is one more toast that we ought to drink before we part, and that is the health of our vice-president, whose energy and cleverness has enabled him to expose this villainous business, that had caused us so much perplexity. Gentlemen, I give you the health of Austin Wardleigh."

The toast was drunk enthusiastically, with three times three cheers, and one cheer more. Austin was just rising to acknowledge the honour done him, when a note, He marked "Immediate," was put into his hands. glanced hurriedly at it. It was in the handwriting of his landlady, and was scrawled and blotted, as though written in haste.

"Dear sir,” it said, "Mr. Osborne has broken another blood-vessel, and the doctor says he cannot live more than an hour or two. He is most anxious to see you and Mr. Wilton. We have sent off a messenger to Endicot for Mr. W., though we fear there is no possibility of his arriving in time. Pray, however, come up yourself at once."

"You fellows must excuse me," said Wardleigh. Gerald, you had better come with me at once.” He tossed the note to him as he spoke. "Of course, no one would think of preventing you from going to John under circumstances like these."

They

A sudden silence came over the noisy throng. guessed instinctively what had happened. It was in the midst of a dead and reverent stillness that the two young men took their hats, and entering the carriage which had been despatched for Wardleigh, drove off for Broad Street.

CHAPTER XXIV.

M

EUTHANASIA.

EANWHILE, a very different scene was prcceeding in Broad Street. In place of the noise and bustle of the crowded cricketground, there was the deep hush of the sick chamber; in place of the angry passions of excited partisans, the calm resignation of one whose hours on earth were numbered, and who cared no more for its struggles and its prizes. There had been little change in the patient since the first day of his seizure; nor was it likely there would be, Dr. Wotton informed them, until the end itself came. This might be in a month's time, or a week's time, or possibly in an hour; but it was certainly very near at hand. Yet it seemed to cause none of them the bitter anguish that might have been expected. John was, in truth, in that frame of mind which our Christian poet compares to the serene decay of

autumn

"Waiting his summons to the sky,

Content to live, but not afraid to die;"

and his serenity seemed to have communicated itself to all about him.

On the day of the cricket-match he appeared to be somewhat stronger than usual. He inquired after dinner for Wardleigh, and was told by Helen that he had driven over to Endicot, the day before, to see Wilton, for whom, she said, he had good news at last.

"Ah, Gerald," said Osborne; "I have been thinking a good deal about him. I don't know that I quite understood what Wardleigh told me about him the other day. It was one of my bad days and I couldn't follow him clearly. I understood he had got into trouble—something to do with that supper-party of Ashburnham's last autumn, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I heard the whole story," said Helen. "Mr. Wilton has been shamefully used by Mr. Bristowe; and I have been all the more sorry because I can't help fearing that I have been in some degree the cause of it. You remember to what I refer, John-three or four years ago at Parleyfield."

"Yes, but tell me all about this, Helen," said Osborne. "I should like to know all the particulars."

Helen complied, and told the whole story from beginning to end. She concluded by saying that Mr. Wardleigh had now discovered something, she did not exactly know what, which would clearly prove Mr. Bristowe's falsehood and treachery, and make it impossible for him to injure Mr. Wilton in future. He had now gone to the cricket-ground, she believed, for the purpose of exposing him before all the men of his college.

"I am glad Gerald is cleared," said Osborne.

"It was

foolish of him, no doubt, to go to that party. It was his weakness to be too easily led by others; but, dear fellow, that was his only fault, and he has many noble qualities to balance it. He will, I hope, be a successful and distinguished man. I used to think, Helen dear," he added, fondly stroking her hair, "that he and you might come to fancy one another.”

"Me, John!" answered Helen, with a smile. "Why, he is engaged to another lady."

"Gerald engaged?" repeated Osborne.

“Yes, to be sure. How slow you men are to find out things! Why it must have been going on under your very eyes, John. He is engaged to Mr. Fowler's niece, Miss Graham."

"To Janet Graham!" said Osborne. "I certainly never had a suspicion of that. I am glad to hear it. She is as good and sweet a girl as I remember to have seen; and, with her firm and steady principle, is the very wife he wants. I hope I shall see him again, to wish him joy. I suppose they would not refuse him leave to come to Oxford under the circumstances?"

"Of course not.

How could they? I will speak to Mr. Ingram about it when he comes next. He has been here almost every day, you know. Or shall I write to him about it?" she added, noticing his look.

"Write, my dear, and at once, please. No time should be lost."

Helen wrote and despatched her note, and then Osborne, after an interval of rest, resumed. "I am glad Gerald has made this engagement. Yet there is one reason why I could have wished that you had been his

choice - two reasons, I may say. Helen, I am afraid mother will miss me sorely. I wish I could have seen a man like Gerald ready to take my place."

“Oh, John, do not say that. As if any one ever could take your place!"

"In many things, of course, he could not. But in all the troubles of life she will often want a friend and protector. You know the programme I had laid out for myself how I was to get a fellowship, and then a country curacy, and my mother and you were to come and live with me until a college living fell, and then there would have been a permanent home for her as long as she lived. It has been the happy dream of many years, but it is God's will that there should come this sudden awakening from it. I would not have her know it, but it troubles me—more than it ought—to think of her going back to Parleyfield, which will now probably be the only home she will ever know on earth. She will bear it patiently, I doubt not. But I could wish it had been

otherwise."

66

'Yes, John, it would have been very nice; and I am afraid that both she and I have set our hearts too much on it. But you may trust me to do all——”

"My dear, I do trust you. I know you will do all in your power, and your all will be much. But, Helen, my regret is not wholly on her account. You, too, will often need a friend and protector. I do not suppose this man Bristowe will renew his offers-especially after what you tell me of the exposure which is to be made of his falsehood and meanness. And yet I cannot be sure that he will not. And if he should, or if any one like him should