all. I believe Great Britain is going to the dogs, and 'pon my life I don't know whether it would be best with the Radicals to get her torn to pieces and done for finally as dogs' meat, and have it over, or try to stave it off-with the Conservatives. It is a satisfaction to take the pound from him who doesn't know its value, and give it to him with ten, who does know its worth to a penny.'

'Please sir-the rector!' said John, showing in the Reverend Mr. Pamphlet.

'Why, Percival! how are you? How well you are looking!' Presently, after some promiscuous conversation, Sir John Carmynow left. Then the rector, drawing close to Mr. Curgenven, said-'I've called in, just to make sure how we stand. I suppose you subscribe the same to the schools as we had from Lambert.' 'I suppose I must.'

'And to the clothing club?'

'Yes.'

'And to the coal club?'

'I suppose it is necessary.'

'Oh, absolutely. And to the shoe club?'

'How many more?'

'Oh-only the blanket club.'

'That is all, is it?'

'Well, there is the parochial lending library—but a guinea will suffice for that. I didn't quite gauge your views in matters theological, and so—I don't know which you would support, the mission woman or the Scripture reader.'

'Oh, by Jove-I've no theological views whatever.'

So much the better, then you will pay for both.'

‘Thank you—you are very kind,' said Percival ironically. 'Then,' continued the rector blandly, and passed his hands through his white whiskers, some of us have been thinking it would be so nice to fill the east window with stained glass as a memorial to poor Lambert. I am sure the poor will gladly contribute their pence and the farmers their sixpences, if you will head the list. I think it might be done for a hundred pounds. It is not a large window, you know. I will give five pounds, and poor dear Jane another five-out of her penury, casting in all that she can, and perhaps we could get together ten pounds in the parish. That will leave only eighty-and to you as squire that is nothing.'

'I think that must wait. I don't know on my soul what J

shall have. The income of this property is nominally four thousand, but I find there is a mortgage on it of two hundred, and the repairs and rebuildings will cost me at least a thousand a year. Put me down for nothing till I have had time to turn round and feel how I sit in this new seat. At the present moment, Mr. Pamphlet, it looks very much to me as though the outgoings were commensurate with the incomings. Sir John Carmynow has been here about the hunt,'

But the Church and parish first,' said the rector in a tone of solemnity.

Before sunset the new squire sauntered to the churchyard; he heard the notes of the organ sounding through the open door. Some one was practising. He had his pipe in his mouth when he passed through the graveyard gate, and he did not remove it from his mouth, but walked slowly, meditating, towards the Curgenven vault, that stood outside the south aisle of the church, and was covered with a large slate slab. Beneath that slab lay the Captain. Percival with his hands in his pocket and the pipe in his mouth stood looking at the slab, with the newly cut inscription on it recording the interment of the late squire.

A reaction from the excitement had set in, and some moisture formed in his eye. He drew one hand from his pocket and removed the pipe from between his lips. Then he seated himself over against the family burying place, on another stone, stretched his legs before him and remained with his chin on his breast, the pipe on his knee feebly sending forth a slight fume, and considered-he almost thought aloud. His lips moved forming the words that rose up in his mind. 'Dear old boy! I'm confoundedly sorry for you-old chap. It takes all the pleasure out of my advancement to think that I step to it over your jolly old body. 'Pon my soul, Lambert, I'd a hundred thousand times. rather be back in the Pillbox, and you in Curgenven. Whom the deuce shall I have to talk to and play billiards with, and smoke a pipe, and drink a glass of whisky toddy with now, old boy? Peace be to your ashes, my dear Lambert,' said he aloud, and knocked out some of the dust from his pipe on the slab above the vault; then put the meerschaum to his lips again and puffed away vigorously to restore the glow. I swear to you, old man, I'll do what is right as far as I know how. But, Lambert-the state of the matter is so mixed that, on my word, I hardly know what ought to be done. I must say it even here, my billy-boy-your

