at the paper, over William Wylder's shoulder, nearly bearing that gentleman down on his face, but his clutch fell short.

"Hallo! Miss Lake, ma'am-the paper!"

But wild words were of no avail. The whole party, except Rachel, were aghast. The Attorney's small eye glanced over the ground and hearthstone, where the bits were strewn, like "Ladies' smocks, all silver white,

That paint the meadows with delight."

He had nothing for it, but to submit to fortune with his best air. He stood erect; a slanting beam from the window glimmered on his tall, bald head, and his face was black and menacing as the summit of a thunder-crowned peak.

"You are not aware, Miss Lake, of the nature of your act, and of the consequences to which you have exposed yourself, madam. But that is a view of the occurrence in which, except as a matter of deep regret, I cannot be supposed to be immediately interested. I will mention, however, that your interference-your violent interference, madam, may be attended with most serious consequences to my reverend client, for which, of course, you have considered yourself fully responsible, when you entered on the course of unauthorized conduct, which has resulted in destroying the articles of agreement, prepared with great care and labour, for his protection; and retarding the transmission of the document, by at least four-and-twenty hours, to London. You may, madam, I regret to observe, have ruined my client.'

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'Saved him, I hope." "And run yourself, madam, into a very serious scrape.'

"Upon that point you have said quite enough, sir. Dolly, William, don't look so frightened; you'll both live to thank me for this.'

All this time little Fairy, unheeded, was bawling in great anguish of soul, clinging to Rachel's dress, and crying-"Oh! he'll hurt her he'll hurt her-he'll hurt her. Don't let himdon't let him. Wapsie, don't let him. Oh, the frightle man !-don't let him -he'll hurt her-the frightle man!" And little man's cheeks were drenched in tears, and his wee feet danced in an agony of terror on the floor, as,

bawling, he tried to pull his friend Rachel into a corner.

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Nonsense, little man," cried his father, with quick reproof, on hearing this sacrilegious uproar. Mr. Larkin never hurt any one; tut, tut; sit down, and look at your book."

But Rachel, with a smile of love and gratification, lifted the little man up in her arms, and kissed him; and his thin, little legs were clasped about her waist, and his arms round her neck, and he kissed her with his wet face, devouringly, blubbering "the frightle man-you doatie!—the frightle man!"

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'Then, Mr. Wylder, I shall have the document prepared again from the draft. You'll see to that, Mr. Buggs, please; and perhaps it will be better that you should look in at The Lodge."

When he mentioned The Lodge, it was in so lofty a way, that a stranger would have supposed it something very handsome, indeed, and one of the sights of the county.

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Say, about nine o'clock to-morrow morning. Farewell, Mr. Wylder, farewell. I regret the enhanced expense

I regret the delay-I regret the risk -I regret, in fact, the whole scene. Farewell, Mrs. Wylder." And with a silent bow to Rachel-perfectly polished-perfectly terrible-he withdrew, followed by the sallow clerk, and by that radiant scamp, old Buggs, who made them several obeisances at the door.

"Oh, dear Miss Lake-Rachel, I mean-Rachel, dear, I hope it won't be all off. Oh, you don't knowHeaven only knows-the danger we are in. Oh, Rachel, dear, if this is broken off, I don't know what's to become of us-I don't know."

Dolly spoke quite wildly, with her hands on Rachel's shoulders. It was the first time she had broken down

the first time, at least, the Vicar had seen her anything but cheeryand his head sank, and it seemed as if his last light had gone out, and he was quite benighted.

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Do you think," said he, "there is much danger of that-do you really think so?"

Rachel was flushed and excited, and sat with the little boy still in her

arms.

So, in reply to her questions, the Vicar told her frankly how he stood; and Rachel said

Well, you must not think of selling your reversion. Oh! think of your little boy-think of Dolly-if you were taken away from her."

"But," said Dolly, "Mr. Larkin heard from Captain Lake that Mark is privately married, and actually has, he says, a large family; and he, you know, has letters from him, and Mr. Larkin thinks, knows more than any one else about him; and if that were so, none of us would ever inherit the property. So".

Do they say that Mark is married? Nothing can be more false. I know it is altogether a falsehood. He neither is nor ever will be married. If my brother dared say that in my presence, I would make him confess, before you, that he knows it cannot be. Oh my poor little Fairy-my poor Dolly-my poor good friend, William! What shall I say? I am in great distraction of mind."

