and standing in life, the result being that there was immense difficulty in what the witty Moger described as brushing the cobwebs out of your eyes on Monday mornings."

66

The relations between the younger gentlemen and Rumbold, the bank porter, who sat on a hard bench immediately inside the ever swinging doors, were of a confidential nature, and much freedom of talk passed between them. In former days they were in the habit of receiving from Rumbold information regarding the movements of Mr. Middleham, who had been by Moger irreverently christened "Old Fireworks," and was generally spoken of by that appellation; and now the same agency was worked, and Rumbold was called upon to report progress in the case of the present manager, who, at the same fount of humorous inspiration, had been dubbed "Hampstead." A stout, red-faced, black-haired man, Rumbold, who was reported once to have been a butcher, and whose knowledge of prime cuts and wing-ribs was utilised by the younger gentlemen at the social feeds, for which he acted as their caterer; otherwise a quiet, unpresuming man, with a sharp eye for any suspicious-looking character on the wrong side of the swinging doors, and a power of throwing a whole scuttle full of coals on to the fire at one cast, a quality which did not diminish his popularity with those of the younger gentlemen,