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Wrethedale was so much out of the general way, was such an old, settled, sober sided sort of place, that it found a simple minded wonder in things which would never have been noticed in a commonly active place of its own size, It boasted. of three solicitors already, two of whom played cricket in the summer and rode to the hounds in winter, and did and had no other earthly business. It was therefore certainly a little curious that in the space of some three months after the arrival of the two new households a fourth solicitor, unknown to anybody in the neigh- borhood, should suddenly blossom out and " Very well, sir,” said the girl ; and going out, she despatehed the messenger, a stable boy, whe being impressed with the sense that the business was urgent, ran as for a mid wife, and alarmed a respectaole elderly solloi- tor so much that he, ran after the boy all the away-back msthe’lnn, to the great wonder- _ ' Wine inhabitants, who had never seen run for forty years past. The landlord was in the snuggery, mount- ing guard as it were over Daniel, when the solicitor arrived. “ Be you a lawyer 7” asked Daniel. “ Yes, sir, I am,” returned the new comer, somewhat out of breath with his exer- tions. “ You can draw up a will all right ? Eh ?” " Certainly. “ So as theer can’t be no manner 0’ doubt about it ?" Of course the folk of a small country town like Wrethedele had their nine days won~ do: about the immigrants and strangers who had settled in their midst. Beyond the fact that they seemed iairly wellsto‘do plain people, little was learned of them for a time. The new settlers paid their way and went to church, and in a few weeks they were accept- ed as a fact, and the wonder at them faded out, as it had a right to do. As the weather grew finer and warmer, Dinah used to tempt her father out for a walk now and again, and the change of air and scene and life be- gan to do the old man as much good as any- thing could hope to do at his time of life. There had been nothing in George’s ease to carry it beyond the local sphere of the local papers, and here in this western town, a hundred miles as the crow flies from the scene of his crime, they felt safe from gossip and from any remembrance or knowledge of tfie undeserved shame which had fallen upon} 15 em. “ So it does, mate,” said Daniel, who saw his drift, and was equal to him. “ So it does.” But he could not resist the desire to say that Dinah would be pretty warm when he was goneâ€"pretty warm. Warmer than most, he added, warming with the theme. And indeed Daniel had a good deal of prop:- erty down in the old country in one form or another, and a balance at the bank, since the sale of the Saracen, the figures of which might have startled some people. And so the ugly thing was buried ; but they thought about it, though they both kept silence. Daniel was willing to go anywhere, so long as he was but led out of the sight of eyes in wheae gaze he had been familiar. “ Well,” said the landlord, Evho was of a. curious tum. “ that depends onwhat you‘ve got t9 lgavp, you know.” > BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY. egistered in accordance with the Copyrigh Act of 1875.] I _ “ You’re sure, my dear." and Dumb, “that I sha’n’t be a. trouble to you if I come to live anywhere near you? I shall mind you of it ev§r_y_ tin}? yqu look at me.” " I {should iike you to be wish me,” Ethel answered steadily and gently, “ Let us go together, and never say a word about it any more.” “ I’ve never been a don at travelin’," said Daniel, “ an’ I’m a. bit mythered like ;” he meant, confused and mentally harassed. “ An’ it feels cold out 0’ doors. Mayhap I‘ve growed a. bit nash wi’ aittiu’ so much at the fireside. But I’m willin’ to goo annywheer, Dinah, my 3611. to be away from the Saraâ€" cen. I never thought to part wi’ him till I come downstairs mes foremosn. But nobody knows what‘ll happen. Nobody knows what’ll happen.” - The solicitor asked the necessary ques- tions, took the necessary notes, and went his way. Next. morning he brought the will. and read it. over to the old man, who signed in The landlord and the solicitor’s clerk also signed it, Daniel paid the bill, and lhe thing was ever. “ Now, you wouldn’t ha’ thought,” said Daniel, addressing the landlord, “ as an ode man like me, as has got maybe on’y a day or two to last, ud be sich a Gawby as to wait till ‘now afore mekin’ his will, would you 7 " JOSEPH'S 'GOAT. “ Does it matter." asked Daniel. “ Can’t I will ’em in a lump ?” " If you wish to do so. certainly.” “Very well, than,” answered Daniel. “put em in a lump. All to my daughter Dinah. An’ look sharp about. it, mister, for I‘m a. gettin’ on‘ i’ years, an’ I do’t feel much like wearin’ I can tell you." The old fellow was quite broken. and as dull eyed with his hands on his thin knees. He looked about him on the journey, with childlike curiosity. and made no observation but one. This was drawn from him when, after a. distance of thirty miles had been traveled by rail, he saw the familiar skeleton frame above a coal mine. " It’s been fields for ever Daniel, “ and now we’m the coal again.” But before he was settled in his new home, he had to spend a. day or two at the local hotel, a. little oountryfied house with a bowl- ing green behind it. He sat there in the snuggery most of his fime beside the fire, and once or twice gave orders to which nobody attended, evidently imagining himself back at the Saracen. “ Never mind, dear,” said Dinah, reading these signs ; “ we’ll have everything right by an’ by. 1111' than you’ll be comfortable again, won’t you 7” v " They’n gone an’ changed the shelves an the bottle, Dmah,” he complained; “ an’ instead 0' the clock bein’ wheer it used to be, they'n stuck in up at my back. It. nigh on breaks a. man’s back to look and see what time it is." “ You bide wi’ me, my gell,” answered Dan iel, :‘an’ you’ll be gll rlgm. Eh ?" “Do you wish me to spécify the proper ties ?” asked the solicitor. "Oh. yes,” said Dinah soothingly, think~ ing that the old man wandered, But he had something on his mind, though it was per- haps the last thing in the world that Dinah was likely to think of. The thing was on his mind, and yet was somehow not to be got at until on the second day, after sittmg dull eyed and silent for two or three hours, he suddenly arose and called loudly for Jane and Mary,late maids of the Saracen,who were miles away, but one of the young women at the house answered his call. He peered at her with no glance of recognition at first, but in a while he grasped his own purpose, and hooking her towards him with a forefinger, he asked : Theer’s a lawyer i’ the town, ain‘t theer ?” “ Yes. sir,” said the girl, “ several.” “ Very well,” said Daniel; " you send for one of ’em, d’ye hear. An’ theer‘s a shillin’ for you. Send a lad as