At his third attempt he encountered Mrs. Trigge at the doorstep, and passed on without betraying any interest in the house-a lucky escape, as he judged.

Upon his fourth coming the door was opened to him by-Susan.

Husband and wife stood for a moment face to face, he in the street, she within the entry, hasp in hand. The almost limitless effrontery of the Irishman was for once at fault; for the life of him he could invent no excuse for his appearance. To give to the wronged woman before him the name of the other, the widow, presumably her friend and house-mate, as the object of his call, would be ruinous to his suit. His rocky face flushed with a sudden heat of curbed vexation, chagrin, apprehension. Was his life to be perpetually crossed by this chit of a girl? How came she there? How much had she told of her history, and of his? He stood like an oaf, irresolute, reduced to a shamed silence, perused at their sad leisure by those grave, loveless eyes, which passed over him, wondering how they could ever have been interested in him.

This was the burial of love.

The man was by far the more painfully embarrassed of the two. It was as though some bird's-nesting boy, having climbed to the hole of a stock-dove, should find under his hand, not the eggs which he sought, but the white, dry skeleton of last year's motherbird.

"Who is it? Did I hear a knock? Are you there, Susan?" It was the voice of Mrs. Hollinghurst from within, and Susan replied without emotion, "Just a person who has come to the wrong house, dear."

where the lady and her hostess, Mrs. Lamb, might be expected to take the air of evenings.

But if Susan should accompany them? He could only hope that Susan would not, and, as it turned out, she did not. It was the discarded wife that proved his best ally in the adventurer's last attempt to rehabilitate his fortunes at the expense of a woman's heart.

Such

Her house-mates had gone through Sue's wardrobe, admiring its abundance and the solid excellence of its material. In all that the natural woman needs, the outfit provided by good old Hippisley and designed by his Jemima, was perfect in its way. But it was the way of the Quakers. of it as was intended to take the eye was amazing to the ladies, who cried out upon it, exclaiming that no gentlewoman, that no person, indeed, above the degree of a serving-maid could possibly be seen in those frocks. Whoever saw such skimpy widths, and such cutting! For what manner of women were such things intended? Skirts? These were no skirts at all, but petticoats worn outside. So straight, so shapeless, and such utter absence of lace, of flounces, of buttons, bugles, and beads of mode.

For a

"Child, these will never do. lane, now, or for a buttercup meadow, perhaps-though in what part of what country they would pass the Lord only knows! It must be where there are no men (or women)." More notes of exclamation, more adjectives, finally the one word too many, and the gentle patience of the owner of the treasures thus derided was exhausted.

"Mrs. Lamb, dear, and you too, Julia dear, I do just want you to understand that these things were given me given, mind, when I had but what I stood in, by the kindest and sweetest friends I ever had in all my life. You don't mean it, I know, but you hurt me. I

wore frocks like these for months in London-think! And I will wear just these and no others. Oh, I know very well, ma'am, that I cannot go upon the street with you in them; but I can go alone, or with my brother. "The men will not look at me?' Indeed, I do not want the men to be looking at me." And, fearing to say all that she felt, Sue left the room.

The others smiled upon one another, amused and abashed.

"And, really, my dear, 'tis no use saying that the men will not look at her; 'twould be wiser to tell her that with those things on her back she will be mobbed in the Alameda. Though 'tis mere truth that with such a face and such a figure the poor girl may wear what she will and yet be admired. All the same, it would be monstrous inconvenient for you to be seen with her, for your styles would not suit in the least.

"Just a little more in the light, if ye please. So we must have the thing hang straight, mustn't we? Those bones will need care, my dear, and occasional adjustment. But patience does it. Oh, ye will get them all staring, never fear, and set the mode, if I know anything about it. But ye must not, and cannot, appear with poor Susan in those frocks."

Indeed no. A woman making her début in a new society cannot be too careful as to whom she stands with upon her first appearance. Our Susan was sweet by nature, gentle in mind and manners, delightful and considcrate as a house-mate; biddable, in a word; but the inadequacy, or rather the singularity of her attire unfitted her for the public companionship of ladies aspiring to be thought fashionable. Susan, in the simplicity of her Quaker frocks (and the freshness of her beauty) would have been too striking a foil to the maturer charms and more daring costumes of Mrs. Hollinghurst.

And what, think you, was this new and surprising creation, the very latest Paris fashion of the spring of 1779, which the charming widow was preparing to introduce to the ladies of the garrison?

Attend ye, my gentle readers; lithe and listen, ye ladies, and prepare to be astonished. Clear your imagination of farthingale, hoop, and pannier, for the structure which I essay to describe was a thing by itself, a vagary, an eccentricity, the comet of a season, that flashed parabolically and passed, and has (mercifully) never reappeared. From a stout waist-band two strong whalebone rods, one upon either hand, curved outward and downward, reaching to within an inch of the ground some two-and-a-half feet to right and left of the wearer's ankles. This pair of antennæ supported and extended a breadth of silken petticoat, which was a matter of five feet from side to side, but merely nine inches or so from back to front. Thus the skirt, but what of the body? This was a modification of the male cutaway, open, of course, to reveal a low-cut bodice, faced with bright silk and tailed amazingly, for two slender, whip-like extensions, lined with silk en suite, and in strong contrast to the petticoat, hung down behind to the very hem of the skirt, rippling and twisting in the wind as the wearer walked or drove lightly before a following breeze, even as some gallant sloop runs free with her mainsail square to port and her spinnaker boomed out to starboard, her split pennant accompanying her movement with a vivid and graceful life of its own.

