When this recollection occurred to his mind, Jack took leave of his friend with the air of a man very full of occupation, and marched away as seriously and slowly as if he had really been going to work. He was not treating his own case. He had not even as yet begun to take his own case into consideration. He was simply intent upon his own way for the moment, and not disposed to brook any contradiction, or even inquiry. No particular intention, either prudent or imprudent, made his thoughts definite as he went on; no aims were in his mind. A certain soft intoxication only possessed him. Somehow to Jack, as to everybody else, his own case was entirely exceptional, and not to be judged by ordinary rules. And he neither criticised nor even inquired into his personal symptoms. With Keppel the disease was plain, and the remedy quite apparent; but as for himself, was he ill at all, that he should want any physic an' care? and he raised his eyes, he saw among the trees, at no great distance from him, a pair such as was wont to wander over soft sod, under blue sky, and amid all the sweet interlacements of sunshine and shade-two creatures young, hopeful, and happy- the little one half-timid, half-trustful, looking up into her companion's face; he so much taller, so much stronger, so much bolder, looking down upon her- taking the shy hand which she still withdrew, and yet still left to be retaken; two creatures, unaware as yet why they were so happy-glad to to be together, to look at each other, to touch each other- thinking no evil. Mr. Brownlow stood on the path and looked, and his senses seemed to fail him. It was a bit out of Arcadia, out of fairyland, out of Paradise; and he himself once in his life had been in Arcadia too. But in the midst of this exquisite little poem one shrill discord of fact was what most struck the father's ear -was it Jack? This question, which Jack did not consider Jack! - he who was prudence itselftoo prafor himself, was resolved for him in the most dent, even so far as words went, for Mr. Brownunexpected way. Mr. Brownlow had gone low's simple education and habits. And, good thoughtful and almost stern to the office, re- heavens! the little neighbour, the little bright flecting upon his unfortunate self-betrayal. face at the window which had won upon them vexed and almost irritated by the way in which all with its sweet friendly looks! Mr. BrownSara essayed to keep up the private understand- low was a man and not sentimental, but yet the ing between them. He came back, no doubt, sight after the first surprise gave him a pang at relieved of the cloud on his face; but still very his heart. What did it mean? or could it mean grave, and considering within himself whether anything but harm and evil? He waited, standhe could not tell his daughter that the events of ing on the path, clearly visible while they came that unlucky day were to count for nothing, and softly forward, absorbed in each other. He was that the project he had proposed to her was giv- fixed, as it were, in a kind of silent trance of en over for ever. His thoughts were still so far pain and amazement. She was Sara's little incomplete, that he got down at the gate in or- humble friend - she was the little neighbour, der to walk up the avenue and carry them on whose smiles had won even his own interest at leisure. As he did so he looked across, as she was the child fof the worn woman at the he too had got a habit of doing, at Mrs. cottage door, who stood shading her eyes and Swayne's window - the bright little face was looking out for her with that anxious look in not there. It was not there; but, in place of her face. All these thoughts filled Mr. Brownit, the mother was standing at the door, shad- low's eyes with pity and even incipient indig ing her eyes from the rare gleam of evening sun nation. And Jack! was this the result of his which reached the house, and looking out. Mr. premature prudence, his character as a man of Brownlow did not know anything about this the world? His father's heart ached as they mother, and she was not so pleasant to look at came on so unconsciously. At last there came as Pamela; yet, unawares, there passed through a moment when that curious perception of his mind a speculation, what she was looking another eye regarding them, which awakens for? Was she too, perhaps, in anxiety about even sleepers, came over the young pair. Poor her child? He felt half-disposed to turn back little Pamela gave a start and cry, and fell back and ask her, but did not do it; and by the time from her companion's side. Jack, for perhaps he had found old Betty's cottage the incident the first time in his life thoroughly conhad passed entirely from his mind. Once more founded and overwhelmed, stood stock-still, the sunshine was slanting through the avenue, gazing in consternation at the unthought-of throwing the