And she hugged and kissed the pale little boy, she herself paler.

"Listen to me, good and kind as you are. You are never to call me your friend; mind that. I am a most unhappy creature, forced by secret circumstances to be your enemy, for a time-not always. You have no conception how, and may never even suspect. Don't ask me, but listen."

Wonder-struck, and pained was the countenance with which the Vicar gazed upon her, and Dolly looked both frightened and perplexed.

"I have a little more than three

hundred a-year. There is a little annuity charged on Sir Hugh Landon's estate, and his solicitor has written, offering me six hundred pounds for it. I will write to-night accepting that offer, and you shall have the money to pay those debts which have been pressing so miserably upon you. Don't thank—not a word-but listen. I would so like, Dolly, to come and live with you. We could unite our incomes. I need only bring poor old Tamar with me, and I can give up Redman's Farm in September next. I should be so much happier; and I think my income and yours joined would enable us to live without any danger of getting into debt. Will you agree to this, Dolly, dear; and promise me, William Wylder, that you will think no more of selling that reversion, which may be the splendid provision of your dear little boy? Don't thank me-don't say anything now; and oh! don't reject my poor entreaty. Your refusal would almost make me mad. I would try, Dolly, to be of use. I think I could. Only try me.'

دو

She fancied she saw in Dolly's face, under all her gratitude, some perplexity and hesitation, and feared to accept a decision then. So she hurried away, with a hasty and kind good-bye.

A fortnight before, I think, during Dolly's jealous fit, this magnificent offer of Rachel's would, notwithstanding the dreadful necessities of the case, have been coldly received by the poor little woman. But that delusion was quite cured now no reserve, or doubt, or coldness left behind. And Dolly and the Vicar felt that Rachel's noble proposal was the making of them.

Jos LARKIN grew more and more uncomfortable about the unexpected interposition of Rachel Lake as the day wore on. He felt, with an unerring intuition, that the young lady both despised and distrusted him. He also knew that she was impetuous and clever, and he feared from that small white hand a fatal mischief--he could not tell exactly how-to his plans.

Jim Dutton's letter had somehow an air of sobriety and earnestness, which made way with his convictions. His doubts and suspicions had subsided, and he now believed, with a profound moral certainty, that Mark Wylder was actually dead, within the precincts of a mad-house, or of some lawless place of detention abroad. What was that to the purpose? Dutton might arrive at any moment.

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Low fellows are always talking; and the story might get abroad before the assignment of the Vicar's interest. Of course there was something speculative in the whole transaction, but he had made his book well, and by his 'arrangement" with Captain Lake, whichever way the truth lay, he stood to win. So the Attorney had no notion of allowing this highly satisfactory arithmetic to be thrown into confusion by the fillip of a small gloved finger.

On the whole, he was not altogether sorry for the delay. Everything worked together he knew. One or two covenants and modifications in the articles had struck him as desirable, on reading the instrument over with William Wylder. He also thought a larger consideration should be stated and acknowledged as paid, say £22,000. The Vicar would really receive just £2,200 ! "Costs" would do something to reduce the balance, for Jos Larkin was one of those oxen who, when treading out corn, decline to be muzzled. The remainder wasthe Vicar would clearly understandone of those ridiculous pedantries of law, upon which our system of crotchets and fictions insisted. And William Wylder, whose character, simply and sensitively honourable, Mr. Larkin appreciated, was to write to Burlington and Smith a letter, for the satisfaction of their speculative and nervous client, pledging his honour, as a gentleman, and his conscience, as a Christian, that in the event of the sale being completed, he would never do, countenance, or permit, any act or proceeding whatsoever, tending on any ground to impeach or invalidate the transaction.

"I've no objection-have I?-to write such a letter," asked the Vicar of his adviser.

"Why, I suppose you have no intention of trying to defeat your own act, and that is all the letter would go to. I look on it as wholly unimportant, and it is really not a point worth standing upon for a second."

So that also was agreed to.

Now while the improved "instrument" was in preparation, the Attorney strolled down in the evening to look after his clerical client, and keep him "straight" for the meeting at which he was to sign the articles next day.