Whether this mode-the invention of young Queen Marie Antoinette's favorite modiste-would prove convenient or permanent (it was neither) had nothing to do with the pleasurable anticipations cherished by Mesdames Lamb and Hollinghurst. It was new, and they alone of their sex as represented upon Gibral

tar possessed the patterns.

rivals admire or decry mattered not a jot, at least they should see and should wonder.

This, then, was the secret which was engrossing the waking thoughts and the nimble fingers of dear, frivolous, little Julia Hollinghurst, a kindly, unoccupied creature, well-meaning and harmless, but at present untouched by any nobler issue.

The day arrived when the work was finished, thanks to Susan's deft co-operation; for the girl had no scruples against decking her friend in any fineries she was willing to wear. The result was astonishing, even when exhibited within the narrow limits of the Prince Frederic Street sitting-room. Have you ever watched some fine, strong-winged butterfly, a Swallowtail, say, or Painted Lady, alight upon a sun-warmed bench to strut sedately, carrying its exquistely enamelled vanes at nicely adjusted angles, tacitly aware of its loveliness, as one must imagine, and in excellent conceit of its beautifully apparelled self and the warm world about it? Thus did Mrs. Hollinghurst poise, and turn, and gravely pirouette before her mirror, whilst her friends laughed and clapped soft little palms in delight at the result of their joint efforts.

Later, when the heat of the day was over and the sea-wind had cooled southfronting walls, Mrs. Lamb would have her guest off to the public promenade for her first introduction to garrison society, a demure, slow-pacing, reticent, rustling wonder, regarded by all.

Meanwhile, Susan, no gorgeous vanessa nor gold-dusted papilio, but, rather, one of your bright-eyed, delicately shaded Mountain Ringlets, her hand within her brother's arm, was pacing a little-frequented path high above the town. The weather was perfect, the outlook noble beyond power of description, for the view from the Rock is one

Brother and sister had as yet seen but little of one another save in company, and had much to hear and to tell. Their tongues went gaily. The delight of being once more together engrossed them: the ever-fresh surprise of it; the breath-arresting wonder of it! Their youthful lives, that had kept step since their childhood, had recently, and without warning, been wrenched apart, and driven into waste places for a while: and now, again without warning, and without concurrence of theirs, to find themselves reunited once more was a bliss too keen for analysis; it must just be enjoyed as it came.

Hence it had naturally come about that whilst each had told the other his or her story of adventure, the tales had been told disconnectedly, and without method. Each, too, whilst guiltless of intentional concealment, had slipped lightly over the dark days which were done with, trouble and disgrace, to dwell with delight upon brighter and more pleasing incidents. Travis could have drawn a plan of the house in Catherine Court, and felt that he would have recognized Hippisley and Jasper had he met them upon the street, whilst Sue had heard at least half a dozen times of what had passed in Lord Duddingstone's cabinet and Mother Lea's cottage. Of just what had oc

curred upon Sandylane Hill she did not know, nor, in truth, was Travis himself oversure of the incidents. Nor had she told him more than the bare outline of her marriage. That the man now serving as Major Boyle in Hardenberg's Hanoverians, but then passing as Tighe, had gone through a ceremony of marriage with his sister was known to Travis (and bitterly, if silently resented, we may be sure). Justin had had it over with Furley, and had learned from him, and from the girl, that Boyle now repudiated the ceremony. So much Travis knew, and more, that every attempt upon the part of Hippisley, and his ally, the rector, had failed to identify the officiating parson or to establish the fact that such a man was in orders. He had heard Justin allude to the "lines" as a wholly informal document, drawn up after the ceremony was over and the principals had left, and unsigned by either; and with a young man's impatience of failure had never asked to see the paper, nor, as it happened, had the name of the pseudo-cleric been mentioned in his presence. Why should it have been? Competent persons upon the spot had exhausted the possibilities in that direction. Nor, for his sister's sake, was he over-anxious that the fact of the marriage should be established. The more he heard of Boyle the less he relished him as a possible husband for his sister. They were better apart: and in this her legal guardian concurred.

So, on cool evenings when off duty he would walk and chat with her in the unfrequented mountain paths of the great peninsular fortress, hearing her little tongue run happily. Whatever his trouble or his triumph he kept it to himself. This was his sister's hour, her holiday.

That evening the girl was brimful of the joy of life; the wonderful fabric was finished, thanks largely to herself;

all three had worked double tides upon its details in the hot little house, but the ultimate stitch had been set at last, and the two chiefly concerned had sailed forth triumphantly for an evening of conquests, leaving Sue to enjoy a quiet stroll with her brother. A stroll? The girl was in the mood for a ramble, a clamber. Her system had accommodated itself to the shore life again, her ears had ceased to listen for the thump and gurgle of water beneath the counter, and the land no longer heaved beneath her feet. The insistent grip of her personal trouble was relaxing, she was splendidly well and in need of exercise: her spirits rose and would hardly let her keep the rational pace her companion set, she would have run!

"Dray, what an old sobersides you are to-night! Cheer up! What is the matter with you? And why are you come so late?"

"Perhaps because I have come all the way from Europa Point. We are making a battery of heavy metal down there. In some winds the current brings ships close in. Matter? Is anything the matter?" he laughed quietly, easily, thinking of something which had delayed him a few minutes from his tryst, something which he could not discuss with her; a folded paper which was at this moment within his breast, a cartel, which, however, was no longer a cartel; a pistol, one might compare it to, which in the act of discharge had blown out its breech, and wounded its owner, and had been left in the hands of the man at whom it had been pointed.

"And oh, Dray, I got such a start yesterday! I met a man in the street, a soldier, who looked hard at me for a moment ('twas that which made me look at him), and oh, would you believe it, he was exactly like the clergyman who married me? No, it was not fancy I don't mean to say it was the man,