can run sharp, and let him fetch the best awyeri’ the pleas.” The girl took took th hilling, but stood looking at him as if uncertain to obey. “ Don’t you be afeared 0’ me,” Daniel went on, seating himself by the fire ones more. “ I want a lawyer. I ain’t all I used to be, but Ifeel well and bright to-day, 5111’ I’ve got a lot 0’ business to do. Fatch a lawyer, an’ let me do it while theer’s time.” “ Then, I Dan’l Banks, late 0’ the parish 0’ Bramwich, do give an’ bequeath everythin’ 0’ which I die possessed to my daughter Dinah.” “ You wish me to draw up a. will to that efiect ?" “ Certainly,” said the solicitorâ€"though, being a man of some experience, he saw the boldness of the assertion. " Course I do,” returned Daniel petulantly ‘ What else did I send for you for?” so 'long,” said a gettin’ among “ I’m not going to be beaten,” said John resolutely, when he had failed a. dozen times at least in his efforts to meet Ethel. “I came here in the hope that I should be able to make her a little bit happier, or, at all events, a little bit less miserable, poor little darling.” I can fancy what Ethel’a scorn would have been could she have heard that phrase of afâ€" fectionate commisemtion from John’s lips. “ I’ll do it somehow. What a chuckleheaded One of two things very soon became ovi< dent to John Keen, and he had little heart to choose between them, though heart enough to face them ten times over. But either his move in coming to \Vrethedale and setting up there had been made too soon. or it was a false move altogether. Ethel knew why he cameâ€"what woman would not and she was in no mind to be comforted for the loss of her own wounded self respect or the loss of her rascally lover. She felt and thought in~~ dignantly and with many a throb of that deep wound she carried, that her plighted husband was a felon, and at that hour in prison, and it was cruel to her way of thinking, and dis- honoring to her, to suppose that she would ever look at another man again. She had loved, and though she had loved a scoundrel, she had loved him none the less, until she knew him as he was. And she lied no possibilities of affection within her for any new creature of the male species. She hated and despised men at this ‘ period of her life with a great and majestic heartiness. Men were vicious and mean and cowardly. What the sacred bard said in his haste, Miss Donne confirmed at leisure. It was illogical. but shall we cry out against '9, nature so perverted? Are you logical when any dear and trusted friend has newly betrayed you? I am not. I have do- claimod against the pretended affection of women in my time, pretty eloquently as I have fancied. Let the wounded heart speak for a moment as its agonies prompt it. Natures less fine than hers have been soured for life by lesser sorrows, and if I am not mistaken in her. she will grow back slowly to morethnn her firstripeness of sweet nature, and, probably enough, be happy wife and mother before we see her for the last time, with all these pains buried, though not for- gotten. â€" But; what have we to do with prophecy? Let gs get back to the story. burgeon in the High Street with all the glory of new wire blinds, a brass plate. and a lettered bell pull. It struck Dinah as being curious that the name on the brass plate was John Keen. She had known a John Keen, solicitor and mine surveyor, at homeâ€"~her son’s friend, and the man she liked best amongst all the acquaintances George had made. Some of them,perhaps most of them, had been a little less than equivocal. Dinah knew nothing of the verses against the Reverend J abez Wallier, and had a high opinion of one John Keen who was a soliciâ€" tor. She was just solemnly wondering whether the John of Wrethedele had anything to do with the John of old days, when she met the John of old days plump in the mar ket place, and he raised his hat and held out his hand to her. “71 should never ha’ thought of seeing you here,” said simple Dinah. Is that your nameiup in the High Street, Mr. Keen ? ” u Yei,” said Jana, still’ looking a. little guilty, “ that’s my name. Are you staying here, Miss Banks, in Wrethedale? ” " Why, Miss Banks, said John with an indefinable air of guilt upon him, “ this is a surprise indeed !” “ Yes,” said Dinah. “ Father an’ me are living here.” “ Indeed!” said Dinah; “ I noticed the name as I came by.” She was casting about in her mind what to say or do. The wound was still open. Who could expect such a. griel as she had suffered to heal in three months' time, or, for the matter of that, inthree years? John was in the way, and yet she liked him, and was not sorry to see an old. face, being a woman of strong local affections. She wa: naturally valorous, and was disposed to face this situation. “ Will you take me to your office; Mr. Keen 1’" she said suddenly. “ 1 want: to speak to you.” “ Dear me I” said John, absolutely blushâ€" ing at this third pretence, and leaking guiltier than ever. “ That is singular. I have come to settle down here professionally." “ I’m glad to see a face I used to know," said Dinah, once within the office. “ But you can’t fail to know why father an’ me came here, Mr. Keen, andâ€"~” “ I have heard as much,” said John with infinite dryness. “ I hope to be able to pay her my respects as an old acquaintance in a day or two.” Dinah’s mild eyes seemed to him to pierce this transparent humbug through and though, as they did, but he could not yet wound her by saying one word about his own designs. “ Well. that’s rather hard to determine. just'at first,” said John courageously. “What practice there is is llkely to be of a. good sort, I should say. They’re county people and that sort of thing, you know, Mlss Banks, in this neighborhood. And one may as well get the best sort of practice as‘the worst, you know.” Dinah said : “ Oh. yes, of course,” again, and having wished him well, she shook hands and they parted. It was not, perhaps, altoâ€" gether a strange thing that she cried when she got home, or that she knelt beside her bed long that afternoon in the quiet of her own chamber, for she saw that what had brought this honest young fellow here Was the hope of Ethel, or at worst the determina- tion to try for her; and her own child had once won Ethel, and might have worn her worthily, and have been blessed in her love, and she in his, if he had not beenâ€"Ah me! if he had not been a villain. And oh! young Joe of five and-twenty years since young Joe no longer by this time, if anywhere extent, but middle aged and verging on the fifties and a little grey, if you could know the grief your folly planted, in would be a heavy thing to bear. A little courage, errant Joe, 9. little honour, and the tragedy which obscured so many lives had been averted. Is it of any use to point a. moral nowadays? Do others’ follies teach us--â€"or others’ Wisdom? Or is evenâ€"as