long tree-shadows and the long spectator. Mr. Brownlow's conduct at this softly-moving figure of the wayfarer before him difficult conjuncture was such as some people as he went on. He was not thinking of Jack, might blame. When he saw their consternation or anything connected with him, when that he did not at that very moment step in to imstartling apparition met his eyes, and brought prove the occasion. He paused that they might him to a standstill. The sight which made him recognize him; and then he took off his hat suddenly stop short was a pretty one, had it very gravely, with a certain compassionate rebeen regarded with indifferent eyes; and indeed, spect for the woman- the little weak foolhardy it was the merest chance, some passing move-creature who was thus playing with fate; and ment of a bird or flicker of a branch, that roused Mr. Brownlow from his own thoughts and revealed that pretty picture to him. When the little flutter, whatever it was, roused him then he turned slowly and went on. It was as if a thunderb it had fallen at the feet of the foolish young pair. Hitherto, no doubt, these meetings had been clandestine, though they did not know it; but now all at once illumination | the young man was a little impatient of paterflashed upon both. They were ashamed to be nal direction; and he did not know now how found together, and in a moment, in the twink- he could bear it, if Mr. Brownlow took matters ling of an eye, both of them became conscious with a high hand. Besides, even that was not of the shame. They gave one glance at each the most urgent question. How could he another, and then looked no more. What had swer any one? what could he say for himself? they been doing all those stolen hours?-all He did not know what he meant. He could not those foolish words, all those soft touches of acknowledge himself a fool, and admit that he the warm rosy young fingers-what did they meant nothing. His thoughts were not pleasant all mean? The shock was so great that they as he went slowly after his father up the avenue. scarcely moved or spoke for a minute, which Perhaps it would convey but an uncomfortable felt like an age. Perhaps it was greatest to impression of Jack were I to say that he had been Jack, who saw evidently before him a paternal quite sincere, and was quite sincere even now in remonstrance, against which his spirit rose, and what he had said about marriage. He had no a gulf of wild possibilities which made him particular desire to change his own condition giddy. But still Pamela was the one whom it in any way. The idea of taking new responoverwhelmed the most. She grew very pale, sibilities upon him had not yet entered into his poor child! the tears came to her eyes. "Oh, mind. He had simply yielded to a very pleaswhat will he think of me?" she said, wringing urable impulse, meaning no harm; and all at her poor little hands. "Never mind what he once, without any warning, his pleasure had thinks," said Jack; but he could not keep out turned into something terrible, and stood starof his voice a certain tone which told the effect ing at him with his father's eyes with eyes which this scene had had upon him also. He still more severe and awful than his father's. walked with her to the gate, but it was in a In an hour or two, perhaps even in a mindutiful sort of way. And then their shame ute or two, he would be called to account; flashed upon them doubly when Pamela saw and he could not tell what to answer. He was her mother in the distance watching for her at utterly confounded and stupefied by the sudthe door. "Don't come any farther," she said denness of the event, and by the startling revelaunder her breath, not daring to look at him; tion thus made to him; and now he was to be and thus they parted ashamed. They had not called up to the bar, and examined as to what only been seen by others; they had found he meant. These thoughts were but necessary themselves out. companions as he went home where all this awaited him; and he did not know whether to be relieved or to feel more disconcerted still, when he met a messenger at the door, who had just been sent in hot haste to the Rectory to ask Mr. Hardcastle to join the Brownlows partya kind of thing which the Rector, in a general way, had no great objection to do. Was Mr. Hardcastle to be called in to help to lecture him? This was the thought that crossed Jack's mind as he went-it must be acknowledged, very softly and quietly-upstairs to his own room. He met nobody on the way, and he was glad. He let the bell ring out, and made sure that everybody was ready, before he went downstairs. And he could not but feel that he looked like a culprit when finally he stole into the drawing-room, where Mr. Hardcastle was waiting along with his father and sister. Mr. Brownlow said, "You are late, Jack," and Jack's guilty imagination read volumes in the words; but nothing else was said to him. The dinner passed on as all dinners do; the conversation was just as usual. Jack himself was very silent, though generally he had his own opinion to give on most subjects. As he sat and listened, and allowed the talk to float over his head, as it were, a strong conviction of the nothingness of general conversation came over him. He was full to brimming with his own subject, and his father at least might be also supposed to be thinking more of that than of anything else. Yet here they were talking of the most trifling matters, feeling bound to talk of anything but the one thing. He had known this before, no doubt, in theory, but for the first CHAPTER XVIII.