on which the crown prince stands, there stood a fortress, which the Swedes, not without help of English and Scottish soldiers, captured and destroyed. After Gustavus Adolphus came Marlborough, whose first great battle with the French and their ally, the Elector of Bavaria, was fought a few miles above Donauwörth. After Marlborough came Napoleon, who twice opened the road to Vienna by victories gained in this same district. And now there stands looking over it a figure which might easily be mistaken for that of an English gentleman inspecting an estate, with a view to introducing an improved drainage. The crown prince. if not a great general, has borne a prominent part in great military events; and peasants of the district may well boast that one of the foremost men of the age has been to visit them.

FRENCH CONSCRIPTION.

FOR the last fortnight young France has been pulling tickets out of the conscription-boxes, and wry faces along with them. During a fortnight more, the man-lotteries will be continued in the provinces; and then the republic will stand provided with the last army to be levied under the system of 1832. The conscription formalities are entertaining to witness for those who take no part in them; but they are never gay, even in Paris. It is all very well to deck one's head-dress with tricolored streamers, to pin the unlucky ticket one has drawn jauntily to the crown of it, to trudge twelve of a row with brother conscripts, all bawling the "Chant du Départ," and to be generally beery for two days and a night. But this does not constitute gladness of heart. If one could follow to his garret the Parisian ex-gamin who is just turned twenty, and whose ticket entitles him to be shot at for his country's sake during the next seven years, at the rate of a sou a day, one might see a curious picture of animal grief, not much tempered by patriotism. Paris is all to this pale faced, pert-tongued hero; and the memories of it must come back to him very fresh and alluring as he sits rubbing the knuckles of his thin hands into those habitually shrewd and mocking eyes of his. At five he was cast loose into the streets, merry in his rags, deft at clearing puddles, defter still at making grimaces when coachmen shouted to him to get out of the way. Older gamins taught him to charcoal his name, and those of public men, on newlypainted walls, to wait for scraps outside barrack-gates at four, P.M., when soup and beef are eaten, to dip his fingers into those tubs of stewed prunes and brown sugar which stand outside grocers' doors. By and by he learned to fill up his days for himself. In the morning he tramped abreast of the regimental bands leading battalions to target practice at Vincennes, to manoeuvres at Longchamps, or to parade at the Tuileries. In the afternoon he picked up cigar-ends on the boulevards, sat fishing ineffectually but blithely for gudgeon, with a string and a crooked pin, under the bridges of the Cite, or hung about newspaper offices, where, if there were a special edition coming out, he would be intrusted with a few copies on depositing some portion of his raiment (generally his shoes) as a guarantee for the receipts. The evening found him flattening his nose against restaurantwindows, opening the doors of carriages outside theatres, begging for counter-marks, which he re-sold if he could, or mounting guard at stage-entrances, and coaxing silver money out of actresses who happened to be in a good humor from being applauded. That reck-a-day life of his was a perpetual holiday, and yet a perpetual lesson; for who so versed as this gamin in the unpublished facts of contemporary history? If any man of importance were married, buried, or beheaded; if there were a big trial, a fire, a state-pageant, a revolution, there was he to the front, peering, and seeing as much of the sight as could be witnessed gratis. Then he gambolled home; and it was his glib tongue that retailed those picturesque accounts of the occurrence which, borne from ear to ear on the lips of an imaginative people, became accepted as the "popular version, - that stum

bling-block of perplexity to the truthful historian. Yes, indeed it was a joyous life; and every day of it must beam under the touch of memory like a pearl on a chaplet; and yet now they are going to take the poor gamin, sheathe his meagre legs in red trousers, and teach him the art of suppressing his neighbor. He whose will was as free as the sparrow's or the gadfl's, he who dethroned Cæsar, and maybe helped to set his country's capitol on fire, will be fettered by regulations, the military code, and the gear of the guardroom. They will pipeclay him, crop him, drill him. They will hint to him that he had best walk upright as a ramrod, salute his superiors, behave himself in the streets, and throw less levity into his relations with the other sex. No wonder he snivels and sobs. No wonder that when his bonne amie comes in from her work she finds him looking limp as a washed-out rag. She asks what's up; and he points mutely to the paper number on his cap. Then she, too, sits down and sobs, not without a few sub-thoughts as to whether she had not better now take up with young Jules, the wheel-wright, who drew an exemption number last year.