It was by the drowsy faded light of a late summer's evening that he arrived at the quaint little parsonage. He maintained his character as a nice spoken gentleman," by inquiring of the maid who opened the door how the little boy was. "Not so wellgone to bed-but would be better, every one was sure, in the morning. So he went in and saw the Vicar, who had just returned with Dolly from a little ramble. Every thing promised fairly the quiet mind was returning

the good time coming-all the pleasanter for the wind and snows of the night that was over.

"Well, my good invaluable friend, you will be glad-you will rejoice with us, I know, to learn that, after all, the sale of our reversion is unnecessary."

The Attorney allowed his client to shake him by both hands, and he smiled a sinister congratulation as well as he could, grinning in reply to the Vicar's pleasant smile as cheerfully as was feasible, and wofully puzzled in the mean time. Had James Dutton arrived and announced the death of Mark-no; it could hardly be that-decency had not yet quite taken leave of the earth; and stupid as the Vicar was, he would hardly announce the death of his brother to a Christian gentleman in a fashion so outrageous. Had Lord Chelford been invoked, and answered satisfactorily? Or Dorcas-or had Lake, the diabolical sneak, interposed with his long purse, and a plausible hypocrisy of kindness, to spoil Larkin's plans? All these fanciful queries flitted through his brain as the Vicar's hands shook both his, and he laboured hard to maintain the cheerful grin with which he received the news, and his guileful rapacious little eyes searched narrowly the countenance of his client.

So after a while, Dolly assisting, and sometimes both talking together, the story was told, Rachel blessed and panegyrized, and the Attorney's congratulations challenged and yielded once more. But there was something not altogether joyous in Jos Larkin's countenance, which struck the Vicar, and he said

"You don't see any objection?" and paused.

"Objection? Why, objection, my dear sir, is a strong word; but I fear I do see a difficulty--in fact, several

difficulties. Perhaps you would take a little turn on the green. I must call for a moment at the readingroom, and I'll explain. You'll forgive me, I hope, Mrs. Wylder," he added, with a playful condescension, "for running away with your husband, but only for a few minutesha, ha!"

The shadow was upon Jos Larkin's face, and his cheeks were working a little uncomfortably, as they approached the quiet green of Gylingden. "What a charming evening," said the Vicar, making an effort at cheerfulness.

"Delicious evening yes," said the Attorney, throwing back his long head, and letting his mouth drop. But though his face was turned up toward the sky, there was a contraction and a shadow upon it, not altogether heavenly.

"The offer," said the Attorney, beginning rather abruptly, "is no doubt a handsome offer at the first glance, and it may be well meant. But the fact is, my dear Mr. Wylder, six hundred pounds would leave little more than a hundred remaining after Burlington and Smith have had their costs. You have no idea of the expense and trouble of title, and the inevitable costliness, my dear sir, of all conveyancing operations. The deeds, I have little doubt, in consequence of the letter you directed me to write, have been prepared--that is, in draft, of course-and then, my dear sir, I need not remind you, that there remain the costs to me--those, of course, await your entire convenience but still it would not be either for your or my advantage that they should be forgotten in the general adjustment of your affairs which I understand you to propose."

The Vicar's countenance fell. In fact, it is idle to say that, being unaccustomed to the grand scale on which law costs present themselves on occasion, he was unspeakably shocked; and he grew very pale and silent on hearing these impressive sen

tences.

"And as to Miss Lake's residing with you I speak now, you will understand, in the strictest confidence, because the subject is a painful one; as to her residing with you, as she proposes, Miss Lake is well aware that I am cognizant of circumstances

which render any such arrangement absolutely impracticable. I need not, my dear sir, be more particular-at present, at least. In a little time you will probably be made acquainted with them, by the inevitable occurrences of time, which, as the wise man says, 'discovers all things.'

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But-but what"-stammered the pale Vicar, altogether shocked and giddy.

"You will not press me, my dear sir; you'll understand that, just now, I really cannot satisfy any particular inquiry. Miss Lake has spoken, in charity I will hope and trust, without thought. But I am much mistaken, or she will herself, on half-an-hour's calm conversation, see the moral impossibilities which interpose between her, to me, most amazing plan and its realization."

There was a little pause here, during which the tread of their feet on the soft grass alone was audible.

