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eglstered in accordance with the Copyrigh Act of 1875.] Belore bed time a vast chest and two port- manteaus. crammed with articles of apparel, arrived at the hotel. and Mr. Bushell paid the bill presentedâ€"and paid it too, without even an inward murmur. The released felon wondered at his generosity. as well he might. It was unheard of and almost beyond believ- ing. though his own eyes saw it. Ah 1 what had he lost by making himself unworthy of the service of so good a master! It had been actually said in his hearing at one time that old Mr. Bushell would probably leave him a slice of his fortune, and he believed now that it most certainly would have been so. Yet, through it all. the elder’s manner to the man on whom he heaped these coals of fire was cold and forced, and wooden beyond words. There was something puzzling in it, had old George’s manner been natural ; as it was, the situation was almost inexplicable. But the exile was too content with his own as tounding good fortune, and too full of gratiâ€" tude and excitement. to puzzle himself at present over this s ngular problem. .I mmnle cummumgx. the £111}: met sunshine? JOSEPH-‘5 GOAT The two slept in the same room, and the schemer kept zealous watch over his charge livery moment until the hour for retiring. Then he looked the bedroom door and pus the key beneath his own pillow, and the two began to undress slowly and awkwardly. ‘ Young George, valiant in his new resolves.‘ knelt down at his bedside, and the respeota ble benevolent old villain could do no other than follow his example. and being in posture for worship, he tried to go through some form of prayer, lut the words stuck hard, and his head whirled. How, he thought, if he died upon his knees, defying God in that awful and presumptuous way, and at the stroke of that sudden fear he rose and be 'an to grape about in a twilight splashed with blots of ink and fire ; until young George, hsvmg finished his devotions. rose and found his benefactor wandering with vague outstretched hands in the middle of the chamber, and in much alarm helped him to a chair. " Are you ill, Mr. Bushell ‘2” he asked. “ I bsin’t well, Mr. Banks,” murmured old George hoarser ; “ I'm very far from well.” He would leave Dinah everything, and let her know her son’s whereabouts. But he could not part With his money uniilâ€"" till death do us part.” The phrase came into his mind and chilled him strangely. He was defrauding the widow and the fatherlees That was another phrase which laid a. chilly and discomforting finger on him. The Bible made them sacred. he fancied. If he died before xhut Will was made and everything thus set straight again, he felt himself in peril. :But the human conscience is oomform able to reason. and ether all he was acting very kindly to a man who had treated him very ill. And it young George got his money in the end, it would be more than be de served. Once in bed, old George applied himself to his pocket flask in the darkness, and got some comfort out of it. though but little. One of 1118 discomforts was that he dared not toss} and tumble. since he dreaded to reveal his own uneasy soul., Nemesis comes upon us in odd ways at times. ' This may seem a smell affair; but if you tried it through a night, you would find it mount into an agony. To lie there ill at ease, longing to move, restless, restless. and not to dare to move, to catch his breath and clutch the bed clothes with his Weak sweating fingers, lest he should groan out loud : and all the time to were so euemg cunsclence in the face, and the coarse hell that ignoble and ignorant natures fear hereafter â€"was it a little thing? A hundred times that night the old sooundrel thought the game sesrdely worth the candle. And yet, how couldhe give his money up to a man who was ignorant of the fact that he owned it, and Who, besides, was already over- whelmed with gratitude l I have been reading Monsieur Taine this cold March morning, and his descriptions of the English climate have set me out of sorts. I long for a. day of sunshine, and I am sick for the time being of my benevolent rogue and my rasoqlly convert. Come with me Into the country, to the little western town. whose very walls you will find Arcadian after Lon~ don. Let us go into sunshine and honest company: .... n. ‘ .‘ It In the church of St. Stephen the Martyr the windows were all open , so that. whilst the sleepy curate bleated in the pulpit. you heard the sheep answer him from the mead owe ; and the wind, warm and scented, brought With it the rustle of the waving sunlit shady trees outside. The day was brailing hot, the church was cool and had a pleasant earthly odor. Flecks of sunshine iell past the blinds and traveled slowly along the walls, watched by half slumberoue worship pars sweetly unheedtul of the ourate’s voice and oblivious of the meaning or no meaning of his drowsy periods. “ Good morning, Mr. Keen.” said Dinah, holding out; her hand. " How bin youI air ‘2” asked Daniel. “ How are you ?” asked John in return. Then the conversation languished‘ and lawyer Keen felt desperately guilty, under Dinah’s gentle gaze. " Lovely weather,” he saidrat last, “Yes,” said Daniel. -‘ It's fine likely weather for the time 0’ year. It strikes a bit cold to the bones,. like, when you’m i’ church though.” A hot day. a. cool shady church, a bleming voice that soothed and faltered not, a. lullaby â€"]ulla. lulla, lullabyâ€"peace, peace, and deep ranquility of soul. . Ni,» asieen, not yet a'wake, and only alive enough to be placid 'and at test, sat old Danivl with his plump-hands caressing his round waistcoat. and his spindle shanks supported by ahassuck. Dinah by his side. with a sore heart soothed, not by the thrice three thousand times winnowed chaff of the blessing curate’s discourse (an excellent young man the curate, a capi- thl hat. but no orator), but tranquilized by the holy quien-of the place and time. For a litile time, vs} heart at rest. “ It does,” said John, catching at this cone Veraational ark of safety. Aboard the theme he found footing until the organ ceased to sound, when he became silent again, and his guilty look returned. By and by Ethel emerged from the churchâ€"toJohn’s fancy an angelic presence. Not yet so far away from an angelic prés'é’fiée in my own. Her eyes were like dove’s eyes, as the old Hebrew ‘lovor said of his love’s; her face as good and Not far away from the pew in which Daniel and Dinah sat, was the young lawyer Keen, with his lenghairin picturesque disorder and his grey eyes; looking afar elf through the ourates Geneva gown and the curate’a'body. When the ' ourase’s bleating murmer was out short all on a sudden. John awoke with a start from his reverie, and the orgau’s voice was