the poet tells usâ€"our own experâ€" ience of much sterling wonh. “ Miss Banks.” said John. " never say a. word upon that question. Ihave more right to grieve for you than you are likely to be able to guess. But I know nothing of it now. If you will allow me, I will wipeit out of my mind here and now. From this minute forward I have forgotten all about it.” “Are busifiess prospects good here, Mr‘ Keen ?” askedvmnah. I say again â€"I do not believe that there is any criminally minded our in the Whole world who would not forego his crime if he could but see the brood which it is sure to rear. “Certa-inly,” said John; and led. the «my, wondering what Dinah’s topic couln be. ” I can afford to wait for a ‘year or two, and I don’t know that it matters much if I don't practice at all, except that I don’t want to lead an idle life. And whatever there is to be done here will be of the best class, even if there’s'very little of it. Conveyancing,” said John guiltin once more, beginning to drop beneath Dinah’s gaze, “ is the sort of work I should prefer.” “ I hope," said John with another blush. which in Dinah’s motherly eyes was not un becoming, “ that you will let me come and see you now and then.” ‘ Dinah would be glad to see him, so she said, at any time. She read him now like a book. And she waited for him to ask about Ethel; but John, Who was under the impression that he was playing a difficult game with great Wanness, and believed himSelf as inscrutable as the Sphinx, repressed his longings, and did not name her once. This silence forced Dinah’s hand. She was only a woman after all. “ I suppose you know that Miss Donne is living here, as Well ?” sherasked.» _ “ Thank you," said Dinah tremulously Her errand was already fulfilled, and the) talked without constraint on either side until she rose to go. Dinah said, “ Oh ‘yes, of course," to this, but she regarded John so seriously that hé continued as it in self defense: “ 1 don’t know as thas’s any comfort, when life‘s aâ€"beginnin’ to class in, Sir Sydney,” said George. “And so," he thought, “ young lawyer Keen has followed old Banks and his gell, has he ?" He turned it over “Young Keen!” said the baronet ; “ why, you don’t half know thu news, Bushell. He left weeks ago. He’s gone to live in the same place with that poor little Miss Donne, and old Banks and his daughter. It’s quite a migration. 1 think he was a. bit sweet on the young lady. So was I ; but l'm too old to think about that sort of thing nowadays. You and I have kept out of the trap pretty well, haven’t we, Bushell W’ “ Ah. said George, who, in spite of his business habits,lmd a true countryman’s in- teregt in trifles. “Young Keen the lawyer Zivcd cheer. Wheer’s he moved to, I Won- der ?” “ More changes i” cried Cheston, pointing with his whip. “ That was a private house, and they‘re turning ifi into a. shop. The place is thriving." “ It wasn’t a. bad thing for you, Buehell,” said the Baronet, laughing. But the laugh fell into a. sigh, half perhaps for his old friend Joe, but certainly at least half for his own lost youth. “ He was going out; to the goldndiggiugs, I remember. I was the last man to shake hands with him in England, and I was quite hard hit because I couldn’t go with him.” " Was you, now ?” asked George. “ Gad, I was,” returned Cheeton'. “ Here‘s the High Street,” thought old George; “they can see as I’m a-ridin’ along with a baronet ;” and he looked Bulky, which was his way of trying to look dignified. '- “ Ah, poor Joe-ziph,” said George. dividing the word again into two equally balanced syllables, and putting his company manner on generally. “ It was a blow to his parents which they didn’t overget.” “ No, indeed I” shouted Cheslon in his good humored noisy voice. “ The first time I ever saw the place was on the very day when your nephew Joe-my 01d chum you know, Bushellwknocked poor Screed down and ran away from home. Gad! He must have been out of temper that day, for he knocked me down too. I never told anybody of it. before. but it’s a fact, by George I” ass I am! Why, the poor girl hasn’t even got an organ to play on Sundays. Here,” quoth John, rising pipe in mouth and clawing on his hat and coat, “ Ill see about that at once, anyhow.” He saw about it to such effect that in less than a week he had matured a, plan and found a. way to execute it. At Shareham church, four miles from Wrethedale, there actually was an organ Without anybody to play upon it since the rector’e daughter had got married. But to ask Ethel to travel four miles twice every Sunday through the year â€"hail, rain or shineâ€"would have been pre- posterous. The organist at St. Stephen the Martyr at Wrethedale was an errant puffer, and John, who had an ear for music was wroth at him every Sunday, though be him- self went to church for no loftier object than to look when he could at Miss Donne. So John scraped acquaintance with the rector at Sharehem, expressed himself as being deeply interested in church music, got leave to try the organ, at which instrument he knew next “ Changesfbehind us, theflrefifsaid Cheston nodding his head backwards. “ All things change i’ this world.” said George. “ We’ve no abidin’ city here." His wooden gravity was quue enough to beguile a listener into the belief that he had at least some thought of what he was thinking about. to nothing, enthusiastically pronounced upon it, and offered at once to subscribe fif- teen pounds per annum towards the expenses of a. salaried organist. The rector jumped at the offer, and John almost swore him to secrecy, using such vehemence in his request. that the rector thought him a sort of bashful saint. Then the young pretender in- cited the rector to offer the berth to the errant duffer who tortured the churohgoers at St. Stephen’s, and the rector did it, setting another five to John’s fifteen and making the pay twenty pounds a year. The “rent duffer also jumped, and went about inflated. thinking himself a. pearl amongst )rgeniete. Next, the secret schemer told the Vicar of St. Stephen’s that he _ had a very angel of an organist in his congregation, and told. Dinah also that the post of organist was vacant, and indeed there was no one left to play at all. So Ethel got one of the smaller longinge of her soul, and the congregation in the Martyr’e walls were no longer Martyred as of old. “ Nobody iver expected to see me u‘ridin‘ alongside of a. baronet,” he said to himself, as the owner of the mare touched her light-1y with his whip and set her going. ‘ Prosperous George Bushell, pausing before the homes one sunny morning, felt his heart lifted at the sight. The Saracen and Railway Hotel by Andrew Royce was nothing to him, except as 0: token of the removal of the Saracen by Daniel Banks. and the consequent removal of Daniel and his daughter. They had gone away, having made no sign, and .he was once more safe