I Yes, if I have as much in the house. will see." The amount was found, and given to him. "And now, Mrs. Ferrier, I've taken the liberty to ask my correspondents to send any of my letters, after today, to your house here; you don't object?" "Not at all, Mr. M'Quantigan. I am only too glad to oblige you in any way." "There's a friend of mine, just written a pamphlet exposing the Jesuits. You'd do me a favour, my dear madam, if you'd read and recommend it. It'll reach you, I shouldn't wonder, to-morrow, or Monday. It'll come, very likely, in a common envelope, addressed to me- - pray open And now, good-bye." 66 it! Good-bye, Mr. M'Quantigan! and I trust, when we meet again, you will have to congratulate me." "I shouldn't wonder. Or it may reach you through the papers beforehand. Goodbye!" and he was gone. And now, for the very first time, it did occur to Mrs. Ferrier that she might have tusted this man too far. The idea did cross her, could he intend cutting the knot by any sort of crime? Then she reflected that it was a little absurd to transfer the ideas of another age and country to the secure and self-restrained society in which she lived and moved herself. Doubtless, if the Irishman talked as if violence were meditated, it was but his rough and downright way of putting matters. That wicked Miss March was vulnerable enough by moral weapons. There could be no reason for assailing her with any act which would put her enemies in the wrong. Mrs. Ferrier need not, and would not, vex herself with any such ridiculous fancies. But the next day was to her an anxious and tiresome Sunday. A certain dread of being alone crept over her; and in the afternoon she took a fly, and drove to call on an invalid friend at Warwick, proposing to remain for the night in that friend's house; and her company was gladly and readily accepted. It was drawing towards the evening of the following day (Monday) when she got back to her house at Leamington. On her table was lying a letter addressed to Mr. M'Quantigan. But the transparency of the envelope displayed some printed characters inside. It was surely the pamphlet which Mr. Murphy had told her to expect, and which he had so earnestly asked her to read. She had not much desire to read it; but anything was welcome which could afford some diversion to her thoughts. So she at once tore open the envelope, and got at the contents of it. There was no such thing as a pamphlet. The printed paper appeared as if cut out of a newspaper. On the side she first saw were several fragmentary advertisements. She turned it round, and read on the reverse. It entirely consisted of one paragraph, and these were the words: "FATAL ACCIDENT FROM CHLOROFORM. On Monday last, an inquest was held at the "Three Screws Tavern, in Camden Town, on the body of a young woman, of the name of Mary Smith. It appears that the unfortunate deceased suffered frequently from neuralgia; and that she was in the habit of seeking relief from chloroform. On the fatal night she seemingly imbibed an overdose of the dangerous preparation, and thereby met her untimely death. An open bottle of chloroform was found beside her bed. The medical man in attendance deposed that any quantity of this anesthetic, beyond a limited amount, would infallibly kill the inhaler of it. Verdict - Accidental Death." very comforting and encouraging extract, which has caught my eye in a newspaper. It proves the wisdom of the means devised by us. Rely on my having all ready. To make all sure, I will just recapitulate the directions already given. Stop, on your way from Bridgewater, before you come to the great gates of D Hall, at a gate in the wood. Enter inside (it is never locked); turn into a by-path-first turning on the right; that will take you to a door in a wall, which will happen to be unlocked. Go into the garden, turn to the right, and you will find yourself in front of the house. Enter by a glass door, at which you will see a light; go through a vestibule, up a pair of stairs, and the very first door (on the left hand) will be the door. She will certainly come here on Monday. Perhaps it will be as well for me not to see you. "Yours. "E." And now there burst upon Mrs. Ferrier's mind, in all its appalling certainty, the knowledge that a great and dreadful crime was on the very brink of its accomplishment, and that she stood in the position of instigator and first contriver of it. Eva was to be murdered murdered that very night, in a way which, would make it appear that she had died by her own incaution. Fearful, in that moment, were the thoughts of Eva's unrelenting, but not designedly cruel enemy. And her thoughts when first she awoke from the black stupor into which that awful letter had cast her her thoughts took shape in the conviction not to be resisted by her: "A few hours will make me a murderer!" Yes, indeed; no way of escape appeared. The shadow of that night, in which the horrid deed was to be done, was descending on the earth already; and the murderers and their victim were very far away. Murderers! But how could she exempt herself from the fearful title? True it was, she had never desired, never intended, a crime like this. In her utmost anger against Eva, such an idea had never crossed her brain for one instant. But she could not, on that plea, account herself excusable now. On parting with M Quantigan two days before, it had struck her that he talked like one who had some lawless enterprise in hand. Now, she only marvelled that his whole design had not been patent to her thoughts at once. It ought to have been, and it would have been, but that her one idea had driven her beyond the bounds of justice She had given an evil spirit and reason. dominion over her; and it was going to cast her down into an abyss of blood. Would anybody, knowing how all had happened, account her scatheless of the murder? Could she venture to declare as much of herself? What knowledge had she of this Irishman, that she should have given him a confidence hardly to be