the voice of love to him. The hymn being sung and the benediction given. away scurried J ehn to shake hands wnh old Daniel. Daniel would not attempt to go homewards without Dinah. Dinah Would not attempt to go without Ethel, and the young man was wonderfully fond of the old one. ' Not that he was a hypocrite, more than ever so little ; he really liked old Daniel. found him interesting and odd, as he had always found himâ€"but perhaps he was a greater chum of Daniel's than he would have been if the old man had been more separable from his daughter. and his daughter had been more separable from Miss Donne. For this young man was in love full fathom five, and, though he professed to know his passion hopeless, be fed it as often as he could. Whilst he shook hands with Dinah and her father in the porch, he had a loveris ears for the voluntary Eihel playel inside. He would Iain have stayed Within to listen to it peace fully, but was beset with fears lest for once Daniel should have persuaded Dinah to start without the organist. “ Good mofhing. Miss Banks,” said John with the old bil.‘ of guilt upon him. BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY. 0114mm XIX. :entle as it well might be, a little pallidâ€" the lover’s heart was piteous about the cause of the pallor at all times, when he saw uer~ehe came through a band of sunlight which lay across the pbreh. and the light glorified her beautiful hair and the creamy laces at her throat. John began to blush and tremble in the presence of this beautiful divinity pf his. “GJOd morning, dear,” said Ethel to Dinah. “ Good mornin’, my darlin’." said motherly Dinah, with warm squcitou} affection. “Géod morning, Miss Donne,” said the trefmulious ypungu‘lavzyerZ hat _in hqnd. “ Good morning, Miss Banks; good morning, Mr. Banks.” And away he went, routed fox the twemieth time, in spite of his resolve. That right to raise his hat and say -‘ Good morning” was all poor John got out of linger ing at ‘he porch on Sundays. “1 then’t lot the pluck of a. mouse,” he said to him- self reproachfully. " Why can‘t I face her? Why can’t I speak to her? Why do Ifllook like a fool Whenever she looks at me 7 Ah. poor thing I" pursued the unvaliant John. ” she’s had such trouble, it would be a shame in me to trouble her further. And of course for years and years to come, whenever any fellow looks at her as if he cared for her, she’ll think of that scoundrel of a Banks. Of course she will l And I shouldn‘t care for her if I thought she wouldn't. not going to be beaten. If any other fellow comes in in the course of a year or two. any decent fellow that she can like and be happy with,â€"whyâ€"â€"â€".” John found ‘ that prospect unpleasant. A lover’s thoughts ‘ are likely to he contradictory. The peculiar- ity about him is that. until he comes to look back at his own raptures and despondings. he regards them as filling up the most miser- able time of his life. It is only when the time is over that he discovers how happy it was. My friend Mr. Francillon has put much philosophy into a nut-sell on this theme : We doubted. quarreled. tore ourselves asunder; Faith mimicked falsehood, hope was likk des- But I’m 1 pair ; We doubt not, strive not; calmly now we Wonder Whv we were happy, yet We know we were. Then dawned no day but brought twelve hours of sadness; Then fell no night but knew twelve hours of pain ; Now night brings rest, and day brings hope and gladness ; Yetâ€"could we only love and weep again l John went to church with great regularity; and. if he wrote satiric verses on the blast- ing curate, forbore to give them publication The people of Wrethedale found no fault in him. He was as well~oonducted a youngman as any in t! e town, and walked with so much oircumspection that even Ethel could see nothing in him to blame. And I may say here. that good and charming as she was. she regarded poor John with a very unreasoning dislike and distrust; and had memontary twings of hatred over him, con eerning which she rebuked and humbled her- self continually. She had naturally a tender conscience and a vivacious tempfeament. Tenderness of conscience grew morbid under the hands of Thomas a. Kempis, and her youth and trouble were sure guarantees for an oc- casional touch of anger in a woman of her complexion. You must understand that these contentions were inward. and that she rarely by any chance spoke an ill natured word; but she used to feel mightily indignant at thous~ ands of things which a year before would have passed her unnoticed. and having felt in- dignant invariably felt sinful afterwards, and read her dear a Kempie with passionate desire to equal or come near his spirit. A good girl with lofty spiritual longings and a heart that ached. “ Dinah." she said with some severity, as John walked away into the sunlight of the sweet, “ I wish that young man would not speak to us.” u. --. n. u ,,I,I,A “11" 0n, the wound, the wound towards which every chance arrow struck anew in both of them! Ethel took Dlnah‘e arm. and without a word or a glance, apology and pity flushed from each to each, for the two had learned to love and understand 'e'EéWEfKei' 'ri’iely‘.” " ~r w... fl- _._.. “ Do you. dear 7” mid Dinah meekly. “ He was an old friend of â€"â€"-ours." " I likin’ young Keen,” said Dainiel ; who, apart from the difierence of sex and age, was of a coarser fibrer “ I wish my lad had took example by him. Eh, dear me I” ._.... , :11” “7715911123; lfi’fsia'id Difiah. Warnineg and be- Beechingly. “Ehidear me l" Daniel said again. It was little, but it was enough, and the two women‘s eyes brimmed over behind their veils. Ethel, by special invitation, dined with Daniel and Dinah that day ; and it need hardly be said that, after the remainder of their trouble. the table was quiet and the meal a sad one. It was easy to recover com- posure, but anything like vivacity would have seemed a crime and most unnatural, and not one of the three had the heart to be common place. So they ate in sadness and without appetite ; and in a little while Daniel went up- stairs for his nap. 7%;38147’B3i3 Efihel with tender im- patience. “ What difference could it; make ? You could have got anmher copy from the “ Sing me something, dear," said Dinah ; and Ethel sat down at the piano and sang hymns, until the elder woman put her arm about the singer's neck, and sliding suddenly down. knelt at, her feet, and dropped her head into Ethel’s lap. And this was Dinah 7 thought Ethel ; this was the woman she had so lowd and pitied. For 'a second or two the thought was ,very nearly as terrible as anything she had yet. endured. But as Dinah shrank away from her, the younger woman, with a sudden passionate impulse. cast herself upon her knees and snatched the sinner to her breast, and their tears mingled as they clung to gather, and Ethel necked her to and fro as if Dinah had been a child Then, as they knelt there, Dinah told her étgory ; and 1t came out that the sinner was no sinner, after all. But when the tale was told, Ethel asked in amazement, "â€"ZrYou don’t understand.” persisted Dinah- “ Mz_weddin_’_lin9§.”