-TREATING HIS OWN CASE. Ir may be imagined after this with what sort of feelings the unhappy Jack turned up the avenue in cold blood, and walked home to dinner. He thought he knew what awaited him, and yet he did not know, for up to this moment he had never come seriously in collision with his father. He did not know what was going to be said to him, what line of reproach Mr. Brownlow would take, what he could reply; for in reality he himself had made as great or a greater discovery than his father had done. He was as totally unaware what he meant as Mr. Brownlow was. What did he mean? Nothing to be happy-to see the other fair little creature happy, to praise her, to admire her, to watch her pretty ways to see her look up with her dewy eyes, tender and sweet, into his face. That was all he had meant; but now that would answer no longer. If he had been a little less brave and straightforward, Jack would have quailed at the prospect before him. He would have turned his back upon the awful dinner-table, the awful hour after dinner, which he felt awaited him. But at the same time his spirit was up, and he could not run away. He went on doggedly, seeing before him in the distance his father still walking slowly, very slowly he thought, up to the house. Jack had a great respect for his father, but he had been so differently educated, his habits and ways of thinking were so different, that perhaps in ordinary cases time it now appeared to him in reality. When Sara left the room, it is not to be denied that his heart gave a jump, thinking now perhaps they would both open upon him. But still not a word was said. Mr. Hardcastle talked in his usual easy way, and with an evident unconsciousness of any particular crisis. Mr. Brownlow was perhaps more silent than usual, and left the conversation more in the hands of his guest. But he did not speak at his son, or show him any displeasure. He was grave, but otherwise there was no difference in him. Thus the evening passed on, and not a word was said. When Mr. Hardcastle went away Jack went out with him to walk part of the way across the park, and then only a certain consciousness showed itself in his father's face. Mr. Brownlow gave his son a quick warning-look- -one glance, and no more. And when Jack returned from his walk, which was a long and not a comfortable one, his father had gone to his room, and all chances of collision were over for that evening at least. He had escaped, but he had not escaped from himself. On the contrary, he sat half the night through thinking over the matter. What was he to do? to go away would be the easiest, perhaps in every way the best. But yet, as he sat in the silence of the night, a little fairy figure came and stood beside him. Could he leave her, give her up, let her remain to wake out of the dream, and learn bitterly by herself that it was all over? He had never seen any one like her. Keppel might rave about his beauties, but not one of them was fit to be named beside Pamela. So sweet too, and fresh and innocent, with her dear little face like a spring morning. Thinking of that, Jack somehow glided away from his perplexities. He made a leap back in his mind to that frosty, icy day on which he had seen her in the carrier's cart- -to the moment when she sprained her ancle to all the trifling pleasant events by which they had come to this present point. And then all at once, with a start, he came back to their last meeting, which had been the sweetest of all, and upon which hard fate, in the shape of Mr. Brownlow, had so solemnly looked in. Poor Jack! it was the first time anything of the kind had ever happened to him. He had gone through a little flirtation now and then before, no doubt, as is the common fate of man; but as for any serious crisis, any terrible complication like this, such a thing had never occurred in his life; and the fact was, after all, that the experienced-man-of-the-world character he was in the habit of putting on did him no service in the emergency. It enabled him to clear his brow, and dismiss his uncomfortable feelings from his face during the evening, but it did him no good now that he was by himself; and