exceeded if he had indeed been her husband? Had he not given her ample warning? At all events. how deceitful and dangerous a character was his! Would any woman, unless carried away by passion, have treated with him after the ridiculous presumption with which her first advances had at first inspired him? Had she not outraged all womanly feeling? And could she plead any womanly honesty, as entitling her to claim acquittal from the awful charge which might shortly be brought against her? She started to her feet. Was there anything now to be done? Could she, at this supreme moment, interfere? and, if so how? Should she telegraph to Miss March, and warn her? Miss March, by this time, was probably a guest at that house in which the murder was to be done. And that house she only knew as "D Hall." By the description of it in the letter, it wa probably a place of some distinction; an any one living at Bridgewater, from, which, apparently, it was not very distant, would guess at once, most likely, what was the house intended. Mrs. Ferrier turned to the postmark of the letter. Not Bridgewater, but Chelford was the name on the envelope. In fact, although Bridgewater was the proper post-town; Chelford was much nearer. And Miss Varnish, choosing to post this letter with her own hands, had chosen the town to which she was in the constant habit of going. If Mrs. Ferrier could get to Bridgewater, she might find this Hall, which must lay between Bridgewater and Chelford, and prevent the crime which would brand her name with infamy, and her soul with guilt, through a stretch of uncounted ages. Could it be done? Great wonders of travelling were now to be done. She hastily rang the bell. The servant appeared. "Susan." she said, "run over to the Bank with this;" and Mrs. Ferrier put a cheque, that she had hastily written, into her hand. "The Bank may not be closed even now. Bring me the money, in Bank of England notes, as quickly as you can. Run as fast as you can, for God's sake!" The girl was not backward in obeying. Mrs. Ferrier went upstairs, and hastily assumed her cloak and bonnet, and popped I all the money in her desk into her pocket. | indeed, she had never been alone before), It was not much; for Mr. M Quantigan had was able to think of all the woe, never, it taken twenty pounds from her when they might be, to know an ending, which was parted on the Saturday. She was standing gathering darkly upon her. She saw Eva before the front door of her house, when dying-dying by the hand of a murderer, Susan came running home. of whose violence, she believed, she was "Oh! if you please, ma'am, I- ran all the only cause and contriver. She forethe way as hard as I could, but the bank saw the heart-broken misery of Richard, was shut already-some time, the peo- and of the hatred into which his love ple said. It must have been quite closed towards herself would then turn. What before you sent me, ma'am. Here is the even if her share in the matter were never - cheque, ma'am.” made known to him? What if the doers of the deed succeeded in their apparent design of making the death appear an accidental one? Even then the secret, festering in her own bosom, would render her miserable and guilty for evermore whenever she saw or thought of Richard. But she had a strong persuasion that things would be worse than this. How many a murder, contrived with all possible skill, had been detected, and laid bare to the stroke of justice! And was it not very likely that, in this case, the watchful suspicion of a lover would peer through the disguises with which this crime was to be so surely shrouded. "What am I to do? But give me the cheque; some of the tradesmen may be able to let me have the money. Susan, good-bye; you've been a good servant. Think as well of your wretched mistress as you can. You will very likely never see me again." And off Mrs. Ferrier hastened, leaving the girl, so lately breathless with exertion, now breathless again with astonishment. When her mistress had turned out of sight, she went indoors again, and told the cook she was dreadfully afraid poor mistress had gone out of her wits with all the worry she had had. And sure and certain, the almanack said that it was to be full moom that very day. Mrs. Ferrier had no subject wherewith to divide or distract her dreadful thoughts. Meantime, the lady, who might, indeed, The feelings which an hour before had been have envied those unhappy ones whose so intense in her, had now died out altofaculties have deserted them, contrived, gether. The thought that a very few hours from one or two of her tradesmen, to ob- might make her a murderess, had burnt up tain the money so fearfully wanted. Then every other fear or feeling within her. she hurried to the railway-station, and What now, to her was the dread of her stated her desire to have a special train, son's foolish marriage? What even were which, in the quickest possible manner, the facts which, artfully tendered for her should take her as far as Bridgewater. At acceptance, had set poor Eva in the light Chelford, she quickly discovered, there was of an adventuress of the very worst class ? no station at all. After a delay, that im- Mrs. Ferrier now considered that, while plied no fault in the arrangements, but her own suspicions had created many of which was agonising when she thought how the facts, she had accepted many more on precious was her time, the engine was the witness of that Irishman she had made made ready, and she had the relief her assistant. And what credit could ever of feeling that she was progressing towards be due to the word of a would-be mura possible deliverance from her horrible derer? position. The officials, who knew her by name, supposed that a summons from some sick friend possibly the captain, her son -had induced this agitated and sudden journey. her strict Mrs. Ferrier hardly made the effort to justify herself now. She could no more go on repeating that her duty duty-had led her into the design, which a wicked