“ ' «- s.‘ . 1 ‘ihzé‘cvafivf {SHEâ€"61; ? ” wéfit Dinah. “Oh my dear. in was 8.11 my wicked, wicked fault as he went wrongâ€"~53 he was rtemptedi’ _ ‘ ” He was my child I ” said Dinah. “ My mother parsed him off as hers. but he was mine. An’ I’ve gone through life with a. lie i’ my hand, an’ now it's found me outâ€"it’s found me out.” Ethel sat sternly amazed, and had nothing to say for a while. Dinah. thinking herself scorned, and wholly feeling that she deserved it, shrunk slowly away and wept anew, hold- ing her face in both hands. .. ..-rw.u 1 “vrl’id‘ loét my lines, darlin’,” said the poor jnnooent Dinah. Titan silly woman 'I" cried Ethel; “ what difference could that make 7” .z‘v Efigh, hugfi I" said Ethel, taking Diuah’s head in both hands. “ What is it dear ? What is it .9” "77biix7'dried Dinah, “ I’ve been a wicked woman all my life ; a. wicked, false, deceiving woman I” , “U‘T‘Wil'yj'hb; Eguldr that be 1‘ " asked Ethel with soothing incredulity. _ “ 0n ! If I’d ha’ told the truth from the beginning, if I’d had the courage to face the neighbors an‘ take my shame, he’ ha’ had his rights-he’d ha‘ had his rightsâ€"I know he would ! ” Ethel recalled the words which had fallen upon her fainting ears on the day of George's committal. “ rI.‘he childI bore 1 " Had she not dreamed or miaheard them after all? Was this thing true of Dinah ?â€"of Dinah, amongst all women in the world! ___vc_ , "Dumb!" she sald, forcing the other’s face upwards, and looking at her with an almost fierce anxiety; “ tell me what you‘ mean, this minute.” “ I don‘t care 1” her heart cried out, “ I will love her. Whatever she baa done, I will love her and hold to her.” The girl’s heart ached anew with sudden pity. ‘* Nonsense, dear I ” said Ethel decisively. Then more gently. “ You mustn’t talk so.” Then more geytlygtill, “_Wha§ 35in ” .IAI Bolt], Drum umwu In umn‘ncmuuv, “ But why, dearâ€"why shouldn’t the neigh- bors have known ?” church were you were married. The copy would be quite as good. You could get one now. Yeu are a lawfully married woman, and you need never, never be ashamed.” v “ I could get my lines now? ” asked Dinah, l with a. face of wonder and dismay. I “ Of course you could,” cried the other. “ At Weston Church ? ” “ Of course you could." “ Oh my dear, if I’d only 113’ knowed it. 1 ” And Dlnah wept afresh. " If he’d had his‘ rights, he’d never he} been tempted. 0h ‘ what a. wicked, wicked, foolish women 1 have been l Ethel, my dear, forgive me for talkin’ about him, because I know it hurts your heart as bad as it does mine. But. dar- lin’, when his time’s. up, What is he to do? ‘Oh dear, oh dear! He is my child for all he’s been so wicked. I bore him, an‘ 1 nursed him, an‘ I used to suckle him on the sly at first, as long as I ever dared. What W111 he do when he comes out? What can he do? Can I get his rights for him ‘2 Could I get enough to keep him and send him away out o’ the country au’ let him have a chance to be a good men again? Oh. could I. could I, darlin’ ? ” In tfiefifiésériofixlx of this entreaty she fawned on Ethel and caressea her wnh imploring hands. “ Yes,” said Ethel boldly ; “ I am sure you could. Whatever would have come to your rhusbagd is lgyfully yours." .n-,1 d Trim? hobody ’d tbivnix,” asked Dinah brokenly, 7 “_ I Viagnjt an honegt woman ?” “ Nobody l” Ethel answered again boldly. She scorned and hated young George now as much as ever she had loved him, for she had large capacities in that direction, and the one villain she had known had brought them into play. But though she believed that she would not have lifted a finger in his behalf she could understand his mother’s fears and longings, and her heart went with them. He was a scouudrel, but Justice was justice ; and even if he shared in the advantages of it Dinah ought to have her right. " And did Mr. Bushell know this before the trial ?” she asked after a time spent in soothing Dinah. “ Yes. I went to him an’ told him, but he pretended to misbelieve me. I went to the court o’purpme to tell the magis‘ trate, an’ I should ha’ done in if George hadn’t â€"” “ I‘m sure he didn‘t really misbelieve me,” said Dmah. “ I could see he didn’t. Bus he’s a hard man, my dear, and he was afraid ofloain’ his money.” She paused again. and hung her head when she continued 7 There she stopped, and Ethel with chilly lips. __ ‘ He miscalled me very had my dear He said he wouldn‘t believe a Word 0’ my mle’and he told me â€"her voice faltered lower as she repeated old George‘s words of nghteoue anger- ‘ that I ought to ha.’ had my legs in the stocks for bringin’ such a story to him.” ” He dared to say that l” cried Ethel inâ€" diguuutly. “ Get your certxficate at once, and take every penny of your husband’s money from him ” “ If I could only get enough l” reburned Dinah dejectedly. “ You know, it’s his ights, after all, and what belongs to him be longs to him whether he’s good or bad.” Ethel made no answer. Young George was a uurnble theme for either of the women, but 1n Dinah’s case conscience was at work. 1 is worth no‘ice that What are called the tor meme of conscience assail the best; and leave the worst untouched. Dinah found herself so pressed that she determmedupon duty at any hazard. It was hard, after hiding so long, to make 3he revelation she was bound to make. But she had sacrificed herself all along, and she was bound to go on sacrificing herself to the end. T'Yr'ééir’rsgid Ethél, with “an air of resolu‘ tion. “ Will you come with me tOanI‘I'OW," she whiggerggi to E91912“ if I go to. look for it ?" So next day the two women practiced a deceit on Daniel and Mrs. Donne, and under wicked cover of a. pretended visit to the mar- ket town they took train towards their old home, and reaching Waston Church after a four hour's journey. sought the‘vicar and made application for a copy of the certificate The wear dispatched a messenger for the sexton, and that humble oflicial conducted them to the church. His department ap- peared to be looking up, and. he scented perpetual heir~money in this new craze for certificate hunting. The sexton was one of those people with whom single instances make habits. Two swallows furnished ample evidence of summer. The dusty old register was brought out again, and the entries for Wit-Sunday in the year eighteen hundred and fifty revealed the fact that thirty or forty couples had been united in Weston Church on that day, but the names of Joseph Bushell and Dimh Banks were not amongst