it threw no light upon his future path. He could talk a little polite cynicism now and then, but in his heart he was young, and fresh, and honest, and not cynical. And then Pamela. It was not her fault. She had suffered him to lead her along those primrose paths, but it was always he who had led the way, and now was he to leave her alone to bear the disappointment and solitude, and possibly the reproach? She had gone home confused, and near crying, and probably she had been scolded when she got home, and had been suffering for him. No doubt he too was suffering for her; but still the sternest of fathers cannot afflict a young man as a well meaning mother can afflict a girl. Poor little Pamela! perhaps at this moment her pretty eyes were dim with tears. And then Jack melted altogether and broke down. There was not one of them all that was fit to hold a candle to her- Sara! Sara was handsome, to be sure, but no more to be compared to that sweet little soul So he went on, the foolish young fellow. And if he did not know what he meant at night, he knew still less in the morning, after troublous hours of thought, and a great deal of discomfort and pain. In the morning, however, what he had been dreading came. As bad luck would have it he met his father on the stairs going down to breakfast; and Mr. Brownlow beckoned his son to follow him into the library, which Jack did with the feelings of a victim. 'I want to speak to you, Jack," Mr. Brownlow said; and then it came. 66 "When I met you yesterday you were walking with the with Mrs. Swavne's young lodger," said Mr. Brownlow, "and it was evidently not for the first time. You must know, Jack, that that this sort of thing will not do. It puts me out as much-perhaps more than it can put you out-to have to speak to you on such a subject. I believe the girl is an innocent girl "There can be no doubt about that, sir," cried Jack, firing up suddenly and growing very red. "I hope not," said Mr. Brownlow; "and I hope-and I may say I believe that you don't mean any harm. But it's dangerous playing with edge-tools; harm might come of it before you knew what you were doing. Now look here, Jack; I know the time for sermons is past, and that you are rather dispos d to think you know the world better than I do, but I can't leave you without warning. I believe the girl is an innocent girl, as I have said; but there are different kinds of innocence - there is that which is utterly beyond temptation, and there is that which has simply never been tempted." "It is not a question I can discuss, sir," cried Jack. "I beg your pardon. I know you don't mean to be hard upon me, but as for calling in question - her innocence, I can't have it. She is as innocent as the angels; she do sn't understand what evil means.' "I am glad you think so," said Mr. Brownlow; "but let me have out my say. I don't believe in seduction in the ordinary sense of the word " "Sir!" cried Jack, starting to his feet with a countenance flaming like that of an angry angel. Mr. Brownlow only waved his hand and went on. "Let me have out my say. I tell you I don't believe in seduction; but there are people in the world and the most part of the people in the world who are neither good nor bad, and to such a sudden impulse one way or other may be everything. I would not call down upon a young man's foolish head all the responsibility of such a woman's misery," said Mr. Brownlow, thoughtfully, "but still it would be an awful thought that somebody else might have turned the unsteady balance the right way, and that your folly had turned it the wrong. See, I am not going into it as a question of personal vice. That your own heart would tell you of; but I don't believe, my boy. I don't believe you mean any harm. I say this to you once for all. You could not, if you were a hundred times the man you are, turn one true, good pure-hearted girl wrong. I don't believe any man could; but you might develop evil that but for you would only have smouldered and never come to positive harm. Who can tell whether this poor child is of the one character or the other? Don't interrupt me. You think you know, but you can't know. Mind what you are about. This is all I am going to say to you, Jack," "It is too much," cried Jack, bursting with impatience, or it is not half, not a hundredth part enough. I, sir- do you think I would harm her? Not for anything that could be of fered me not for all the world!" "I have just said as much," said Mr. Brownlow, calmly. "If I had thought you capable of a base intention I should have spoken very differently; but intention is one thing, and result another. Take care. You can't but harm her. To a girl in her position every word, every look of that kind from a young man like you is a kind of injury. You must know that. Think if it had been Keppel - ah, you start and how is it different being you? " "It may not be different, sir," exclaimed Jack, "but this I know, I can't carry on this conversation. Keppel! any man in shortthat is what you mean. Good heavens, how little you know the creature you are talking of! She talk to Keppel or to any one! If it was not you who said it". Mr. Brownlow's grave face relaxed for one half moment. It did not come the length of a smile, but it had unawares the same effect upon his son which a momentary lightening of the clouds has, even though no break is visible. The atmosphere, as it were, grew lighter. The young man stopped almost without knowing it, and his indignation subsided. His father understood better than he thought. 