behaviour to your first wife was scurvy-I can't help it, scurvy is the word. And now in the light of eternity you know it, know it as well as I do, and are heartily sorry for it, and would like to have it otherwise. I must take that into consideration, and do something for Theresa. That's your present desire, I could swear it. But your past wish was to provide for the second wife-so I suppose I must do something too for that rhinoceros, Jane. I'll do it and for the kid also, I mean Alice, she's a little dear too. But I shan't let her have Curgenven. I have to consider the feelings and the wishes of all the other corpses in there along with you, Lambert, as well, and you know as well as I do that Curgenven must have as its owner a Curgenven. Alice is a darling, but she might marry a Tompkins, and then there would be a Tompkins of Curgenven. That would never do. It wouldn't be the same even if Tompkins assumed our name. No-Curgenven goes to Justinian. That's certain, and that is as it should be. My conscience will justify me in determining that. But it's other bones about the widows. How you could throw aside Theresa for Jane passes my understanding. If you had first married Jane and then kicked her over, I could have gone with you there; I'd have done it myself. And that you should have taken Theresathat's explicable. But having Theresa, to get into harness with that kangaroo-' he shook his head. The world is full of puzzles. However, I need not bother my head about that. It was done. What am I to do? For nineteen years Theresa never had a penny from you, Lambert, more shame to you, and for sixteen or seventeen Jane has been spending as much of the Curgenven money as she cared to spend. That's not fair. To be even, Theresa should have a run on the property for sixteen or seventeen years, and then after that both go shares equally. But I can't go wholly by what is fair-I must go by the expressed intention of Lambert. There is the three hundred for the widow-that was a provision in the settlement. They shall have it turn and turn about, and toss up who is to have the first pull. I shall put away three hundred a year for Alice, to form a sum on which she may be comfortably off hereafter.'

Then there dashed down the church avenue a boy-the organblower released. A few minutes later Mrs. Jane Curgenven issued from the porch, with her nose in the air, turning it from side to side.

'Piff!' said she-'a very strong scent of tobacco.'

Mr. Percival at once removed his pipe and attempted to pocket it; but Mrs. Curgenven had seen him.

'Really, Percival-smoking in the churchyard!—and at the vault! Upon my word-Percival-I could not have conceived that such a thing could be done! Have you no religious feelingsno sense of decency?'

'No harm meant, Jane.'

But harm is done.'

'There is nothing wrong in smoking, any more than in smelling a scentbottle.'

"There is wrong where there is indecorum. What is irreverent is profane, and what is profane is sinful.'

'I'm very sorry, Jane. I'll not do it again. I have knocked about in the West so much that I have forgotten some of the ways of civilisation.'

'Of that I am well aware.'

'I say, Jane. I want a word with you. I am deadly sorry for this unfortunate business about the two Mrs. Curgenvens.'

'There is one only.'

'The two wives, you know. I have been turning about in my head what is the right thing to do with you both.'

'I do not want you to have anything to do with me,' said Mrs. Curgenven, and I refuse to be named in the same breath with another individual to whom you allude.'

'It is only this,' said Percival; 'that three hundred pounds per annum must go to the two wives between them, somehow.' 'If you speak like that you insult me.'

'I-I wish a score of men would insult me by offering me three hundred a year.'

'It is not that. That I admit I have a right to.'

'Not a right, Jane. It is true three hundred a year was the sum settled that the widow should have. But then there are two, you know; and I think if you could see your way to share and share about, and to toss up who should begin

'Mr. Percival,' said Mrs. Curgenven haughtily, if you mean this in joke, it speaks an obtuseness of moral sense which is deplorable. That you mean it seriously I cannot believe. Understand me for once and for all. I emphatically repudiate the notion of that abandoned woman having the smallest shadow of a right to be regarded as the wife of poor Lambert. If I submit to what my father has wished-that I waive my claim

and that of my child,-it is solely to spare his memory from being aspersed. Good evening. I wish you may learn to behave respectfully to a lady before you again address her. I am till you marry-Mrs. Curgenven. When you marry I am the dowager Mrs. Curgenven. Understand that, mark, and digest it.'

CHAPTER XVIII.

DRUMDUSKIE.

THERESA arrived at the little station of Drumduskie, weary and sick. She had travelled night and day; owing to the fact of her having lent Mr. Percival Curgenven five shillings out of her journey money she had been too pinched to be able to obtain sufficient food of a sustaining nature on the way, and sausage-rolls and penny buns are not of a character, as supplied at refreshment stalls, to fortify the constitution to undergo a journey with hardly a break from Cornwall to Perth.

The vibration in the train for such a continuance had, moreover, occasioned Theresa a good deal of pain in her fractured but rapidly healing collar-bone. These two causes combined to depress her spirits and damp that energy, if not vehemence of character, which naturally belonged to her.

On getting out at the little station she found no carriage waiting for her, and no porter who could carry her box. No conveyance was kept by the station-master, and she was constrained to walk two miles to Drumduskie itself. She was disappointed and discouraged. Mrs. Boxholder knew by what train she was to arrive-she had been apprised of that; and Theresa for a moment felt uneasy lest she should have come on the wrong day. With her disengaged arm she felt in her pocket for Mrs. Boxholder's letter, opened it, and satisfied herself that she herself had made no mistake.

She accordingly walked on to Drumduskie-the first walk of any length she had taken since her accident. On reaching the front door, and learning that Mrs. Boxholder was out, but was expected in shortly, she felt relieved, as it enabled her to sit down and rest from the fatigue before encountering her future mistress.

Theresa had been too tired to notice the house and the grounds as she came up, but they made no impression of grandeur