them. Dinah and Ethel looked at each other in blank dismay. H Isithis the only register you keep?” asked Dinah, beginning to think that Ethel had been almost as ignorant as herselfL" Ethel, with a certain feeling of dizzy die- oomfiture, was turning over the halhdozen entries, rather to hide her own looks of dismay and to get time to think than with a. hope 01 finding anything. Suddenly she gave a sharp little cry. “ Dinah I Look here !" Dinah came and saw nothing, but Ethel strained the pages open, and there, between the third and fourth entries for that Whit- Sunday, lay the root of the missing leaf The eyes of the two searchers met with in-v‘ stameneous recognition of the truth. Ethel turned lawyer in a. second. “ I suppose,” she said to the sexton, “ that very few people come to ask enquiries of this kind 1?" "‘7; Yeh, ma’am,” 3&in the sexton. “ That's the only one; as is kep’ h_ere_:” "He would be here, I fancy, about six months ago,” said Ethel. Dinah was looking on at thisfiwith a scared face, but Ethel was smiling and gracious‘ and the sexton thought her quite a nice younglady. Her manner was one of sweet- ened commonplace, and the man dld not dream that she cared a copper to find out anything. “ EJW many do you get in a she asked. “Oh no, ma’am,’ said the sexton, “ not near as long as that. Only a few weeks back, ma'am.” ’ “ And he dldn’t give you his name ? ” “ No, ma’am.” “ It was sure to be Mr. Bushell, darling,” with a warning pinch, Dinah still leaking scared. “ Wasn’t it? ” It must have been.” said Dinah in a. frightgned voice._ _ "it: What was this gentleman like? ” asked Ethel, in a casual wavy. 71“ My dear," said-Dinah, clinging to Ethel’s arm, and speaking half hyeterically, “ he’s stole it to rob him of his tighter}: “ To rob you,” returned Ethel quietly. “Let us go back and think over what is to be done.” Then decisively, “ We must- see a lawyer.” 1 “ Not many, ma’am," returned the sexton. with a. tinge of sorrow. He suspected :noth mg, supposing the cry “ Look here I” meant, no mote than the discovery of what his visi- tors nquired. “ W011, ma am,‘k returned the sexton, “ I’ve been here seven years, 311’ you an’ this lady is the second parties as has been here.” “ 0h. indeed !” said she. “ Has been here since Mr. Bushell came ?” “ I don’t know the party, ma’am,” ed the sexton, “ not by name." “ Why, he was a. stoutish elderly party, ma’am,’ returned the sexton; “pretty tall 811’ stout-with grey whiskers; dressed in black clothes, ma‘am.” “ Yes," said Ethel graciously. “ Thank you.” The sexton touched his forelock again and again at her gratuifly and her smile. “ Goad day," she said sweetly» ‘-‘ Good-day, ma’am," said the Eamon}, “ Goodday, my lady ; ” and away they warm} to the sunny road, leaving the sexton to lock up the despoiled register and close the church. 11.. n m flung George had only played his cards in his defense with an indisoretion less pro~ year, now ‘I” kissed her return- nobody nounced. and had never made that unfortu- nate deposit of the stolen notes, Ethel would have believed in him all through. It was only the memory of these things which pre- vented the revival of faith; and even as mat- 1 ters stood, she began to believe in an indefi- nite way that theyounger seoundrel had been tripped into being wicked by the elder. To hate sin and love the sinner is aUhristian maxim, but Ethel coupled a. detestation of the Sinner with her loathing of the sin even while she confessed to herself that the‘ mother’s right must be respected. And the mother's right was clearly the right to care for her child to the end, and to do what she could to fence him round from harm and to shield him from temptation. And Ethel could bear less to think of him as sunk into hope less degradation and compelled to crime, than to think of him as being undeservedly prosperous, and perhaps softened in that way to repentance. Her feelings and her conscience therefore went one way. “ Do good to them that despitefully use you ” was a text which gave warranty enough for con- science, and her heart was wholly with Dinah“ the full sadness of whose history she had so lately begun to comprehend. The two oonspiratresses salved their oon~ sciences that day by a brief halt at the mar- ket town, during which they made reckless purchases to account for their lengthened absence. They reached home dos tired, Dinah quite broke by this latest difficulty. and Ethel roused to an almost heroic re3olu+ tion. It is perhaps needful to explain, it only for the sake of a hasty reader who will not imagine more than he can help, how it came about that Dinah had at last confessed her secret. Whilst her mother lived there had been somebody to share it with, and the burden was divided. From that time until her introduction to Ethel, Dinah had had but the merest casual everyday acquain tances; and if George had prospered, she would have been content to carry her secret to the end. But when the young fellow went so completely to the bad, and when the mother began to reflect upon his future. the weight btcame too dreadful. and a part of it must at any risk be thrown away. And apart from that, Dinah was desperate and at bay, facing circumstance with a tragic and heart~hroken heroism of which only women are capable. The psychology of the case is simple. her own sin of secrecy in respect to the marriage had resulted in her child’s sin of dishonesty. You and I would not put it so. but it was inevi table that Dinah should fasten the two things together in that way. Her sin had led to sin, and she must make atonement. So the poor thing confessed, as the first step, to one she loved. and whom she had helped to‘ injure. WhatEthel could not achieve she did. She hated the sin. but she loved the sinner still. He had gone in her arms as a baby, she ha! sis-zed the rosy dimpled feet now so pierced with the thorns of evil ways He was her child, after all, though he were a thousand times Wicked; and even now she would have borne his punishment for him. and have rejoiced to do do it. Foolish. but hkea mother, and perhaps not altogether to be condemned or lightly spoken of. “ Dinah,” said Ezhel next morning, “ did you ever ask Mr. Keen to tea 2’" “ No.” said Dinah listlessly. " Will you write and ask him ‘2" “Why, dear ?” “ I want to meet him." “ Why, itwas only 0’ Sunday inst," said Dinah, “ you wished he wouldn’t speak to " Did I? " asked Miss Donne disingenu- ouely. “ Well I want particularly to see him new, deer. Will you ask me to tea to- morrow and ask him to come also. Ask two or three of the people whom you know from the church. and have a little party.” “ Ethell " said Dinah reproachfully. “ My darling," returned Ethel with an air of determination, “we cannot stay at the point we have reached. We must go on. Phat