in the possesslon of his , fortun The heiress had left him in undispute“ possession of the field: and although he could not understand its why and wherefore, he appreciated the fact. He could scarcely resist the smile that strove to curve his features as he looked at the transformed structure. ‘“ So it is,” assented Sir Sydney; and the old fellow, moving aé heavily and deliberately as he spoke, climbed into the dog cart, and took his seat by the Baronet's side. “ Hallo! Bushell?” cried a. voice, and he turned to face a mlddle aged man sitting in a neat deg cart, between the shafts of which stood a slashing looking bay mare. The middle aged man was loud of voice, florid of complexion and cheery of aspect, and he wore an enormous heard of chetnut color, laced, but only laced, with grey. - " Splendid weather,” said the baronet. “ Going up to the court? Shall I give you a lift ?” “Why, thank you, Sir Sydney,” said George in his provincial slow druwl; “ 1 don’t mind if I do ride. It’s a, goodish pace up meat”. At first, when John went to church after completing this arrangement, he felt that he had cheated himself. Ethel was no longer In her old place to be furtively stared at. But he got the better of his grief in a while, and many a time the sound of the peeling organ poured peace into his heart and sacred joy ; end to Ethelâ€"While she played it â€"there was no longer any sorrow in the world, and ehe would leave the church radiant, and her sabbaths at least were filled with a tran- quility she had never hoped to taste again. It came to her ears after a While that all this was John' Keen’s doing. Her pride prompted her to surrender her joy rathe1 than owe it to him, but she had not the hear. for this extreme measure. She contented herself with snubbing John, and he bore h \Vlth wonderful meekness. CHAPTER XV. ' The Saracen having fallen into new hands. assumed a new aspect and a. new title. The real old Saracen, who for many a, summer day had looked on the sunshiny street with billions eyes, and on many a winter night had shrieked and creeked complainingl‘, against the stormy weather, was taken down and relegated to a lumber room, and ultiâ€" mater chopped up for firewood. For weeks the front of the house was obscured by scab folding, and quite a. little army of men were at work about it. Finally it came out Wlth plate glass windows and stuccoed front, with a great gilded sign which expressed it as the Saracen and Railway Hotel. Within, things were changed as much as without, and Meshech and Aminadab and the rest found it on its reopening night no fit home for them and their memories, and so carried themselves elsewhere with a general feeling of being uprooted. “Gobd mornin’, “Sii‘ Sydney,” said 01d George as he turned. “Fine growin’ mornin’ fcrrthe crops} isn’t it ?" George had no interest in farming, but Sir Sydney Oheaton had. having but recently taken Qumrrymoor farm upon his hands, as Mr. Bushell knew. The church at which Dinah and young Joe had so long since been wed was famous in local annals as the resort of runaway couples who wished to be married. It was but a. mile or two from George‘s house, and he had known it from babyhood. The person who had olficiuted at Dinah’s wedding was dead. and the parish clerk had gone the same way. The marriage had been performed at Whit~ suntide, at which festive season in old days some filty or sixty unions were wont to be celebrated at Weston church, ()ltener than not with much disreputable riot. Nobody would be likely to remember any one marriage particularly at this time of day, and the church certificate, as the old schemor thought, was its last and only record. Old George was not much of a novel reader, but he had read somewheie of a guilty lord who had illegirimised his brother’s children and seized their estates simply by tearing out the record of his father’s marriage from the parish register kept in an old church. He saw how simple the process was, but he HEW] its dangers also. He was a slow and clumsy thinker, but he had that faculty of making, dramatic pictures in his own mind of which: I have already spoken, and he could never contemplate himself in the act of tearing out the register of his nephew’s marriage without seeing a terrible vague hand approach his shoulder. This terrible Vague hand had af- fected him physically, and he used to get up and 'rub the part it threatened; Walking The copy of the certificate was game. It might not be a matter of any great difficulty to get rid of the original, and then to defy all possible attempts against his property. A happy thought, surely, but yet leading to all manner of unpleasant complications. Lead- ng to dangers also. The ray seemed less ubilant. ’7 And across the schemer'a brain there flayed a, sudden jubilant ray. There were elements in this case which puzzled him, for he could neiiher compre hend how plain simplicity could sit down to sufier, nor how an honorable spirit could be so wounded as to resolve on keeping silence against itself rather than identify itself with dishonor. But when once the central idea had taken root in George’s mind. it rose to such proportions as to overshadow ever; thing else that grew there. He was as cer tain as he WHll could be that Dinah was not likely to move in her own behalf. and that if she moved at all, it would be to endow that seoundrel of it private secretary with a fortune to which he had no claim except from the accident of birth. If Lawyer Keen got to know the story, and that seemed only too probable, he would wait for young George and give him the news in spite of Dinah’s want of initiative. Then, how to get at the released criminal before anybody else could get at him ? . Always putting two and two together in this clumsy and wandering way, but never by any chance making tour ofvthem, Mr. Bushell contrived to make himself signally uncomfor table. That there was something in young Keen’s following of Dinah â€"-something beyond mere chanceâ€"seemed certain. Then he ,re membered Oheeton‘hed said that Keen had been evilset on'Miae "Donne. She was there 791159,, V omi‘ (1 Miss. Donneâ€" lovers tell eafh other everything ifiififli and Miss Donne were living alone in a. townful of strangers -â€"women tell each other everything â€"if the lawyer got hold of Dineh’e story, he would know how futile her fears had been, and would set her on the track at once. Al- together, the mere fact of John Keen having followed the two women was full of peril for George’s future ; and somehow, in these late days. there had been a sort of revival of the memory of errant Joe which of itself left an uneasy sense of dread and expectancy on the old man’s mind. slowly in his mind, and Cheston, for a wonder, was quiet for a. minute. “Are :hky at all familiar like ?" he asked; “the Banes and young lawyer Keen ?” “ Why, you know nothing of what‘s