'If all you say is true," said Mr. Brownlow, "and I am glad to see that you believe it at least, how can you reconcile yourself to doing such a girl such an injury? You and she belong to different spheres. You can do her nothing but harm, she can do you no good. What result can you look for? What do you mean? You must see the truth of what I say.' Upon which Jack fell silent, chilled in the midst of his heat, struck dumb. For he knew very well that he had not meant anything; he had no result to propose. He had not gone so far as to contemplate actual practical conse quences, and he was ashamed and had nothing to say. "This is the real state of the case," said Mr. Brownlow, seeing his advantage. "You have both been fools, both you and she, but you the worst, as being a man and knowing better; and now you see how matters stand. It may give you a little pang, and I fear it will give her a pang too; but when I say you ought to make an immediate end of it, I know I advise what is best for both. I am not speaking to yon as your judge, Jack. I am speaking to you as your friend." "Thanks," said Jack, briefly; his heart was full, poor fellow, and to tell the truth he said even that much reluctantly, but honesty drew it out of him. He felt that his father was his friend, and had not been dealing hardly with him. And then he got up and went to the window, and looked out upon the unsuspicious shrubberies full of better thoughts. Make an end of it! make an end of the best part of his life make an end of her probably. Yes, it was a very easy thing to say. "I will not ask any answer or any promise," said Mr. Brownlow. "I leave it to your own good sense and good feeling, Jack. There, that is enough; and if I were you I would go to the office to-day." This was all he said. He went out of the library leaving his son there, leaving him at liberty to follow out his own reflections. And poor Jack's thoughts were not pleasant. When his father was gone he came from the window, and threw himself into the nearest chair. Make an end of it! Yes, that was it. Easy to say, very easy to advise, but how to do it? Was he simply to skulk away like a villain, and leave her to pine and wonder for she would wonder and pine, bless her! She believed in him, whatever other people might do. Keppel, indeed! as if she would look at Keppel, much less talk to him, walk with him, lift her sweet eyes to him as she had begun to do. And good heavens, this was to end! Would it not be better that life itself should end? That, perhaps, would please everybody just as well. Poor Jack! this was the wild way he got on thinking, until the solemn butler opened the door and begged his pardon, and told him breakfast was ready. He could have pitched something at poor Willis's head with pleasure, but he did not do it. He even got up, and thrust back his thoughts into the recesses of his brain as it were, and after a while settled his resolution and went to breakfast. That was one good of his higher breeding. It did not give him much enlightenment as to what he should do, but it taught him to look as if nothing was the matter with him, and to put his trouble in his pocket, and face the ordinary events of life without making a show of himself or his emotions, which is always a triumph for any man. He could not manage to eat much, but he managed to bear himself much as usual, though not entirely to conceal from Sara that something had happened; but then she was a woman, and knew every change of his face. As for Mr. Brownlow, he was pleased by his son's steadiness. He was pleased to see that he bore it like a man, and bore no malice; and he was still more pleased when Jack jumped into the dogcart, and took the reins without saying anything about his intention. It is true the mare had her way that morning, and carried them into Masterton at the speed of an express train, scattering everybody on her route as if by magic. Their course was as good as a charge of cavalry through the streets of the suburb they had to go through. But notwithstanding his recklessness, Jack drove well, and nobody came to any harm. When he threw the reins to the groom the mare was straining and quivering in every muscle, half to the