"You will quite understand," resumed the Attorney, "the degree of confidence with which I make this communication; and you will please, specially, not to mention it to any person whatsoever. I do not except, in fact, any. You will find, on consideration, that Miss Lake will_not press her residence upon you. No; I've no doubt Miss Lake is a very intelligent person, and, when not excited, will see it clearly."

The Attorney's manner had something of that reserve, and grim sort of dryness, which supervened whenever he fancied a friend or client on whom he had formed designs was becoming impracticable. Nothing affected him so much as that kind of unkindness.

Jos Larkin took his leave a little abruptly. He did not condescend to ask the Vicar whether he still entertained Miss Lake's proposal. He had not naturally a pleasant tempersomewhat short, dark, and dangerous, but by no means noisy. This temper, an intense reluctance ever to say "thank you," and a profound and quiet egotism, were the ingredients of that "pride” on which – -a little inconsistently, perhaps, in so eminent a Christian-he piqued himself. It must be admitted, however, that his pride was not of that stamp which would prevent him from listening to other men's private talk, or reading

their letters, if anything were to be got by it; or from prosecuting his small spites with a patient and virulent industry; or from stripping a man of his possessions, and transferring them to himself by processes from which most men would shrink. "Well," thought the Vicar, "that munificent offer is unavailing, it seems. The sum insufficient, great as it is; and other difficulties in the way."

He was walking homewards, lowly and dejectedly; and was now beginning to feel alarm lest the purchase of the reversion should fail. The agreement was to have gone up to London by this day's mail, and now could not reach till the day after to-morrow four-and-twenty hours later than was promised. The Attorney had told him it was a "touch-and-go affair," and the whole thing might be off in a moment; and if it should miscarry, what inevitable ruin yawned before him! Oh, the fatigue of these monotonous agitations-this never-ending suspense! Oh, the yearning unimaginable for quiet and rest! How awfully he comprehended the reasonableness of the thanksgiving which he had read that day in the churchyard-"We give Thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased Thee to deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful world."

With the Attorney it was different. Making the most of his height, which he fancied added much to the aristocratic effect of his presence, with his head thrown back, and swinging his walking cane easily between his finger and thumb by his side, he strode languidly through the main street of Gylingden, in the happy belief that he was making a sensation among the denizens of the town.

And so he moved on to the mill road, on which he entered, and was soon deep in the shadows of Redman's Dell.

He opened the tiny garden-gate of Redman's Farm, looking about him with a supercilious benevolence, like a man conscious of bestowing a distinction. He was inwardly sensible of a sort of condescension in entering so diminutive and homely a place--a kind of half amusing disproportion between Jos Larkin, Esq., of The Lodge, worth, already, £27,000, and

on the high road to greatness, and the trumpery little place in which he found himself.

Old Tamar was sitting in the porch, with her closed bible upon her knees; there was no longer light to read by. She rose up, like the "grim, white woman who haunts yon wood,” before him.

Her young lady had walked up to Brandon, taking the little girl with her, and she supposed would be back again early.

Mr. Larkin eyed her for a second to ascertain whether she was telling lies. He always thought every one might be lying. It was his primary impression here. But there was a recluse and unearthly character about the face of the crone which satisfied him that she would never think of fencing with such weapons with him.

Very good. Mr. Larkin would take a short walk, and as his business was pressing, he would take the liberty of looking in again in about half-anhour, if she thought her mistress would be at home then.

So, although the weird white woman who leered after him so strangely as he walked with his most lordly air out of the little garden, and down the darkening road toward Gylingden, could not say, he resolved to make trial again.

In the meantime Rachel had arrived at Brandon Hall. Dorcaswhom, if the truth were spoken, she would rather not have met-encountered her on the steps. She was going out for a lonely, twilight_walk upon the terrace, where many a beautiful Brandon of other days, the sunshine of whose smile lived only in the canvas that hung upon those ancestral walls, and whose sorrows were hid in the grave and forgotten by the world, had walked in other days, in the pride of beauty, or in the sadness of desertion.

Dorcas paused upon the door-steps, and received her sister-in-law upon that elevation.

"Have you really come all this way, Rachel, to see me this evening?” she said, and something of sarcasm thrilled in the cold, musical tones.

"No, Dorcas," said Rachel, taking her proffered hand in the spirit in which it was given, and with the air rather of a defiance than of a greeting; "I came to see my brother."