66

Your bumpkin conscript is not a less afflicted Frenchman than his brother of Paris; but his grief assumes a more public form. He has no sooner realized the fact that he is to serve his country than he bleats like a sheep, and fills the whole mairie of his native village with his unmanly wailings. His women relatives, and the girl of his choice, who are waiting outside, take up the dirge, and so does his thoughtful father, who reflects that he must now hire a boy at twelve pounds a year to do some of the work which this son of his performed. It is an affecting family scene; and round and about are other howling groups. The yellow-belted gendarmes outside the mairie doors shrug their shoulders impatiently, and cry, Pass on, pass on to the string of hobbledehoys who are hurrying up every minute to draw under the escort of their respective mayors (he conscription being done at the chief towns of cantons, not in each commune); and pass on they do, treading on one another's hobnailed heels. At one end of the municipal room is a table, and, seated behind it, the prefect, the general of the military division, the recruiting captain, and a secretary. Before them stands the instrument of misery, a mahogany cylinder hung on pivots between two uprights; and each rustic, as his name is called, slouches up to the table, gives the box a touch so as to set it spinning, and, when the whirring has stopped, opens the lid, and dips his hand in. Some dip at once, unhesitatingly; but these are strong spirits. The majority sign themselves with the cross, mutter invocations, produce a talisman - generally a leaden image of a saint- from under their waistcoats, and reverently kiss the same. It grieves one to add, that, when the dip is not successful, the leaden saint is often kicked into the roadway with every manifestation of ignominy. twelve o'clock the conscription is usually over; and then the conscripts troop away, each band to its village. The mayors stalk ahead; the women, especially the young ones, lag behind, with their aprons to their eyes; the conscripts stagger ten or twenty of a row, as in Paris, and try to drown their cares in torrents of patriotic songs out of tune. In the evening they will fuddle themselves in the cabarets; and there will be some old soldier to cheer them with tales of peasants who set out for the army without a friend, and rose to be field-marshals like Soult, or kings like Bernadotte. It is only on the morrow, when the liquor-fumes have cleared away, and the sense of glory becomes less present than that of coming departure, and the loss of their sweethearts, who cannot be expected to wait seven years for them, that they begin to bleat again. But throw a twelvemonth on the Parisian conscript and on the raw recruit from the country, and both will be different men. The Parisian will have ripened into an easy soldier, self-satisfied and gallant; the countryman, if he come from Normandy, will be tough; from Britanny, obedient; from Burgundy, quick; from Provence, fiery. Townsmen or rustics, they will have adapted themselves to circumstances, and so learned the lesson practised by many of us who, not being soldiers, have drawn unlucky numbers in the conscription of life, and yet tried to put a smiling face on the matter.

By

FOREIGN NOTES.

ONE of the newest rifles submited to the French government possesses the advantage that the cartridges to suit it can be manufactured even on the field of battle.

An operative metal-chaser in Paris, named Pierre Marie, eighteen, has had a piece of his, in one act, admitted into the répertoire of the Gymnase Théâtre.

It is a curious fact that the London morning and evening journals which are understood to have the largest circulation, the Daily Telegraph and the Echo, are at present conducted by two brothers, Messrs. Edwin and Arthur Arnold.

MR. B. L. FARJEON, author of "Grif," "Joshua Marvel," &c., has engaged to write a Christmas story this year for an English publisher. Mr. Farjeon is writing too much, and not well.

BUTTER is now largely manufactured in Paris with flour, suet, lard, and unwholesome coloring matters; and, having been packed in little square jars and baskets, it is sent to the suburbs to be sent back again to Paris. In passing through the octroi the greasy compound is stamped "Brittany Butter;" and it is afterwards purchased at from two to three francs a pound.

THE London Court Journal says, "Mr. John S. Clarke, the popular American comedian, has purchased the long lease of the Charing Cross Theatre. Extensive alterations will be commenced immediately, and the reconstructed establishment is likely to be one of the most handsome and comfortable theatres in London. We may look for a series of revivals of the old comedies by Colman, Morton, and O'Keefe, the dramatic tastes of Mr. J. S. Clarke being decidedly English."