Wicked man must be punished for steel- ing the certificate, and you must have What belongstofimnxjptil we know Whatrto do, we can do nothing.” US. 77 7“ But how wilf givin’ a. party help us to find out what to do? ” asked Dinah. “I will put a eupposititious case to Mt. Keen,” said Ethel. losing a. little of her color as she spoke,-“ you find things like it in novels.dear,â€"â€"snd he wzll never foramo ment guess that I am ofiering him 9. real case. You don’t want your secret to be made the common talk of the country, and we must manage it by ourselves. If we consult ed a lawyer, you would have to tell him everything. and that would be terrible. You know what those stupid men do. They getfi things into newspapers and make everybody talk about them. Now, when we know what is the right course to take, we can do whatever must be done quite quietly." “ Not if you only punish him by frighten ins; him and taking your money from him. I believe they hang people for stealing from a church. register. I am sure I have read that somewhere. And you don't want to do that.” “ Not for everythin’ in the world," cried Dinah. “ If you go to a lawyer,” said Ethel, confiâ€" dent in her superior knowledge, “I am afraid they would hang him if they found him guilty. Of course he knows that, anl when we know what to do we can frighten him, and make him give up everything he has of yours. It is right that you should have it. Let me write the notes of invite.» xabiou. Shall we ask Miss Wade? ‘Miss Banks presents her compliments to Miss Wade. and will be pleased to see her at; tea. tm-morrow (Wednesday) afternoon at five o'clock.’ Shall we ask Mr Gimble, the orâ€" ganist at Shereham? ‘ Miss Banks presenls, &c.’ Now to Mr. Keen.” “ But if you punish Mr: BusfleH, beople will have to knowf’ objeetngDingh. _ _ Dinah acquiesced in this programme with fear and trembling. Three young ladies and three young gentlemen were invited. Ethel promised to bring her mother, and the put chases from the market were investigated. Most of them appeared to have been made With aview to this stroke of policy, now that the policy Was revealed, and Dinah weekly and timidly submitted to Miss Donne's overwhelming generalship. On the morrow, with fluttering hearts, the con- spiratresses met again, and shortly after~ warde the guests began to arrive. The Reverend Walter Boyper, curate at St. Stephen the Martyr’s ; Miss Boyper, sister of the foregoing; Mr. Gimble, the errant dufier, who before Miss Donne’s time had nlayed the organ at the Mntrtyr’e; Miss Wade, an elderly young lady of some priytte means, known to be a devout attendant at the service of the Martyr, and snapected of setting7 her cap at the bleating curate. All these came, but no John Keene. Mr. Keen was waited for and came not. Tea was served andyfinished and taken away; The curate sang : VVhtLt the bee is to the floweret \Vhen he seeks for honey dew, What the bird is to the boweret, That, my love, I’d be to you. Miss Wade was understood to accept this as a. deliiate attention. Mr. Gimble, who was popularly accused of a. hopeless passion for Miss Boyper, sang “ The Heart Bowed Down.” Miss Boyper in musical re» sponse declared that she would marry her own led her own led, her own lad; that she would marry her own lad, for true of heart was she. Ethel sang two or three ballads, and Mrs. Donne with stifi country dignity sat with her hands crossed and her toes together, and was deliberately uncomfortable. No John Keen. and no word from him. Daniel, who was getting more frail every day, went to bed early; and the guests taking this as a signal began to leave. The summer dusk had settled into summer night, and Ethel had but lingered tor a word or two of hope and encouragement to Dinah, when a rapid step came along the otherwise silent street, and paused before the door. Then the bell rang. and Dinah went herself to answer it. “ Is Miss Banks within ‘3” 'John Keen at last. CHAPTER XX. “ Come inY Mr. Keen,” said Dinah tremuu lously; and John entered fluenfi in; apology. "I have been away to Berton, Miss Banks," said John, “ ton two-daye’ cricket- match, and only found your note on my re- turn ten minutes sincga. I ran up to say how very sorry I was to lose the opportunity your kind invitation gave me. I hope you have had a pleasant evening. “ Quitea nice evening, thank you,” said Dinah, leading the way to the parlor. John with repeated excuses followed, and became on I a sudden dumb at the sight of Miss Donne. That deceptive young woman arose with a smile. and shook hands with him. This Was delicious, but so embarrassing, all things considered, as to be scarcely bearable, He half recovered his voice in a While and murmured, ” Came to apologise and ex- ‘ plain ; sorry to miss the pleasure ; trust to have another opportunity ;” and then, being again routed, said “ Good night,“ and turned to fly. ‘ Ethel cast an appealing glance at Dinah. “ Pray don’t think of goin’ yet, Mr. Keen.” And she took his hat away and handed him a chair. John set down in a miserable e1y~ sium. and Ethel began to talk to him. Mrs. Donne had some time since put a shawlover her head and Walked into her own house next door, through the Wicket gate which connected the two back gardens ; and the guests having departed, John and Ethel and Dinah were alone. Dinah took no share in the conversation, but set and listened with mingled expectation and fear. " By the way, Mr. Keen,” said Ethel rather abrupily, “ I want to make an appeal to your legal knowledge.” “ Yes,” said John. “ You read quite unbelievable things in books sometimes -â€"-in novels, you know â€"and the critics often laugh at books for the false ideas the writers have about. law. Now, I want to know what would really be nhepuuishment for stealing a certificace of marriage from a church register." “ Well,” said John, " I dare say a. judge would make it; depend very much upon the issues involved. I should fancy the punish- ment wouldn’t in' any case go under a. couple of years, and it might under aggravated circumstances run up to twelve, fifteen, twanty." .A” . < «.1 . ~.. . 