admiration, half to the alarm of her faithful attendant, whose life was devoted to her. "But, bless you, she likes it," he said in confidence to his friends, when he took the palpitating animal to her stable at the Green Man. Nothing she likes better, though he's took it out of her this morning, he have. I reckon the governor have been a taking it out of 'im." the contrary, pitifully, almost tenderly, with a kind of fatherly kindness. "My poor child," he said, You live with your mother, don't you? I daresay you must think it dull sometimes. But life is dull to a great many of us. You must not think of pleasure or auusement that is bought at the expense of better things." "I?" said Pamela, in surprise; "indeed I never have any amusement;" and the colour came up hotly in her cheeks, for she saw that something was in the words more than met the ear. eyes. "There are different kinds of amusement," said Mr. Brownlow. "Does not your mother come out with you when you come to walk? You are too young to be left by yourself. Don't be vexed with me for saying so. You are but a child;—and I once knew some one who was like you," he said, looking at her again with friendly compassionate eyes. He was thinking as he looked at her that Jack had been right. He was even sorry in an inexorable way for her disappointment, her inevitable heartbreak, which he hoped, at her age, would be got over lightly. Yes; no doubt she was innocent, foolish, poor little thing, and it was she who would have to The governor, however, was a man of hon- pay for that- but spotless and guileless all our, and did not once again recur to the subject-through, down to the very depths of her dewy matter on the way, which would have been difficult, nor during the long day which Jack spent in the office within his father's reach. In the afternoon some one came in and asked him suddenly to dinner, somewhere on the other side of Masterton, and the poor young fellow consented in a half despair which he tried to think was prudence. He had been turning it over and over in his mind all day. Make an end of it! These words seemed to be written all over the office walls, as if it was so easy to make an end of it! And poor Jack jumped at the invitation in despairing recklessness, glad to escape from himself any how for the moment. Mr. Brownlow thus went home alone. He was earlier than usual, and he found Sara at Mrs. Swayne's door, praying, coaxing, and teasing Pamela to go up the avenue with her. "" Oh, please, I would rather not," Mr. Brownlow heard her say, and then he caught the quiet upward glance, full of a certain wistful disappointment, as she looked up and saw that Jack was not there. Poor Pamela did not know what to say or what to think, or how to look him in the face for confusion and shame, when he alighted at the gate and came towards the two girls. And then for the first time he began to talk to her, though her mind was in such a strange confusion that she could not tell what he said. He talked and Sara talked. drawing her along with them, she scarcely could tell how, to the other side of the road, to the great open gates. Then Mr. Brownlow gave his daughter suddenly some orders for old Betty; and Pamela, in utter consternation and alarm, found herself standing alone by his sid", with nobody to protect her. But he did not look unkind. He looked down upon her on Pamela stood before her mentor with her cheeks blazing and burning and her eyes cast down. Then she saw but too well what he had meant. He had seen her yesterday with his son, and he had sent Mr. John away, and it was all ended for ever. This was what it meant, as Pamela thought. And it was natural that she should feel her heart rise against him. He was very kind, but he was inexorable. She stood by him with her heart swelling so against her bosom that she thought it would burst, but too proud to make any sign. This was why he had addressed her, brought her away from her mother's door, contrived to speak to her alone: Pamela's heart swelled, and a wild anger took possession of her; but she stood silent before him, and answered not a single word. He had no claim upon her that she should take his advice or obey him. To him at least she had nothing to say. "It is true, my poor child," he said again, "there are some pleasures that are very costly, and are not worth the cost. You are angry, but I cannot help it. Tell your mother, and she will say the same thing as I do- and go with her when you go out. You are very young, and you will find this always the best." "I don't know why you should speak to me so," said Pamela, with her heart beating as it were in her very ears. Miss Brownlow goes out by herself-I-I-am a poor girl-I cannot be watched always-and, oh, why should I, why should I?" cried the girl, with a little burst of passion. Her cheeks were crimson, and her eyes were full, but she would |