ROSSINI, says a Paris gossip, compounded a recipe for preparing macaroni which was simply exquisite. He inserted in the paste tubes, with a glass syringe, a liquid mixture of pate de foie gras, pigeon and partridge gravy, and other dainty ingredients, and superintended the manufacture himself. When his guests were unable to come to dinner, they sent their servants for their portion of the divine macaroni, and Rossini never refused it. He was as proud of his recipe as of "Guglielmo Tell." Some people went so far as to prefer the macaroni.

6

M. THIERS seems to be a second Admirable Crichton. Besides governing France, he finds time for philosophy, botany, chemistry, and natural history. M. de Lavedau, the prefect of the Department of the Vierme, gives the following report of a recent conversation which he had with the president: A few weeks ago M. Thiers did me the honor to inform me that he was occupied with a special work, independent of his other labors. I shall be glad,' he exclaimed in a tone of noble indignation, to confound materialism, which is a folly as well as a peril. There is a fine book to be made on this subject, and I have as yet only written the half of it. Certainly I devote myself with my whole heart to the liberation of the territory, and the re-organization of the country; but at times I cannot help regretting my peaceable and cherished studies. For twelve years I have been engaged in this work. During all that time I have been exploring botany, chemistry, and natural history, for arguments against the detestable doctrine which leads people astray. I am a spiritualist, an impassioned one; and I am anxious, I repeat, to confound materialism in the name of science and good sense.'

We hope that people who doubt the power of the press will reconsider their opinion on reading the following very authentic facts from Paris: The well-known journalist, who signs himself "Timothée Trimm " (M. Léo Lespès), having recently published in the Evénement some details concerning M. Gambetta's private life and home, alluded to

the painful circumstance that the ex-dictator's washhandbasin was a broken one which has been mended by rivets. Thereupon, one of the newspapers proposed that a great demonstration of French Democrats should be organized, and that M. Gambetta should be solemnly presented with a new ewer and basin, subscribed for with the sous of the working man, in order that his dressing-room gear might no longer contrast disadvantageously with that of other party chiefs, and so draw down discredit upon Republican principles. This was of course a withering piece of sarcasm; but it seems that some honest people have been adopting the advice in earnest; for one of M. Gambetta's pet organs now announces, half-blushingly, half-elatedly, that the hero of Tours has had seventeen jugs and washhand-basins left at his house by anonymous donors, and that he feels grateful for these humble tokens of friendship.

As us

THE Japanese have fireworks made expressly to be let off by daylight. The following description of them is taken from an account of a recent festival in the Yokohama Herald: "The second day was occupied with exhibitions of the ingenious daylight fireworks, of the manufacture of which the Japanese appear to be the sole masters. ual, these consisted mostly of bombs, which, exploding high in the air, discharged sometimes various colored jets of smoke, and sometimes closely-fo ded packages of wire and paper, which unfolded themselves into parachutes of great bulk and symmetrical design. They were sometimes fish, which swam leisurely through the atmosphere to the ground; or snakes, which writhed themselves away over the tree-tops; or great birds, which hover, kite-like and motionless, for an incredibly long time. Occasionally they took the shape of cottages, tempies, human beings, magnified crests of Dimios, trees, and flowers,- almost any thing which a lively imagination could suggest. The smoke-figures, however, were the most amusing. One of the most frequently attempted was a cuttle-fish, with a body of thick, fuliginous black, and arms of lighter hues. Of course the illusion was very brief, the win I not allowing the smoke to remain undisturbed for more than a few seconds; but while it lasted it was perfect.

THE working-men of Italy appear to possess a larger stock of moderation and good sense than their fellow-laborers in many other countries. Hitherto, strikes have been almost unknown among them, though of late they have tried the experiment in some of the large towns. But the men have carried on operations in a most orderly and pacific manner. They have applied to the authorities, to whom they pour out their griefs, and beg their aid in order to adjust matters quietly with the employers, who, in turn, generally show themselves open to reason. The result is, that the workmen have, through a moderate statement of their demands, as a rule succeeded in securing what they asked for, whether it were a slight increase of wages, owing to the heavier cost of lodgings and living, or a diminution of the hours of work. The Roman correspondent of the Independance Belge tells of some abortive attempts to induce the Roman workmen to turn out. A meeting had been convoked to urge the men the operative masons to strike. "But who will pay me for my idle time while I am out of work?" asked one of them. "The trades-union funds," was the reply. "How long will these funds maintain me in idleness? "Five days," said one; and "thirty days," said another. "And what after the five or the thirty days have expired?" To this query there was no reply. A murmur went round the meeting: then the men flocked round the questioner, applauded and congratulated him. "He is right!" was the exclamation: "let us think of our wives and children, no strike." This was the general cry: the meeting separated, and the masons returned to their employment.