1 “ So much? ” asked Ethel with outward innocence. “ They wouldn’t hang him? ” “ Oh dear. no," returned John. The two women felt horribly guilty, and one looked it. Ethel carried on her scheme with an excellence of mendacily for which nobody would have given her credit. n V‘V‘VAIIIJd now, how "would anybody really go abous, in real life, to find a certificate that had been stolen? " 777.1011!) was delighted to be questioned upon a topic of tpis 30gb.” . “ l‘hat depends,” he answered. “ on the date of the marriage. Nowadays, a man would be simply an ass for his trouble, if he stole a church certificate of mmriago.” “ Why? ” asked Enhel almost. too eagerly “ Because," said John, " all the registrara’ records are preserved at Somerset House. Suppose, now, that I Wanted to. prove a, marriage, and some clumsy swindle! stole the church certificate. all. [should have to do would be to. go up to London, to Somerset House. and pay for a cerlificatedpopy 9f the register there kept.” “ That depends, you say. on the date of the marriage .9” asked Eabel, as calmly as she could-calmly enough for John to see nothing, since he looked for nothing, but. with enough discurbance to be seen by Dinah, who watched for it. Dinah’s heart was well- nigh failing her. ,. .. . A. 1 “ Well.” said John. reflectively, “ any such crime would be quite futile if it attempted to hide a. marriage which had taken place within the last thirty years. I am not certain that even earlier than that it might not be trouble wasted, but of the thirty years at least I am quite sure.” Ethel looked across at Dinah, and that glance completed what the journey and the discovery of Monday, the suspense of Tues- day. and the disappointment of Wednesday had begun and carried on. r Dinah broke out crying. Exhel was by her side in an instant with consoling arms about her. John looked on helpless and astonished. V“"-7135E£,'"aear. don’t! Bush! hush! hushl” “ Oh. my dear,” wept Dinah, ” no blessing ’ll ever rest on anythin’ got at i’ that way. Oh my dear, it isn't right. I don’t blame you, my dear, because I led you into it. You, as never spoke a. word as wasn’t true sill now. an‘ me to lead you into such wicked make believin’ l ” ' _V‘-‘meishI hush l” implored the exposed conspiratress. John was more helpless and more aston- ished than before. “ What good.” sobbed Dinah, “ has ever come of my wicked hidin’ of the truth ? " What good has ever come of it ? ” “ Control yourself," whispered Ethel. “ My dear,” said Dinah, struggling to speak calmly, with indifferent success, “ it’s been growin’ on my mind for years an’ years. It was wicked to hide it from Joe’s father an’ mother, an’ it was Wicked to hide it from mine. It’s been a sin all along, an‘ now it’s found me out. But I‘ll owu the truth now, an’ bear the blame, an’ everybody shall know what a wicked woman I’ve been.” John was more and more wonder~stricken. “ You a wicked woman. you aufiering angel I ” cried Ethel, folding Dinah’s head to her bosom, and swaying it to and fro. “ I have been a wicked woman all along.” protested Dinah. " But I’ll lead nobody else into wickedness again. I‘ll tell the truth and bear the blame. Mr. Keen,” she said, lifting.V her tear-stained face from Ethol’s bosom, “ I‘ll tell you everything, an’ then you shall advIse me for the best.” 1. .r “ Not now,” said John, recovering himself a little. “Whatever you have to tell me, Miss Beaks, tell me at some future time. when you ere less agitated, and more mistress of yourself. I would very much ruther”â€"he went on, in answer to the expression of her face â€"â€"“ I would very much rather not hear it now, whatever it may be. I should feel that your confidence had been surprised. Let me go away now, and if you see fit. send for me in the morning. If not.” he added rather vaguely, “ let us forget all about it.” I . wdfild havev laid hands upon him, and have told her story there and men, but Ethel held her firmly. “Mr. Keen is quite right,” said Ethel; and John, with those approving words in his ears made off. He was naturally much be- wildered. although he, quite as strongly as Ethel, repudiated Dinah’s Belt-accusations; and he ulept none the more soundly for the curious scene he had w’imessed. Dinah after altogether new turned sullen, reason. “I‘ll do what’s right," she said. “ Nothin’ shall change me." “ But, dear.” urged Ethel, “ we can get a. copy of your marriage lines from Somerset House, now that we know they are there; and we can Write to Mr. Bushell, so go and see him, and tell him what we know, and frighten him into doing justice.” " I’ll do what‘s right,” Dinah sullenly de- clared. “ Nuxhin’ shawl change me,” “By all means do what your conscience tells you.” said Ethel. “ But it is surely not a matter of conscience with you to tell your private affairs to Mr. Keen.” “ I’ll do what’s right,” repeated Dinah. “ Nothiu’ shall change me.” After this third declaration Ethel forbore to press her. Dinah, after all these years of self suppression, was in a. mood to cry out her secret from the house tops, and she lay awake all night determining more and more to visit lawyer Keen in the morning and tell him everything. Whatever was done now should be done openly â€"so she resolved Merely to shield herself, she had let her child go Without the knowledge of amotner’s lore ; end she thought new, with what unuvailing longing only a. mother may rightly tell, how differently all might have gone bad she been brave enough to own him. as her own. She could see now that almost anybody could have enlightened her ignorance about her marriage lines; and if she could but have his departure exhibited an phase of character. She and declined to listen to used a. mother’s love and authority with the lad, she felt sure that he would have grown up to be a dlfierent creature. And since Secrecy and deceit had brought things to their present evil Dime. she would have no more of them. Let everythh‘g hence- forth be open and ahove board. Much as she felt herself shrink from public notice, she would rather that the whole world knew her story and talked about her than have em other secret to Weigh her down, or endure the Weight of the old one any longer. Before Dinah could start with any hope of finding Johaneen awake, Ethel came in again, and found the resolve of last night as strong as ever.‘ All attempts to dissuade her were trouble thrown away, and in due time Dinah put on her things and went out, leaving Ethel behind dissatisfied. Perhaps the dissatisfaction found root partly in the fact that John Keen was to be the recipient of Dinah’s long cherished secret. and that Ethel’s own deceitful manoeuvre was to be exposed to him. She did not care greatly for Mr. Keen’s opinion, but she did not wish ‘ anybody to know that she could have found it in her nature to finesse and make pretences in that treacherous way. What would Mr. ‘Keen think of her? How could he {all to see her as she was ~a sly and catlike creature who had every right to be ashamed of her- self. Oh, how she had deceived him-- pre~ tending that she had merely taken a case from a novel, while she questioned him with an air of indifierence on an affair of such moment. And supposevâ€"lawyers took fees for advis- ing peopleâ€"~suppose he should fancy that she had attempted to defraud him of his fee l When John came to hear the story, he was naturally a. good deal astonished ; but. though he was a young man, he was ac- customed to curious stories in the exercise