soothing in a variety of gentle admonitions and snatches of advice, and a variety of hopeful ifs. "Don't fret, Dorothy. He will come back; I have heard of people being away a great deal longer."

66

'No, no, Jacob; he would have written and I've seen shrouds in the candle, and coffins have popped out of the fire. Oh, no, no." Dorothy rocked herself to and fro for a few moments, and then gradually recovered.

"You've never asked about Lucy's father and mother," she said at length, wiping her eyes.

"I understood they were dead," said Jacob.

"Her mother died an hour after she was born, and her father was ordered to India with his regiment a week afterwards.”

"Tell me all about it, Dorothy," said Jacob.

"Her mother was my mother's youngest sister, and an ensign in the army fell in love with her. He was very young at the time: it was in this way. The regiment was in Middleton for a fortnight, and my grandfather was a farmer; mother's youngest sister was very pretty, and was staying on a visit at Middleton. The young officer followed her several times, and at last went into the house where she was stopping, and said right out he loved her, and asked for her father. After that he went and saw her father, and got his consent to go and see her, and they were regularly engaged. When the regiment went to other quarters the officer wrote to Lucy's mother every week, and a year afterwards married her; but his father disowned him for it." "How hard-hearted!" said Jacob.

"Yes, hard-hearted it was. Well, she lived happily enough with him for about a year, and then came home for a little while, when Lucy was born, and her poor dear mother died, as I have told you. The father was nearly broken-hearted, and more so that he was ordered to India. I've heard mother tell the story many a time, and cried at it till my eyes have been swelled up. When he went, he left as much money as he could for the support of the child."

"Poor Lucy, dear Lucy!" said Jacob, deeply interested in Dorothy's unexpected and romantic narrative.

"But time wore on, and as he never came back, the money was spent; and grandfather getting old and infirm, things went wrong with him, and at last he followed grandmother to the grave. Soon there was nobody left but mother, who was married to father before the youngest sister was wed, of course; so Lucy went to live with them. When she was about ten the housekeeper of Mr. Bradforth, who owns the factory, took a fancy to her, and got Mr. Bradforth to let her come and live in the house with her, and be in the factory.

The gentleman being kind, and hearing a bit about Lucy's history, consented, and the housekeeper learnt her to read and write so well that Lucy got a prize for Scripture reading at the Sunday-school. About this time, father, who was groom for Squire Northcotes, got the situation as head keeper at Dunswood, and then when he took to be ill sometimes, and mother was not so nimble as she had been, they thought Lucy might come and keep house for them; and I thought so too, because Mr. Bradforth's housekeeper, the latter part of Lucy's time at the factory, used to let her work more than I thought was good for her; and what was more, she was getting to an age when she would be better away from such society as there is in a factory, though she is as good as she is beautiful. That's her history, as far as I know. I've told you all mother has told me, and I ought to know it, all the times I've heard it. So you see Lucy's got good blood in her veins, Master Jacob. Her father was an officer in the army, and her mother was the daughter of parents who were honest enough, if they were not so rich as they might have been."

"You amaze me!" said Jacob; "why it is quite a romance, the history of Lucy's life! but a very sorrowful one. Poor Lucy! What was her father's name, then?”

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that," Dorothy replied. "His name was Thornton."

"Then Lucy's proper name is Thornton !"

"Yes, it is; but we've always called her Cantrill.”

"Well, you are a gossiping couple," said Spen, entering the room. "Mr. Spawling has been waiting for you this half hour, Jacob, and now he's gone to bed."

"I am sorry he waited, Spen, but Dorothy and I have been having a long chat, and the time has gone very quickly."

"Time travels in divers places with divers persons," said Spen. "I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands withal. But no, 'tis getting late. We must to bed, to bed, friend Jacob."

"Always lively, Spen, always funny," said Jacob.

"I'm brimful of Shakespeare to-night, Jacob; but it's not all fun. It's grand, Jacob. If learning Shakespeare was learning grammar, I should soon be a scholar."

"I don't think you could learn better grammar, Spen," said Jacob.

"I declare the boy's head's turned with Shakespeare-one hears about nothing else now-I shall go to bed;" whereupon, Dorothy put a bundle of sticks into the kitchen oven, removed the chairs a

little distance from the fire, screwed down the window cotter, lighted candles for Jacob, Spen, and herself, and then the three bade each other "Good night."

CHAPTER XV.

A MAN'S TROUBLES.

A DULL February morning. Mr. Martyn had just breakfasted at a shining square table in the general room of the new Hummums Hotel, Covent Garden. He lighted a cigar, and stood at the door of the house to smoke. There was a cold, sombre cloud hanging over the garden; the atmosphere harmonised with Mr. Martyn's thoughts. The rime frost still clung to some waggon-loads of winter greens. Mr. Martyn presently strolled into the market. He looked vacantly at the fruits and flowers. He was thinking of the last effort he was about to make to save himself from bankruptcy. A tray of violets carried his mind back for a moment to early days, but he could not afford to indulge in a reverie on flowers. Over breakfast he had read a letter from Jacob, in which our hero had expressed a desire to go into the world and commence the battle of life. Jacob said he had worked hard for many months; that he had studied night and day, and that Mr. Spawling was more than satisfied with his progress; that he had made up in these latter days for any early neglect of his education. Jacob said nothing about Lucy, though he had thought of her all the time he was writing. What pretty secrets, what pleasant mysteries Love permits to his votaries.