going on in town, Bushell,” said Cheston. “ That young scoundrel I committed to Stafford for you was young Keen’s closest friend, and the youngster used to go and smoke with Banks twice or thrice a week, at one time. I believe if Bank’s girl had been a, year or two younger he’d have gone for her. Nice woman she was, eh? I always used to pull up at the Saracen when I drove by. and get a glass of beer from pretty Dinah. Ah, Bushell, she was a. pretty girl five-and-twenty years ago when she and your poor nephew Joe were sweelhearts.” “ Sweetheart-s, was they ‘2” asked George. Internally he anathematised his nephew Joe, for he could scarcely help a little soreness at this reiterated mention of him. Did not five and twenty years glve time enough to get a man burial and out of sight and done with? He got at everything by slow and round- about mental processes; and. at last reached what seemed to him to be the real knob to be untied in this case. What; was he to do â€"â€"in brief -«to keep young George out of the way when his time had expired an _ he we» released from prison? It; was tty evi dent that, if the mother moved at all, it would be for her son’s sake, and not for her own. “ There‘s some sham in it, I’m certain an’ sure,’ said he to himself. “ The child must h4’ been born i’ wedlock, but I reckon he came ufure his time. It’s that; as made her keep her tongue betwixt her teeth all this time, an‘ now if her does anythin‘ at all, it’ll be for the lad’s sake.” “ Sweethearts l I should think they were. It was about her he knocked me down, and it: was about her that he floored poor old Screed. Screed wasn‘t a bad sort.” “ Here we are 2” said the Baronet, pulling up before the police station and leaping down. “ Take the trap to the Dudley, oflicer. Tell 'em to give the mate a good feed. Stop and see it done, will you. By theâ€"by‘ Bushell, remind me, when this licensmg work’s over, that I have something to say to you about business. That‘s why I pulled up for you ; but I’ve such a head, I forgot all about it.” Why had young Keen followed Dinah Banks ? “ I believe,” Sir Sydney had said, “that if Bank’s girl had been a year or two younger, he’d have gone for her." That meant Lawyer Keen. George saw no reason why a man of six and twenty should not marry a. woman of three-andiorty if he set his mind that way; and if lawyer Keen knew of Dinah’s claim, it might be worth his while to overlook the difference of a. year or two and make 9. match of it. “ A godly person, Mr. Screed was.” said Geogge. “ A very godly persona” Was it law that young George had com- mitted forgery anyhow, and must in any case aufifer for it, and had Keen advised the mother to be quiet until his term of impris- onmentwas over ! Mr. George Bushell WM :1 wooden man and a man of considerable at- tainments in the way of ignorance. He were a justice of the peace, but there was nothing in that to prevent the very commonest point in the law to be a mystery to him. He was the fraudulent owner of a. great fortune, one that of itself was enough to make him suspi- cious. Of course, he had no fear of any pun- ishment beyond the loss of the fortune; but would not that be punishment enough ? It is not punishable to commit an offense against the law when the offense is utterly beyond detection, and the certificate he had destroyed had been lost for twentyufive years before he found and deetroyed it. George walked into the court with the Baronet 'stiill talking genially and loudly at his side, and parhook of the great man’s glory. For Sir Sydney Cheston was the greazest swell those parts could boast, and Lhe old man, like the rest of us, loved to sit in the high places and be seen in good com peny. But allmhe While,as he set: on the bench,he gave his vote only as the better- uonditioned of his neighbors gave theirs, and thought about the news he had heard Young Keenâ€"a lawyerâ€"familiar with Dinah, had gone to live in the same parish to which she had retired. What was that for? Was there enything in iiiâ€"anything that threatened himself? / Young Keen had begun to defend. the prisoner, and had then suddenly resigned the case. “ Is all them,” he said stifliy and slowly, “ at Somerset House ?â€"ali them as I’ve been lookin at ?" " You‘ll ha’ ’00 try Somerset House, 512,” tha man said, turning the key in the lock. “ What. for ‘3” asked George. “ Snifficate 0' marriage,” said the sexton. “ All on ’em goca up to Srzmerset House, from every parish church in the land, air." George’s head began to swim again, and once more his heart felt muflled and atifl’led m ins beat. 3‘ Is there mlicb dopendin’ on it 7" asked the Liexton. beginnng to look up the books. “ Two 01’ th§ee fihbusaud,” said Gmrge, growing easier as the despoiled volume went; out of sight. “ If they was married. it all,” said George. He was in a dreadlul tremor inside, but he felt bound to keep the prebence going and to depart naturaliy. ‘Byâ€"andby he came. rubbing a hand across his lips. “ Iicun’t find it,” said George, throwing himgelf back a little, and wiping his fore- head. with his handkerchief. “ Is there any evidence as the parties was married here, sir?” asked the sexton, feeling himself bound to Show a little interest in con» sideration of the up. “It was alleys took to be so,” eaid George. “ An’ it’s quite sure as they was married in ’59 or ’60 1’” Old George. with a dreadful feverish haste, raced through the leaves until he reached the date he sought for. There was quite a glut of marriages that day, and he turned over a. score of leaves before he reached the docuu ment for which he was running so much risk, and which was. if he had only known it. so absolutely useless. He had come prepared, and slipping from his pocket 9. thin metal rule, and a specially sharpened pen-knife, he set the rule under uhe page, thruet it well up against the back of the volume, and a: a sin- gle stroke of the keen blade severed the leaf. He folded it neatly, though he shook aguiehly all the while, and put it in his pocket. Then he feigned to go on reading Lhe certificates, that: he might look natural when the sexton should return. “ Thankee,” said the sexton, and old George, siill turning over the leaves, drew a shilling from his pocket, and, Without look~ ing at the men, pushed it across the table. Now, the sexton was a. fairly honest, dutiful sort of fellow, and if the books had been old enough to have included an entry made be~ fore the great Registration act came into being, he would probably have found strength equal to his day, and would have resisted his iemptaiion. But he knew well enough that every entry these dusty old volumes held was snug and safe in Somerset House, there to be seen on payment of a shilling; and he felt, therefore, that there was no particular need to keep Watch and ward over any re- spectable old party who wished to hunt out a