ROME, like Berlin, has greatly increased in population since it became the new seat of Government; and the demand for house accommodation necessitates the erection of numerous blocks of houses, and entire new streets. This

great disturbance of the soil has brought unexpected results. Under the upper crust, which is often pierced to a great depth to lay the foundation of solid erections, interesting discoveries are made daily. The inspectors of excavations are at their wit's end to respond to the demands made upon them to view the new treasure trove. Not a sewer is dug, nor a foundation laid, without the workmen's pick coming upon objects of art, or the débris of monuments. "It would take many columns of a newspaper," writes a correspondent, 66 to describe all that has been found during these months. I shall confine myself to saying that, among the discoveries, are mosaic pavements, tombs, marble and bronze statues, inscriptions, pillars, chapters, bas-reliefs, the remains of ancient monuments known and unknown, and small articles, such as tools, medals, jewels, &c." Here is a great field for antiquarians and archæologists. The history of old Rome is written in her soil, which is quite as worthy of examination as the bed of the Tiber, so long the envy of the lovers of antiquity.

SOME of our leading élégantes, says a translator from Le Follet, have introduced a very pretty and convenient fashion of wearing a chain, of some light but strong material, pendent from the waist, with a strong hook attached : on this is hung the fin, parasol, or any article that would otherwise be carried in the hand. Some of these chains are of leather or steel: others, more elaborate, of oxydized siver, or gold. This pendent is called the voyageuse. The fashion for the same "useful" ornament raged with great violence some fifteen or twenty years ago, when it was called the chatelaine. This clinking nuisance began with one or two steel chains, purporting to carry a pair of scissors or penknife, and gradually increased, as the fashion spread, to about a dozen of these, secured to one hook fastened into the waist-band, each chain devoted to the custody of some indispensable article, which everybody got on perfectly well without as soon as the fancy for chatelaiues wore off. The fashion was immortalized by Leech, who, in his best manner, drew a young mother wearing one of these ornaments, to the chains of which all the most necessary household implements were attached, including a peram. bulator with a baby in it. But the toy was noisy and costly: so heads of families had better watch and curtail the growth of the threatening voyageuse.

M. THIERS must be overwhelmed by his admirers' attentions. The Paris Journal says that since the opening of the shooting season he has received something like three hundred baskets of game in presents from his friends. Every deputy who desires to stand well with the president takes this means of delicately recalling himself to M. Thiers' memory during the vacation. The illustrious president has had some difficulty in disposing of the large supplies forwarded to him; but he has done what is usual with plainer people in like circumstances: he has distributed them among his personal acquaintances. Another story, of a more apocryphal character, about the president, is going the rounds of the Paris papers. The Eclair is responsible for it, and narrates how every day for the last twenty years M. Thiers has received a bunch of fresh violets from some unknown admirer. Sometimes the violets were placed on the window-sill, and sometimes they found their way to his bedroom mantle-piece. What is stranger still, when M. Thiers was arrested on the famous second of December, the violets did not fail to make their appearance every morning at his prison; and at Trouville they continue to be regularly left for him as usual. Nobody knows the author of this graceful and long-continued attention; and the president has long since given up the attempt to find out.

AN interesting letter on Chinese politics is published in the Allgemeine Zeitung. The two parties, says the correspondent, which have been struggling for the supremacy are still pretty equally matched. The so-called party of, progress, consisting of Prince Kung and his supporters,

