"You did not know her mother, sir," said Luke, allowing himself to be led to the door; "she is the very image of her poor dead mother. So beautiful, so wilful, so unfortunate at the last.”

Then with sudden energy the old man stood alone, and exclaiming “We must save her!" walked out into the hall, followed by Tom. "How did she receive the letters?" Tom asked when they were walking together down the Bailey.

"That is the only thing she declines to tell me, because it might compromise a person who is in no way to blame," said the old man. "She says she ought not to have allowed this person to give her the letters, and she insists upon taking all the discredit of the matter upon herself."

"Generous girl!" exclaimed Tom. "And what is it you fear from Phil Ransford ?"

"Have you so little understood me," said the old man,

ask such a question?"

"I should like to know all you think."

"that you

"Do you remember that girl of the verger's going away, and how the poor old fellow died through it?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember how Ransford was associated in that affair ?"

"Yes; but he explained the matter, and Dunelm accepted his explanation."

"I know, I know," said the old man, impatiently. "This Ransford is a black scoundrel; it is written in his face, in deep lines that I can read as a book. I know the class of man. He is a villain, and, what is worse, a rich villain."

They were at the door of the Hermitage.

"One word before we part," said Tom. "Did Miss Waller-did she say she loved this fellow?"

"No," said the old man, promptly.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Tom. "There is some hope in that.”

"Will you come in ?" asked the old man.

"No, no, thank you. Be good to her, be kind, my friend! Good night. I will see you to-morrow."

"God bless you, my son! Good night," said the old man, and Tom stood alone in the street.

"I know who has carried the letters," he said to himself. go to him straight."

"I will

CHAPTER IX.

SMOKE.

"CLYTIE, Clytie," said Tom, several hours after we left him at the door of the Hermitage, "you puzzle me."

He was sitting in his little room over the old gateway, and addressing the statuette. It was midnight, and the household was abed. All Dunelm was abed, for that matter, except a few topers at "The Three Tuns" or "The County," where the Town Council in mufti discussed the condition of the streets over frequent glasses of whisky punch. If these genial citizens had only known that they were on the threshold of a new scandal, how soon sanitary science would have given way to moral reflections.

"When I left your grandfather I went straight to Tomkins, who blows the organ. Do you wince? The same sadly-sweet

smile that possesses me always."

No.

Tom lighted his pipe, put on his slippers, and rocked himself to and fro, looking all the time at Clytie.

"I said "Tomkins, I have come to ask you on what day you gave that last letter from Mr. Philip Ransford to Miss Waller.' He turned red in the face. I said 'It is no good to deny your office, no good to prevaricate; I know all about it.' 'Then, sir,' he replied, 'it is no good, as you say.' 'Very well,' I said, 'if you will act strictly under my orders, I will keep your secret, and pay you better than Ransford.' 'I know you are a gentleman,' said Tomkins, ‘and would not wish me to do anything as was not right, and so I accept your offer.' 'Diplomatic and clever, that,' I said. a sneak and a scoundrel.' He jumped up and 'Sit down,' I said, 'or I will have you discharged tion, and you will get neither Phil Ransford's money nor mine; as it is, you will have both; is it a bargain?' 'It is,' he said, 'but you must not say I am a scoundrel.' 'Very well,' I said, 'I don't want to repeat the epithet. Now to business.""

Tomkins, you are doubled his fist. from your situa

"I think I must turn your face away during this conversation," he said, taking up the bust gently, and reversing it. "Oh, Clytie, Clytie, if I had only met you before you had seen this Ransford, and been fortunate enough to have won your heart!"

Tom smoked and sighed.

"Now to business,' I said.

You were at the Hermitage to-day?' This was a random shot. 'I was,' he said. 'Well?' I replied. 'I see you know everything,' he said, ' and it's no good deceiving you.'

'You are right there, Tomkins,' I said. 'Well, Miss Waller gave me this letter.' You could have knocked me down with a feather, as Mrs. Wilding would say, but I kept my countenance. 'Yes,' I said, 'for Mr. Ransford! let me see it.' There it was, Clytie, in your own dear hand evidently. Oh, the rage of jealousy and love that filled my heart! I could have fallen upon Ransford's messenger and strangled him on the spot! For a moment I thought I would open your letter. Only for a moment; but Love kept me pure from the baseness which Jealousy suggested. 'Yes,' I said as calmly as I could, 'why have you not delivered this?' 'He was out, and it's a long way to the Hill, so I thought I'd go up in the morning.' 'Very good,' I said; 'you will bring his reply to me.' 'Yes, sir,' he said; and about the remuneration, and' He went stammering on. I stopped him. 'Here are two sovereigns for you,' I said, 'and you may rely on my keeping your secret.' 'As I said before, you are a gentleman, sir, and I trust you;' and so we parted; the infernal rascal to go to church and stand there with that sublime music in his ear, and yet to sell his master's daughter, and all his peace and happiness, for gold! Tomkins, thou hast no music in thy soul; thou art simply a vulgar blackguard; but Ransford, I am on thy track! By the Lord, big as thou art, thou shalt find a match in Tom Mayfield!"