certificate. And grave diggmg on a. hot sum- mer’s day is a. thirsty occupation. and the sexcon was dry. So he accepted the shilling with thanks, and having poured out a glass of rather stale water from the vicer‘e carafe, he put on his hat, and left ancient; and unin- structed melodrama to its Work. He put on his goldqimmed glasses, and drawing a book towards him, turned over the leaves one by one. They had a faint odor suggestive of long imprisonment from light and air which reminded him of the discovery of his nephew’s coat. The sexton sat down at the other side of the vestry table, with his arms upon it, and watched the search drowai 1y. The day was hot, and the sexton nodded once or twice, and, just as the old schemer had begun to hope that he might fall asleep, caught himself up with a. great snatch, and became prematuer wideVawake. “ Very well, sir,” said the sexton ; and having driven his spade into the ciay, he took up his cap and jacket, and swung leisurely off to the Vicarage. The melodramatic sohemer also sauntered away, his inexpreseive countenance showing nothing of his inward pains, though his head was swimming again, and the curious muffled feeling at the heart had returned. The road led half-.wey round the churchyard, as he knew, and then a. by-way ran at the back, so that the burial place was islanded, so to speak. He walked leisurely until he reached the main road again, and then, seeing the sexton in the act of unlock ing the churchndoor, he quickened his pace a little, and felt such a tremor of dread at the porch that he dodged suddenly into the sacred building as though a bull had been behind him. The sexton, who was already half we‘y up the aisle, failed to notice this curious entry, but George felt the necessity of steady- ing himself, and made a, resolute effort. The vague terrible hand, backed by apreeence yet more vague and terrible, was behind him. What if young Keen should come to look for the register at that very hour and moment ? Ugh l what a disagreeable fancy ! “What date?” asked the sexton. ” About ’59 or ’60,” said old George huski~ 1y. He had known that the task would be a hard one, but he found it harder than he feared. Yet, his wooden face showed no- thing. “ What name, sir? ” “ John Smith an’ Mary Ann Thomas,” said the guilty one, speaking more huskin than before. “ Here, I’ll look for it.” “ Yes,” said George, “ it’s all that. Could you get me a glass 0’ water? An’ maybe, after all thm diggin’, you wouldn’t mind a. glass 0’ beer yourselfâ€"eh ‘2” But needs must when the devil drives, and George felt himself demon-driver. Under certain conditions, life is not worth having ; and the old man found the night and the day alike a. burden to him. He reproached him- self for cowardice over and over again, and at last, as often happens, he went with no in- ward increase of courage to the task. The guilty lord, he remembered, had made a burglarious entrance to the church. in The Secret of Glen Snassen, in the dead of nightf while a tempestuous wind shook at the easements and howled in the vaults. He had scarcely pluck enough for such an enterprise, and indeed burglary seemed unnecessary. A public omnibus passed the church every halfthour in the summer time, and one fine hot summer day he was set down at an hotel a hundred yards from the porch. He drank a glass of whisky to steady his nerves, and then walked into the street and strolled by the churchyard. The sexton was bobbing up and down in a. half made grave, and George, leaning his arms upon the mossy stones of the wall, accosted him. “ Are you sexton here 7 ” The man answered in the affirmative. “ Been here long? Eh ? " “Seven ’ear come Christmas,” said the sexton. Old George’s head began to swim. and his heart grew muffled on a sudden. A minute passed before he spoke again, and the sexton by that time was bobbmg up and down in his gravie once more. “I wanted to find out,” said the melo- dramatisb, when his voice and wits returned to hlm, “ about a. wedding as took place here five-and twenty ’ear ago. There’s a. bit 0’ property dependin’ on it” “ Dry work, eh, my man?" said George with husky pomposity. “ Yes, indeed. sir,” said the sexton. The entries fot 1859 were in one volume, and those for the year following in another. George had takon up the wrong volume, but he plodded through it to the end, and with a curious new tremor closed it and took up the other. “ A slow job, eh” he said with a. great effort. “ Yes, indeed, sir,” said the sexton, “ an’ a dry ’un too. air, as you say." " Yeé, air-3’ said the sexton, scenting fees and pausing at his task. “ I can gas the keys, air, if you’d like to look at the regisâ€" Let.” “ Very well,” said George pompously “ I‘llfijine you i’ the church in five minutes.” about the while with a. wry face, and hitch- ing his shoulder to get rid of that uncomfort- ab1_e feeling. " An’ can anybody see ’em ‘1” “ Oh yea, air, anybody. “ You’ll ha’ to “ Yes, sir,” smd the sexcon, “ every one of “ 0h !” said 511: Jonas. “Will you meet me at five this afternoon at my house 7 In “ My arrand, Sir Jonas,”said the Wooden George in his woodenest manner, “ is' not. what you may call strictly on business. I want a. introduction to the Seckitary 0’ State for the Home Department." George needed more than this t- 0 help him cub. He was here on an impuriem enterâ€" priae, intending no less than: to huodwink this great financier, and make a. cm’s paw of him ; and. when he saw the lofty grey head and the sagacious eyes of the man, he re pented him of his coming, Sir Jonas made pencil marks on vatious papers and looked at home. George clearad his throat, and the great man glanced at him. “ Sir Jones will see, you sir,” said an elderly clerk, when Mr. Bushell had waited for a minute or two. George followed the clerk into a comfortable room where sat Sir Jones at a knee table With docketed papers on it, and an ivory moum pieced tube which ran finto the floor. The country man of business was a little surprised, was even a little dashed, to see such trifling signs of work about. He had vaguely expected a tangled growth of tubes, 3 half dozen telegraphic machines, and a. disorderly well of papers - Bank of England notes and acceptances from1 Rothschild. ‘ “ Day, Bit,” said Sir Jonag, nodding him to 11 sent. ’ Croesus Brothers were old George's Lon- don agents, and he was known to them as a. sound and reputable business man, whose affairs stood on a. big basis. He had never come infio personal conuuct with either of tha partners, but he was known to them in adâ€" vance. and he sent in his name with some certainty of being attended to. The junior partner, Sir Jonas Croesus, who had been a cabinet minister, and was likely to take office again when the political wheel should turn, was a grey and worn looking man, with a. face of Singular kindness and honesty. He was a Jew by