wishes that the young emperor should be publicly proclaimed as of age on the occasion of his approaching marriage next month, and that he should then at once assume the reins of government. It hopes to gain over to its side the emperor himself, who is said to be cisposed to cultivate friendly relations with foreign powers; and it supports the claim of the foreign diplomatists to be allowed direct and personal communication with the sovereign. It is also said that Prince Kung is becoming impatient at the heavy responsibility imposed upon him in his capacity of regent, and that he is therefore actively preparing for the emperor's marriage, and accession to the throne. The other party, known as the bow-and-arrow men, advocate the opinions of the emperor's mother, who thinks he should be regarded as a minor for two years longer, during which period he would remain under her tutelage. This empress dowager (there is also another, the late emperor having had two wives) is described as an able, energetic, and ambitious woman, unwilling to give up the reins of government, and fearing to lose her power and influence. She agitates with great skill against the policy of Prince Kung, and even with a certain amount of success; for she has induced him to consent that the question of the recep tion of foreign ambassadors should be postponed until the emperor's majority. The Chinese ministers, proceeds the correspondent, who are kept very well informed as to European politics, became convinced that, in view of the present political condition of the Western powers, no warlike action on their part against China need be apprehended; and they would not have hesitated, if the ambassadors did not listen to their representations, to reject their claim to direct and personal communication with the emperor altogether. As to the young emperor, he is said to be still a nere child so far as mental development and worldly knowledge are concerned. He is very fond of fine clothes and theatrical spectacles; and his mother is said to foster this taste in order to keep him as long as possible in leading-strings. The correspondent adds that the Government is busily strengthening the defences of Pekin; and that the large entrenched camp between Tientsin and Taku is to be provided with six huge Krupp guns which have arrived in a steamer from Europe. A new fort is being built at the mouth of a river south of Taku. A gun-boat is to be stationed at this point, where it would be able to do great damage. The troops, too, are working hard at the construction of roads which are to facilitate the communications between the head-quarters at Tientsin and the riverports as far as Taku. The crews of the Chinese men-ofwar are being drilled in the use of the Remington rifle, besides which many things are being done for the army which are carefully concealed from Europeans. "It is quite certain," the correspondent concludes, "that a hostile enterprise against Pekin would meet with very much greater obstacles and difficulties than was the case ten years ago. A large Chinese man-of-war, manned exclusively by Chinese sailors, and commanded by Chinese officers, has arrived at Canton, showing the progress which has been made by China in naval matters."

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VOL. II.]

THE YELLOW FLAG.

BY EDMUND YATES.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1872.

cary,

[No. 15.

TUNE," ETC., ETC.

HENDON.

tower

wearied out by the events of the day, had fallen sound asleep in her chair, opened her eyes, sat upright, and, after an involuntary shudder, quietly rose to her feet, and approached the bed.

Alice still slept peacefully: her breathing was quiet and regular, and her unruffled brow and motionless lips proved that she was not disturbed by haunting dreams. Pauline bent over the slumbering figure, took up the arm that lay outside the coverlet, and softly felt its pulse, bent her ear towards the sleeper's mouth to listen to her respiration, and then, stealing back to her place as noisesessly as she had approached, threw herself into her chair, and indulged in the luxury of a long but silent yawn. "There!" she said to herself, rubbing her eyes, and resuming her usual comfortable attitude: "I was right in not denying myself the pleasure of that slumber which I found coming over me; for I am thoroughly refreshed, and equal to very much more than I was before. What a day it has been, my faith! And how wonderfully every thing has gone exactly as I could have wished it! This woman sleeping straight on, steadily and tranquil, and without a break; the servants accepting me in the position which I took up so promptly, without a murmur, and only too glad to find the responsibility transferred from themselves to some one else. Responsibility? That reminds me of that sly doctor how do they call him? - Broadbent! It was right of me to send for him: it might have seemed suspicious had I not done so; and as I knew so well that he had been perforce admitted into the mystery of Claxton-Calverley, and as I had learned from the servants here that he was always most friendly and kind to this poor doll, I knew that I could explain to him what I had done, and leave it to him to put the people here at their ease. He was out, though, this sly rogue,- out, and not expected back until the evening, so they said; though five minutes afterwards I saw a man,

there was danger of interruption from the servants, and they have been in and out all day; but now they are thoroughly wearied out, and I have the house to myself. Now is the time for me to look about me, and gain what information I can concerning this young woman's previous life. I think I saw a box or desk of some kind by the side of the dressingtable. Oh, yes! here it is. What a funny old box!" Pauline walked to the dressing-table, stooped, and from underneath the muslin cover drew forth an old-fashioned writing-desk, made of mahogany and bound with brass, with a small brass plate on the middle of its lid, on which were engraved the letters "A. D." This inscription caught Pauline's eyes as she took up the desk, and placed it on the table by the bedside, within the rays of the shaded lamp.