Mr. Martyn walked and smoked and calculated his chances of success and failure, until he stood before the London chambers of Mr. Bonsall, M.P., in Piccadilly. It was eleven o'clock, and the servant said the hon. member had not yet breakfasted.

"There was a very late sitting of the House last night," said the

man.

"I have particular business with Mr. Bonsall, and will wait," said Mr. Martyn.

"I will take up your card," said the man.

The provincial journalist followed the man into a handsome little room, where a bachelor's breakfast was waiting for the rising member for Middleton.

Presently Mr. Bonsall entered. He was a tall, square-built man, with hard features, though the mouth bespoke that peculiar power of talk which belongs to a certain class of men who come to the front

at public meetings of all kinds. You could see at once that there was no sentiment in Mr. Bonsall's constitution. He was a business man, sir; looked at life from a practical point of view: he reduced feelings to figures, and balanced them up as he did his steward's book. He looked at his watch as he entered the room, and made up his mind to get rid of Mr. Martyn within half an hour.

"Ah, Mr. Martyn," he said, "I am glad to see you. (calling to his servant), Mr. Martyn will have breakfast."

Charles

"No, thank you," said Mr. Martyn, " I have breakfasted.” "Mr. Martyn has breakfasted," said the member to Charles, who at once left the room with the additional plates which he was about to place on the table.

"I hope you are well," said Mr. Martyn. "You are compelled to keep later hours in town than are observed at Clumberside."

"Yes," said Mr. Bonsall. "These late sittings are not conducive to health; I am not so well as I was; you will take a cup of coffee. at all events."

"Thank you, yes, I will," said Mr. Martyn.

"Charles, Mr. Martyn will take some coffee," said the member. "How is Middleton getting on?" asked the member, chipping his morning egg. "I am told trade is bad there, and I suppose that was to be expected; the depression is perfectly natural; money is too cheap-trade requires the stimulus of a rising discount; the money market is the surest barometer of the commercial atmosphere."

"I suppose it is," said Mr. Martyn, "though I do not find money cheap in the common acceptation of the term at all events; the iron trade is in a miserable state, and we have two thousand colliers out on strike."

"That is bad, though I hold that the collier has a perfect right to strike; his labour represents capital, and it is for him to assess the value of that capital."

"There, Mr. Bonsall, you know we differ; but we will discuss the point at some other time; I dare say you have important business to attend to this morning, and I have come to town especially to talk over with you a matter that concerns you indirectly and myself in a very important degree."

"Yes," said Mr. Bonsall. "Take a little more coffee (refilling Mr. Martyn's cup). I should like to argue that question of the relation of capital to labour and vice versa; but we will reserve it, as you say, for a more convenient opportunity. What is our business together this morning?-nothing like seeing a man on business and doing business promptly."

"The newspaper," said Mr. Martyn, his voice faltering a little, "the Middleton Star."

"Yes, I congratulate you upon it, Mr. Martyn. It is admirably conducted and well written, though I doubt whether you are not just a trifle too liberal in your treatment of our opponents. For my own part, I think uncompromising enmity the policy in politics. If an opponent were known privately to be an angel, I should insist on calling him a devil, sir," said Mr. Bonsall. "Give the other side. credit for nothing, sir, but tyranny, selfishness, and knavery."

"I know your views upon that subject," said Mr. Martyn. "You remember when first you suggested that I should start this newspaper?"

"No, not exactly," said the hon. member, though he remembered the circumstance perfectly well. "Did I suggest it?"

"Most certainly," said Mr. Martyn. "I remember our talking about it, before the first election when you were defeated."

"Some years ago. It must be a very long time ago."

"The party wanted a paper, you wanted a paper, I was enthusiastic for a paper, we all wanted an organ,” said Mr. Martyn.

"Yes, I remember something of it."

"Mr. Bonsall," said the journalist, rising, "why this pretended want of memory? Is it because you have heard that the paper is in difficulties ?"

"No, my dear sir; I simply do not quite remember the circumstance; pray don't excite yourself."

"Then of course you quite forget the promises which you and your agent made to me when I consented to enter upon this enterprise ?"

"Promises!" said Mr. Bonsall, looking up with an expression of great surprise. "Pray explain. I do not quite understand you. "

"The Middleton Star was projected and started in the interest of the party," said Mr. Martyn. "I believed then, and I do now, that the party represented those principles which mean the national good and the national welfare; I felt that apart from its political views, a well conducted and independent journal would be successful; you and your agents promised me substantial aid if I required it. 'We are not particular to a couple of thousand pounds if you want it,' you said; my reply was that I should put all my own money into it before I asked for the party's assistance. I looked for a fair reward for my capital and energy. I have been disappointed. The chief success has been in electing you, and thus maintaining the supremacy of the party at Middleton after a struggle of many years. Not only have I spent all