of his profession, and he accepted this one with litnle sign of amazement. Dinah laid the case before him with trembling. and ex- pected to be rebuked for all her wickedness ; but the young lawyer faced it with a. business air, and seemed to have no great belief 1!] her surprising wickedness. He made notes clear and succinct in form, and bowed his visitor away with a manner somewhat pre- occupied. W‘V'WIIHVV'V'iII let you know something about the matter in a, day or two.” sail John “ It is not at allacomplex case to deal with.” Dinah felt as if she had been speaking to a statue‘ he took everything in so cool a way; but: when she had gone, the lawyer threw his professional bearing aside, and traveled up and down his room, pausing every now and then with some exclamation of astonish- ment. He could afford to be astonished now that his new client was not looking at him ; but he would not; waste time about it. uuu , uuu uU nut“... uvu "won, ".0. -v-_. _.. “ I shall have lots of time to wonder," he said, “as I go up to town.” With that re- flection he began to pack ; and on consulting a time table, found himself in easy time for the London train. The railway station being at no great distance from his house. he himself carried his small portmanteau thither, and was whirled away to London ; arriving in time to drive straight to Somerset House, and secure a copy of the certificate of Dinah’s marriage. With this document in his possession he drove to Euston. bucked for Birmingham. and before nightfall was settled in the smoky midland capital. Thence he wrote to Dinah informing ’her of his first success, and in the morning he made for the country church in which the marriage had been solemnized. The sexton by this time was accustomed to the request John had to proffer.‘ It was getting to be quite a usual and ordinary thing for strangers to turn up and pay him for a. sight of the parish register. He received his new visitor, there- fore, with calm satisfaction, and ushered him into the little vestry with the air of a man who is about his common business. John. with the certified copy before him. turned to the missing page, and found there the root of the stolen leaf. " Who out out this page ?" he asked quietly but suddenly, and fixed a penetrating eye uporamaelstpla- . m . ‘ 1.! , ind fi‘i'iEhW?” said that small official. If he were guihy uf any share in the matter, he was a. cool hand indeed. “ A page has been stolen from the register," said John tapping at the book. “It has been stolen within the last six or seven months.” It was easy to guess that. Whilst the mar riage remained 9. secret. nobody was likely to steal the entry. “Who has had accees to this book since then ?" “ Who‘s seen the book, d’ye mean ‘1’" 9.13de the sexton. “ Why, two ladies as was here :‘other day, and a gentleman as was here some weeks back.” “Should you know the gentleman again” “ Surely I should!” the man answered. "Are you busy? Can you come with me â€"if I pay you for your troubleâ€"for an hour or two '2” John demanded. “ I ain’t particular busy,” said the sexton. “ But what might you want me to do?", _ “ Wait amoment. Now firy to remember very clearly. Did you leave that gentleman alone at: all 7” "No, I didn't." said We sexton ssoutly. He sawacbance of being got into trouble. and he made his denial with considerable emphasis. To John Keen’s perception he rather overdid it. “ What. no; to get a glass of beer ?” asked John, at a venture. He put that query to the sexton with a look so knowing that the poor man quailed, and capinuluted surlily. K 7‘7‘ Well, {here ain't no Harm in that, a-s far as I know.” “ We shall know more about that by and by,” said John. “Don‘t try to deceive me any more." Beneath the legal glance the sexton cowered. “ How long did you leave him alone with this register ‘2” ” Why, not abeve 1; master 0’ five min utes." “ You left a stranger alone with a church register for five minutes, did you I” asked John severely. “ Now, I am a lawyer, and unleSH you behave yourself to my satisfaction you may get into trouble. Are you busy to day ‘2” ” No, sir; nob particular.” “ Then, lock these thmgs up and come with me.” The man obeyed, but paused at the church porch to askâ€"- “ What might you want me to do, air ‘2" “ I want to see if you can recognize the man whom you left alone with the registeru" “ I should know him among ten thousand,” said ‘he sexton. “ I suppose,” said John, “you know how to hold your tongue when it is to your own in teres! ?” The Sexton nodded gloomily. “Thou. until I authorise you no speak. be quiet, wxll you ?” The man nodded gloomin again, and ii was clear that he was perhurbed. “I shall pay you for your time and trouble,” said John. relenting a little, “ And now come along l" When dawn began to broaden through the blinds of the double bedded room, old George, looking woefully worn and lined, sat up on his elbow and looked across at his protege, who slumbered peacefully with his mouth open and his eyelids and nose still a. little inflamed by the heel; and sell. of tears. Christian forgiveness and benevolence never were a guise in which they looked less like themselves than they did in old George’s case that morning. With his fluffy grey hair tumbled loose about his head, his eyes shrunken small, his wooden features puckered into corners and sharp edges, and his flannel night-gown opened at his throat, he set and surveyed the object of his charity and shook his fist at him. The young man being evi- dently very sound asleep, the elder arose and began to dress with great quiet, having it in his mind to avoid a renewal of the terror of last night. He dared not go upon his knees again â€" just yet. In a month or two, perhaps, when his wickedness was less, fresh upon‘hini, he might try to pray, and fairly expect to be excused, but not'31h'en.'; ‘So he prowled about like an ugly and dishevelled ghost on And John set outwith the sexton beside him in pursuit of old George Bushell. CHAPTER XXI. tiptoe, and having w‘ashed and grasped with extreme quiet, he put on hie" hat, unlocked the bedroom door and Went out. silently! Then, having closed the door behind him, he began to knock at it‘lOudly with his knuckles and hearing a sleepy “Who’s there ?" he enfisared again. ' ,, “ Good morning. sir," said the other-crim- inal ahamolacedly. “Good mornin'. Mr. Banks." answered the old man. " It’s time you were stirriu‘, a n’t it 7” V 1 The youngster ohediently got out of bed and dressed, fumbling unwoutedly with his garments, and confused by the wooden WEtChleBGES of his companion. When, in accordance with his own resolves and his promise to the chaplain, he knelt by his bed« side, his thoughts were so full of a comfort- less apprecintlon of the fact that Mr. Bushell was staring hard at the