Calverley's. The letters were those addressed by him to Alice before their marriage; were signed "John Claxton;" and were so bright and buoyant, so full of affectionate enthusiasm, that Pauline could scarcely imagine they were the productions of the staid, grave man whom she had known. Miss Durham! What could it mean? Stay! There was the other packet. In an instant that was undone, and Pauline had seized from it one of the letters. And then there was no more to learn; for at a glance she saw that they were in her husband's handwriting; that they were addressed to his "Dearest Alice," by her "Loving brother, Tom."

The paper dropped from Pauline's hand to the floor; and she sank into her chair with something like a sense of shame upon her. It was, then, as she had just thought. She had been frightened, as it were, by her own shadow: had herself created the bugbear before which she had fled, or against which she had fought: she had been befooled by her own suspicions; and her foolish fancy had allowed her to be jealous of Tom's sister.

"A. D.," she muttered to herself. "What does that mean? It ought undoubtedly to have been A. Č. Ah, stay! the box is old-fashioned, and has seen much service. It is probably the desk of her childhood, that she had before what she thought to be her marriage, when the letters of her name were A. D. A. D." repeated Pauline, Tom's sister! The pale-faced girl reflecting. “Ah, bah! ́ It is a coinci- lying there, sleeping on so peacefully dence, nothing more." From her pocket and unconsciously, was Tom's sister. she took two bunches of keys, one large, How could she be supposed to have evidently belonging to the housekeep-guessed that? She had seen the girl ing, the other small and neat. From in Tom's embrace, had seen her bathed the smaller bunch she made two or in tears, and inconsolable at Tom's dethree selections; and at last hit upon parture: how could she know that this the key that opened the desk. was his sister, of whose existence she had never been informed?

The contents of the desk were two packets of letters, one large, one small, each tied round with faded ribbon; two or three loose sheets of blotting paper; an old diary; and an account-book. Pauline took the larger packet in her hand, and untied the string. The let ters slipped asunder: they were all written in the same hand, all addressed to "Miss Durham, care of J. Preston, Esq., Heslington Road, York."

"Miss Durham!" A mist seemed to come over Pauline's sight; and she

Why had Tom never taken her into his confidence on that point? Why had he never told her that he had a sister of whom he was so fond? Why? And a fierce pang of anger shot through her; and her face grew dark and hard as the reply rose in her mind. She knew the reason well enough: it was because her husband was ashamed of her; ashamed of the unscrupulousness, of the underhand ways, which he was ready enough to use, and to call into

play, when they could be of service to him; because he thought her not good enough to associate with his gentle, womanly, silly little sister, or to appreciate the stupid comfort of the narrow proprieties of her home. Her home! What if Tom could see that home now, and could know the truth about his sister, as she lay there, with no name, no home, no position,- a person for her, his distrusted wife, to patronize and befriend if she chose!

So this was the trust he had placed in her,- his wife, his ally, his colleague, of whose fertile brain and ready hand he had so often boasted. This one honest, honorable association (as he had imagined it) he had kept hidden from her. And as this thought germinated and broadened in Pauline's mind, her feelings passed into a new channel. She who had been her husband's adviser so long, and who had served him so well; she who had fondly imagined herself the trusted confidante and sharer of his inmost thoughts, now found that she had been slighted, and considered not worthy to associate with this innocent piece of prettiness. The strange nature of the woman was roused to deadly, retrospective anger; and the kindly, contemptuous liking which she had begun to feel for Alice faded away.

This pale-faced, sleeping girl was her successful rival, though not in the manner she had at first supposed. She had felt an instinctive hatred of her when she saw her on the platform at Southampton; and her instinct never betrayed her. Tom Durham's sister! Pauline remembered, that when her husband spoke of his early days, and the inmates of his home, it was always with a softened voice and manner, and with a certain implied respect, as though he were scarcely fitted, through his present surroundings and mode of life, even to mention so sacred a subject. This palefaced girl had been one of those associations: she was too pure and too innocent, forsooth, to be mixed up with such society as her brother's wife was forced to keep. She, when she recovered her consciousness, would find herself a mark for the finger of scorn, a text for the Pharisee, a pariah, and an outcast.