descent, and by habit; a. Christian. He was probably meant by nature for a philanthropist, but he was a financier on a large scale to begin with, and laslerly he had spent a dozen years or so in Parliament, in her fight for office most of the time, and he had grown somewhat hardened. But though a Jew and a financier and a posh cabinet minister, and as hard as nails in politics and business. he was a goorihearted creature, and was even something of a. senti- mentalist at bottom. Everybody has heard of Messrs. Croesus Brothers. ’l‘hey are leviathan financiers, helping to make wars, halpiug, when it. pays them, to keep peace â€"nnd as powerful in either direction as Schouvalofl" or Bismarck. They make loans to empires, and count their profits by tens of thousands. The revulsion awoke the dreamer, and he sat up dazed and miserable. lie mixed :1 filth or sixth stiff tumbler and drank it, for, like other men oppressed by cure, he was beginning to fly to that false and foolish so lace. In time he drowsed again. and the dream came back precisely as before; and again the revulsion of feeling awoke 'him. This time a dim little light of hope seemed to accompany his waking, and he struggled to get back to sleep to dream it over again. Everybody knows that if you dream a thing three times it is sure to come true. But though the dream haunted him whilst he weked, it fled him when he slept. The fire burned out, and he awoke chill and desolate to find the chimneyâ€"piece clock marking the unheard of hour of half past one. He went to bed oppressed by fears and remorees. and tossing an aching head in the dark, tried to force sleep and the dream back again. But all at once, as he tossed and tumbled, a very sunbeam of intelligence seemed suddenly to warm and light his mind. and he set up and clasped his hands together. Then he sank back with a sigh of comfort. Ay l and he saw his way to it. There was no hope of sleep for him that night, but as he lay and turned over his plan in his stiff jointed mind, the clouded horizon seemed to lift more and more, peace came back to him â€"or promised a. return, at leastâ€"and his hold upon his fortune grew sure again. Sitting by his lonely fireside -â€"for even in eummer ezfire is a. necessity in the coal coun- tryâ€"he drank pretty freely. and at last with his pipe in his hands and his feet on the fender, he fell asleep. And as he slept he dreamed a curious dream. He had gone for- ward in time. and it was the day when George Banks’e term of imprisonment should expire. The dreamer was somewhat invisi- ble in a. grey dream mist, but in the same grey mist he saw a massive door, which he knew for the entrance of the prison, and about it; were Ethel Donne, and Dinah. and young lawyer Keen. He knew, as people do in dreams. whet brought them all there. They were waiting for the outcoming of the prison- er, and the prisoner was to come and claim his own. Old George, powerless and tongue tied, waited in agony for the door to open. Alter a. long time it began to move, slowly, slowly, slowly, and when. at last it stood wide. he knew, with an incredible revulsion of ease and joy, that the prisoner wee lost, and that nobody in the prison had any idea of his whereabouts. He would make the h‘eam prophetic! He would have It cruel He was up wick the first gleam of dawn, arranged his business, wrote a. number of let- ters, packed a pornmauheau, and started by the earliest train for London. It is only on a. stage that a scoundrel, finding himself frustrated can write and howl and shudder Without attracting the attraction of the bystanders. Whatever emotions he experienced, old George dared show nothing and he marched deaf and blind into the sun shine, and walked straight on without know ing or caring whither his footsteps led him By-nnd~by he began to clear a little, and then he went into a meadow and cursed his dayâ€"not eloquently, but with thoroughness. He had always been a moral man on his own peculiar lines, but he had naturally listened. more or less unwillingly, to agood deal of bad language in his time, and now he felt his knowledge useful, and employed it to the full. if any stranger could have come suddenly upon this respectable, solid looking old man, in spotless black broadcloth, hat of broadisli brim. snow white linen, and respectable grey whiskers, and could have heard his language, it might have startled him. But before old George had gone thrice through his stock of phrasesmhe was literally without invention «his head began to whirl, and his eyes saw nothing but a silvery mist with splaShee in it of alternate ink and fire. More than anything else could have done, his (ear sobcred him. He had been taking God’s name in vain hor» ribly, and now perhaps he was going to die, lIore than once he had heard of sudden judgment. He crept back into the road again and walked towards the town, a little bent and blanched. He was getting on in years, and these violent emotional exercises break an old. man a good deal. A sturdy Walker who and kept himselr wel in exercise all his life long, he was yet right glad of the passing omnibus, for somehow hls legs seemed to fail him, and his feet were heavy on the duety road. The second certificate was burned that night as the first had been, though he felt no sense of triumph as he burned it, but only one of [telling terror and remorseful rage» Sing} shillin’, sir, that’s all. Same as herey History repeats itself. Here was old George traveling in young George’s footsteps, and going clumsily about: no commit a useless crime. George, with shaky fingers, drew forth the fee. ” I suppose,” he said with trebled despera- t-ion, “ as you take great care of ’em here, though, for all that?” “Yes, air,” replied the sexton, who was leading the way down the aisle by this time, swinging the the keys in his hand. “The law's very strict, sir. Ib’lieve 1t’s transportation for life if anybody destroys aleaf.” George gave a husky little groan. CHAPTER XVI. â€"The total number of laud-owners in Ireland is 68,758, of whom 36,144 are the possessora of less than one acre each. or only about 9 000 acres all told, It follows, than, that, with this relaxively insignificant except- ion, the nearly 21,000,000 of Irish- soil are owned by 32,614 persons. â€"A new theory of the so called fascination of birds by snakes is that the bird mistakes the snakes tongue, which the reptlle keeps in constant motien, for a lively worm. and watches it with the expectation of devouring it. â€"â€"-Tl1e Polar regiens are reckoned as extend- ing over 2,411,885 spuare miles, the only inhabitants being‘72,000 in Iceland, and 10, 000 in Greenland. The wool production of the United Smtea '5 estimated to have risen from 146, 000,0001105.t-o264‘000,000 l‘ns., an increase of 118,000,0001bs., or almost 73 per cent. Among the peculiar institutions of Bombay is the pinjarapole, a