back of 1:115 head,that he did not. even cast about for a. form of words, but, having knelt for a decent space, arose and completed his toilet. It was yet barely five o‘clock. and there was nobody but themselves stirring in the hotel. Mr. Bushell finding time as heavy on his hands now as when he had lain tossing and tumbling in bed, naturally began to think the late estate bet- ter than'the present, and regretted that he had awakened his charge so soon. He sat down by the window and pretended to read a big hotel Bible which he took from the top of the chest of drawers, casting furtive glances at young George now and again. The reâ€" leased one sat coustrainedly doing nothing, and wishing himself with all his soul at sea, and safely out of his benefactor’s society. He had had no idea that Mr. Bushell was a man of such rigid religious practice as he seemed to be, but his beliefs in that gentle» man were undergoing, or had indeed under: gone, a remarkable change. Furtively he looked across at him and wondered. Where was there in his face a sign of that amazing tenderness he had shown ? There was no sign visible to the furtive Watcher’s eyes. if there had been in young George’s mind the faintest ground for any suspicion of an in~ terested motive, he would have leapt to that standing place at once, and have refused to take any other, however plausible it might appear. But there was nothing of the kind, and he was lost in amazement and gratitude, though, in the midst of all his thankfulness, he was growing more and more resolved about the Mel- bourne question. He pretended to himself to hold that question open, but he know that he was quite decided, and that the expectant Nelly and Tulson would look for him in vain. Yet he was full of good re- solves, and was profoundly convinced of the necessity which lay upon him to be honest in the future. He was going to be more than nunestâ€" he was going to be devout, but this one crooked step was necessary to enable him to enter upon the straight path. Then, being once more within it, he would never, never, never deviate any more. PROFESSOR BLACKIE’S OPINION OF SCOTCHMEN. Professor Blackie was one 'of the speakers at the Brewster centenary festival in Edin- burgh. He said he was not in the habit of speaking smooth words of flattery to the Scotch people. lie did not think they were a people who had cultivated the beautiful as they ought to do. They had the forcible, the fervid, the strong pushing of their way in the world, but he did not think they had the beautiful or the graceful. He did not deny that the Scatch nation, thanks to God, had produced great artists, and was producing them, but, they had produced great artists as the Hebrews produced great prophets. The Jews were a stiff-necked generation, and therefore the prophets were sent to correct their stiff neckcdness. The Scotch, in 1115 opinion, were a hard headed, logical, ‘bump- tious. utilitarian. considerably commercial, prosaic and vulgar‘minded people ; and God had sent to them Sir Walter Scott and these artists to lift them up to a higher platform of human existence. Because if the Supreme Being had manifested His excellence in all the various forms of beauty in creation were they to despise the beautiful, and only talk of the useful ? for what ? To fill their pockets with hard cash? Pshaw 1 Utility was only a step to something higher; ‘ and if they did not worship the true and the b autiful and the good for their own sake. then, with all their newspapers. and all their gas lights, and telegraphs. and all their logic and philosophy, they would be weighed like ,dust in the balance â€"they Would be nothing at all, at all. The highest thing was to be constantly inspired by reverence for the beautiful and sublime 1n Grod~ and nature. One fact to show how low they were. His father sent him to Rome when he was oneâ€" andntwenty, and there he fell In love with all the beautiful forms in antiquityâ€"with the Venus de Medici, with Apollo, and the ana- ing nymphs; and when he came home he thought he would be a Professor of Greek or Latin in some Scotch university, and by a Whig job he got it. But what could he do 2‘ With all his learning he found not a single thing was required. Nobody wanted it. The perfection of human nature was to under- stand qui, quze, quod, and the highest culture to write a Latin sentence without a gram- matical error, or spell a bit of Homer or Hor- ace. He hoped that Professor Brown, in the fine arts chair, would do something to make the fine arts appreciated even in the petty, pedantic. elementary classes of their wretched Scotch universities. (Laughter and spa plause.) “ Do you love your Birdie as much now as you did last Thursday W? V It was a beautiful girl who spoke these words as she leaned h>r head truetiugly on the shoulder of a. young man whose strong right arm encircled her corset. V“ Your heart must; tell you that I do. my sweet," he murmured. holding her closely to his breast. Juliet Mahnfl'y and George W. Simpson had plighted their troth months ago in the festal Christmascide when the earth was wrapped m a manan of snowy whiteness, and the moon looked down, cold and beauti- ful, on the thronged oyster saloons. It was now July. The snow had given way to the violet and the oyster to the ice cream. But Julian‘s love never wavered. She had for George a. calm, but; intense affection, that hurled all else in its wonderous dephts. “ A true Womaq never loves but once, and you are my idol,” she had said that to him one night. after he had told her that her bus. tie was coming loose. From that moment each understood the other perfectly. “ Bub George. dear,” siid the‘girl again. “ if you love me with a. reality and true love kiss me again.” A shuddur passed over the young man ’5 frame, and he changed the subject of conver- sation. But the girl would not listen. “ You must kiss me,” she said, “ or you do not love â€"â€"It is about time for some antique old mathete after mhe mother Shipton pattern to rise up and say: “ There’s going to be a hullabaloo. The world will end in ’82." Turning ghastly pale in the dim half light of the turned down gas. he averted his head and said in a low, choking voice, “ I cannot kiss you ” " Cannot 1"shrieked the girl in an agony of grief, clinging to him with the energy of despair, while a deathly pallor overspread her cheek. Two minutes later Juliet came into the room kicking something along the floor in front of her. It was a. cuspidore. She had proven her love.â€"â€"Ex. " Tel! me, George, tell me truly what has come between us 7” For an instant there was silence, and then George W. Slmpaon said in low. bit‘te' tones, every word falling with terrible diff tinctnessâ€"4 “I am chewing plugtobaccqz” SHE PROVED HER LOVE [10 BE CONTINUED