And so that weak, clinging, brainless thing was Tom Durham's sister, and preferred by him to his wife, with her grasp of mind and energy of purpose? The wife was to slave with him, and for him, to do the rough work, to be sent off here and there, travelling night and day, to lie to such a woman, to flatter such a man, to be always vigilant and patient, and to be punished wi h black looks, and sometimes with curses, if any thing went wrong: while from the sister all difficulties and dangers were to be fended off, she was to be lapped in luxury, and her simplicity and innocence were to be as strictly guarded as though she had been a demo selle in a convent. Well, Pauline thought, the new phase of circumstances need not cause much alteration in the line of conduct she had marked out for herself. The girl lying

And now, for the first time since she had waited for her husband at the Lymington station, Pauline began to believe that the conjecture which she had seen printed in the newspapers had some foundation, and that Tom Durham was really dead. Hitherto she had imagined that he had deceived her, as he had deceived the rest of the world; that the tale which he told her of his intention to dive from the steamer at night, to swim to the shore, and to meet her the next morning, had been merely trumped up in order to turn her off the scent, and to prevent her from tracing him in his flight with the woman of whom he had taken such an affectionate farewell at the Southampton railway-station. But the identity of that woman with Alice Claxton being now settled, and it being made perfectly clear that she was Tom Durham's sister, all motive for that worthy's concealment of himself was done away with. There was no reason, so far as Pauline knew, why her husband should not acquaint her with his whereabouts: while there was every reason to believe, that, were he on the face of the earth, he would make himself known, if it were only for the sake of reclaiming his two thousand pounds. He must have been drowned, she thought his strength must have failed him; and he must have gone down when almost within reach of the shore to which he was hastening. Drowned, dead, lost to her forever! Not lost as she had once imagined him, seduced by the wiles and fascinations of another woman into temporary forgetfulness of her; for then there was a chance, and more than a chance, almost a certainty, that when those wiles and fascinations ceased to charm he would miss the clear brain and the ready hand on which he had so long relied, and come back to claim their aid once more: not lost in that way, but totally lost, drowned, dead, passed away forever!

:

To think of her husband in that phase was new to Pauline. She had never contemplated him under such circumstances. She had always thought of him with fierce jealousy and a burning desire for revenge, as false to her, and neglectful of her. The idea that he was dead, had died guiltless of deceiving

Straightway Pauline's thoughts reverted to the circumstances in which she was placed, the persons by whom she was surrounded, and the way in which her future should be managed. If the conclusions at which she had arrived were correct, if Tom Durham were not drowned, but, for some hitherto unexplained purpose of his own, was keeping himself in hiding, it is towards his sister probably, that, when he considers it a proper opportunity, he will make some sign, not to his wife. Pauline knew her husband well enough to understand completely how the knowledge that he had treated her badly in not keeping his appointment that morning, and in concealing himself from her so long, would prevent him from making his first advances to her: the girl slumbering there would be the first person to whom Tom Durham would reveal the fact that he was not dead; and if she, Pauline, ever wished for information about him, it was through that slumbering girl that it must be obtained.

She made a sudden change in the plan and the prospects of her life, a shuffling of the cards, an entire revision of the game, all settled in an instant, too, as she sat in the easy-chair beside the bed, her hands clasped together in her lap, her eyes fixed upon the motionless figure. Her sojourn in the wretchedly dull house in Great Walpole Street should speedily be brought to an end. She had borne long enough with that old woman's grimness and formality; with her icy patronage and impassable stiffness; with her pharisaical utterances and querulous complaints: she would have no more of such a life of dependence. The time during which she had been Mrs. Calverley's companion had not, indeed, been ill-spent. Had she not secured for herself that position, she would probably have remained in ignorance that the woman of whom she saw her husband taking leave was his sister; she would not have been intrusted with the secret of the Calverley and Claxton mystery, the possession of which gave her such power over all those concerned in it; she would never have made the acquaintance of Martin Gurwood. How strangely in earnest that man was, how innocent, and void of guile! And yet she was so sure that the suspicion which she had originally formed about him that he had a secret of his own was correct! hence that impossibility to return your gaze, that immediate withdrawal of his soft, beautiful eyes, that quivering of his delicate, sensitive mouth. It had served her purpose, that position of dependence; but now she would have no more of it. There is