refuge for sick and ill- need animals, which is supported by Hindus and Parsees, who regard life as so sacred that on no account must it be destroyed. Mrs. Guthrie, in her Life in Western India, gives the following description of this remarkable establishment: The pinjarapole lies just off one of the main thorougnlares; its high black walls inclose an area of 2,000 square yards, and the ground on which it stands must be very valuable. We were civilly received by a Hindu youth who conducted us over the the place. It had somewhat the appearance of a dreary zoological garden ; but, although there was no attempt to make it pretty, there was cleanliness. order, plenty of water, and a good supply of food. A square in the center, inclosed by palings, was occupied by animals which were munching from bundles of dried grass with evident satisfaction. Round the» walls ran low houses and sheds, the manager and the veterinary surgeon living in the former, and the latter sheltering the beasts. Opposite the door by which we entered was a well-barred cage, containing a couple of fierce and hideously ugly baboons, which, with a pair of porcupines which had a right to be fretful, were the only creatures which had the air of being badly provided for. One longed to restore them to their native jungles. Flocks of pigeons were circling in the air ; a curious breed of ducks, with very red wattles, cams quacking up ; a pensive pea hen re- garded us from the top of the wall, and we were closely followed by a lame donkey. There were said to be turtles in the tank, but they did not put in an appearance. “ What a beautiful animal; ” I exclaimed, pointing to a creature at the door of the shed. It had a coat like satin, a deep pen~ dant dew-lap, and soft, clear eyes. “ What is it here for? ” “ It is blind,” was the reply. “ All the bullocks in this shed are blind. There are above '50.” In an open ,‘shed, with bars in front. were a number of ldogs terribly afflicted with mange. As they were very clean and had plenty of water, it is to be hoped that they enjoyed life after a fashion. Another collection of dogs appeared healthy. They had probably been rescued from cruel treatment. We inquired for the reptiles and insects, but they were kept at one of the country establishments along with the cats, deer, pigs. sheep, poultry, monkeys, snakes, and a large collection Of vermin. The snakes, after a time, are taken into a jungle or some uninhabited spot and set free. Horses are also sent out of the town. We were finally conducted to a closed building ; a man unlocked the door, and returned with a handful of weevin grain from the bazaars. which he invited us to inspect. As it con- tained life it could not be destroyed. “He was a smart young teller,” he said shakin and huskily, “an’ he belonged to de~ cent folks as was pretty well to do. He was a. clerk i’ my office, and I took a. fancy to him an’ promoted him to be my private sec- retary. Then he got i’ trouble with a. many lendiu’ foiler of the name 0’ Curtiue, and Wad very hard drove by him. At the time I prosecuted I didn’t know as he expected to be able to replace the money in a. week or two. but I’ve found out Eence he had a. good pros- pect 0’ doing so.” “ The fellow’s in earnest,” thought Sir Jonas, and, seating himself, nodded at his visitor to signify attention. The sagacious eyes looked straight at George and discom~ fited him so that he was fain to hang his head, and a generally furtive aspect laid hold upon him, and his voice shook a little. All this told in his fever, [or he seemed to the listener to be moved in behalf of the man whose cause he seemed to plead. “ Perhaps,” said George, “ you will be so good, Sir Jonas, as gi’e me a minute to tell about in.” When old George slowly seated himself, Sir Jonas touched the spring blind and let a. sudden flood of summer light into the room. l‘his disconcerted the visitor mightily, and his face was troubled. “ Not the least i' the world,” responded George. “ Noâ€"he was gullty.” He saw how absurb it would be to attempt. to forward his case by any doubt; of young George’s guilt. But his vome sounded miserable and reluctant when he admitted it. “ Are there extenuating circumstances?" asked Sir Jonas. “ You must have some- Lhing to go on.” “ Certainly.” replied the great man. “ Be seated.” “ Why, yes," said George with a slow woodenness which looked like hesitance. “ You may. Sir Jones. I want to make an appeal to the clemency o’ the Crown.” “ In whose behalf? ” “ In the behalf of a. young man hamed George Banks as was my private seckitary, Sir Jonas.” “ Yes? What are the circumstances? ” “ He forged my name for three hundred pound,” said old George, with a cold des- peration which made itself heard in his voice and seen in his face. “er was tried an found guilty, an’ he was sentenced to two ’ears’ imprisonment.” ‘~ How long since ‘2" “ Six months ago.” The wicked old schemer’s voice quivered, end the great financier asked himself, “ A sentimentalist behind that mask of wood ?” for being a semimentaliat himself. and a. stem man of business into the bargain, he despised sentimentâ€"until it touched him. " Have you any doubt about his guilt ?” he asked. Sir Jonas went on making pencil notes on papers, arid old George retired. He felt abashed and defeated, though he told himâ€" self that it was ridiculous to suppose that such a man as Sir Jonas could devote his business hours to the discusssion and fur- therance of other people’s private affairs. But be half fancied hie scheme pierced through already by the sagacious eyes of the great financier, and hewent hot and cold, Whilst beneath his black kid gloves his palms perspired. He shook himself out of these foolish fears. but they came back again, and he had no appetite for the solid old- English dinner to which he sat down at a Strand. restaurant at two o’clock in the afternoon. in the course of many years of prosperity he had learned to appre~ mate claret, and he took a bottle of the best the place afforded, and felt ashade more comforiable. Then he smoked a long clay bravely and sipped cefiee and read the papers until half past four, and having paid his reckoning, walked off solidly in the direction of Grosvcnor Square, looking the picture of country commercial soundness and rectitude. He timed himself so as to reach Sir Jonas’s house at five o’clock to the minute, and being admitted, was ushered into a shady library which had a scent of cigar smoke about it perceptible even to a smoker. Enter Sir Jonas with a cigar between his lips, his waistcoat a little open, and his feet in beaded slippers. " An introduction to the Home Secretary?” be Haiti, as if renewing & conversation broken ofl half a minute before. " May Iknow your 0'0in ” musiness hours I attend to business only. Day, Mr. Bushell. At five.” A SINGULAR INSTITUTION. [TO BE CONTINUEDJ