The young student laid down his pipe, and paced up and down the room. Then turning to the statuette, he said :

"There, Clytie, no more boasting! If he meant you well, if it was for your own happiness that he should be the accepted suitor, and he married you, why, Tom Mayfield would simply say 'Yes,' and bear it. But if your grandfather's suspicions are justified, you must be protected against this wolf, whose sheep's clothing has deceived your unpractised eye. As for me I am lost. I feel that you do not care for me at all; love is out of the question, and I am too proud to take you without it; but oh, if there is anything I could do to win your love, then I should be the happiest of all men. Yet mine is not heroic love-it is nuptial love; the love which old Burton describes as warm and sincere, the steady affection of a virtuous heart, seeking its happiness in that high and honourable union which was appointed by God in Paradise."

Tom sat and smoked and gazed at the figure. He felt somehow that his suit was hopeless. What was the good of old Waller's word? The old man could not give away his child; and he could not make her love him if her heart was not in it. Yet the fascination of the girl was upon him as strong as fate. He sat and smoked and gazed, and in a vague way seemed to be meeting his destiny and

going forth with it. The chimes of midnight awakened the solitary echoes of the city, and still he sat there thinking of himself and Clytie, and of grave father Waller and Phil Ransford. Once it came into his mind that it had been well for him if he had never seen any of them, and his memory wandered back to the days of his boyhood. He saw himself happy and free, and contented, and heard his mother's soft voice. If he had not been a strong-minded fellow apart from this question of love, he would probably have taken to his bed and had an attack of brain fever. But he was too strong for that. He smoked until it was nearly daylight, and then went to bed and slept from sheer exhaustion.

CHAPTER X.

THE next day was Tuesday.

FIRE.

Tomkins brought Tom Mayfield the letter which Phil Ransford had given him to carry to Miss Waller. He read it, sealed it up again, and gave it to the traitorous messenger for delivery. It ran as follows:

"MY DEAREST,-Your letter pained me much, on account of my feeling that I had been the cause of your trouble and distress. But you must not drive me from you, or I will follow the necklace which you so cruelly flung into the river, though how could you be so careless as not to have done it at night instead of when it was day and people about? No, you must not tell me not to come any more, and especially when you are so miserable and unhappy; for your grandfather is sure now to treat you with the greatest severity, locking you up, and watching you. Break the humble and degrading chain that binds you, and come with me to the great city, where your beauty and your genius will be acknowledged, and where you can satisfy your ambition. I can give you introductions to the leading managers of the London theatres, and get you an engagement at once, and you would soon be a great star, and then your grandfather and everybody would forgive you, and I should worship you more than even I do Take back your cruel words. You do not mean what you say, or, if so, you will kill me. I love you so very deeply, and would marry you in Dunelm to-morrow if my father would consent; but at present he is firm against it, though if we went to London and were married, and you became a great actress, I know he would forgive me, as your grandfather would you, and all would be happy. Now, here is a plan. I have arranged everything to carry it out if you consent. To-morrow,

now.

Tuesday night, at twelve o'clock I will have a carriage at the North Road, ready to drive to Hinckley, where we can catch the mail train for London. When you get there you can go to your own hotel, where I have taken rooms for you, and I will go to mine, as, of course, it would not do to stay in the same house together until we had arranged for the marriage; or if you would not consent to that, thinking you are still too young, then I could take you to the managers I spoke of, and you could get your engagement and astonish Dunelm by your success. But all this I leave to you, my own dear, dear girl, only do take this opportunity of getting out of this dull stupid place, where life is misery to one of your beauty and talents and generous heart, my own dear Mary. If you consent, put a pot of your favourite flowers out at the front room window at about ten o'clock, just before bedtime, and I will be on the watch for the dear signal, and then at a quarter to twelve I will be outside the house waiting to conduct you to the carriage. You need not bring anything with you, only your dear good self, for you can easily send for your things after, and there are lots of splendid shops in London where you can get all you want; and money, you know, dear, is no object to one who loves you as dearly as I do. Some lovers are troubled because they have not money; our only bother will be that we have so much. So do not think of bringing anything, only come with your own lovely eyes and sweet lips, and believe me that I will always be true to you and love you.

"I remain your fond and devoted

"PHIL.

"P.S.-For fear it should be found, burn this letter as you have all my others; though I cannot find it in my heart to commit to the flames that first dear token which you sent me."

"Oh, the hollow, self-condemned scoundrel!" exclaimed Tom, when the messenger had departed. "My dear Clytie, I would not for worlds have opened another person's letter; but a plot like this justifies all kinds of counter-plotting. The police lay plans for seizing the correspondence of thieves and murderers, that they may take them in the toils. I simply lie in wait that I may save you, my poor deluded one. Your grandfather was right in his suspicions. O my Clytie, is it possible that you can care for this hulking villain? Is it possible that you will not discover the serpent lurking beneath those very artificial flowers in his bungling and ill written letter? Can it be that you will not detect in the advances of this would-be Apollo the ruffian strides of Amyntor? I will never believe