man, unauthorised by herself, was going to bring to a criminal issue. Selfdelusion was gone; and only self-tormenting remained. What duty could she verily plead? The meditated marriage might have been imprudent, disastrous, disgraceful. It might have been her actual duty very seriously to remonstrate with her son. But, she now saw very well, it could never The train shrieked on. The light of day be her duty to carry her opposition further. faded; and the unhappy woman, alone (as, | The captain was of age; and reason, revelaFOURTH SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. V. 112. Her tradesmen had been well aware that she was likely to have money in the Leamington Bank. Money in the bank, indeed! The four hundred pounds, which that monster M'Quantigan might shortly claim from her as the promised wages of murder, were awaiting his announcement that no more was to be dreaded from Miss March. tion, and law, which all combine in placing children under the control of their parents, as long as they fall short of maturity combine, with equal certainty, in declaring that when perfect manhood be come, parental authority must pass away. Children who resist their parents are verily transgressors. But alike transgressors are the parents who would take advantage of the affection, the weakness, or the poverty of their children, to prolong their authority beyond its due season. She stood on the now quiet platform. The station-clock declared it to be five minutes past ten, and it was as bright a moonlight night as ever an English October beheld. She spoke to the person who had opened her carriage-door. "I am in the greatest agony and distress possible. I have come that is, I have found myself summoned to a house somewhere near Bridgewater, and I only know that its name begins with a D., and that it is somewhere between Bridgewater, and Chelford; nearer Chelford, I understand it is some Hall.'" "A Hall' on the road to Chelford, Something of this, as especially applicable to her own case, our hero's unhappy mother felt, as she was whirled on her long night journey, and endeavoured to hope ma'am, and its name beginning with D.? that she might not yet be too late. It was I shouldn't wonder if it might be Deveringnot certain that she would. The Leamington Hall that you want, ma'am. Perhaps ton station-master had informed her that, you know the gentleman who owns it-a as soon as she had started, he should tele- Mr. Campion, ma'am? graph on to Birmingham; and that the Birmingham official would, at her desire, also telegraph on to Bristol. By thus making known her want beforehand, she might save some material delay. If nothing untoward occurred it was likely she might arrive at Bridgewater by ten. Possessed of this information, Mrs. Ferrier tried calmly to consider whether she might succeed in finding Miss March before the crime were irrevocably done. She might hope to get to Bridgewater two hours before midnight. Before twelve o'clock it was hardly probable that the wicked atrocity would be performed. "D Hall," it might be hoped, would prove not beyond a two hours' journey from Bridgewater. The night would be favoured with a full moon, and promised to be remarkably clear. How did this unhappy woman pray that nothing unforeseen might hinder her. The train shrieked on. Warwickshire was left far away, and she was carried towards the southerly regions of England. All the little stoppages and hindrances of her journey we need not here note down. For her, a life of torment was comprehended in every one of them; but, upon the whole, the course of her progress was timed well, and little interruption befel her. It is a greater marvel that her senses did not wholly desert her; but on reaching Bridgewater, a very few minutes after ten, she commanded herself sufficiently to arrange the journey that lay before her still. If ladies travelling in special trains are not entitled to special attention, we should wish to be informed what manner of persons are. Mrs. Ferrier found the station authorities at Bridgewater very ready to hear and answer all she had to say. 66 Campion! no, I do not know who lives there. But I think that, very likely, it is the place I want." Again that name of Campion! But Mrs. Ferrier had matters of life and death before her now, and to take a wrong journey would ruin her beyond remedy. "It's of the utmost importance - it's more to me than my own life," she went on, "that I should reach this place before midnight! Can you assure me that it is the same? Pray tell me, is there a wood near it?" Her informant could not say; but one of the porters was able to supply the needed information. Deverington Hall was very, thickly planted around with wood. "And, for Heaven's sake tell me all you can about it! It is entered by gates opening on to the road?" "Yes, ma'am, it is. But a little way before you come to them there's a private entrance through a gate into the wood, and thence into the garden, ma'am. That's what the family use." "It is the same- it must be the same!" For the directions given in that horrible letter, which Mrs. Ferrier still held in her possession, exactly tallied with this man's description. "It must be Deverington Hall; there's no other house at all like it between here and Chelford, ma'am, I very well know." "Then I want to go, as quickly as I can, to Deverington Hall, and I will give any sum you can name, to be speedy. What will be my quickest way." "If you're not afraid of the open air, ma'am, a gig would take you the fastest." "Then get me one, I implore you. How long will it take me to get there?" "That depends on the way you go, ma'am." And the conveyance was sent for at once. Not many minutes had passed, ere the gig was in readiness, outside the station. The policeman on duty assisted Mrs. Ferrier to get in, and the station-master brought a rug for her. She sate herself down by the driver. "The lady wants to get to Deverington Hall as soon as ever you can drive her there," said the policeman to the other. "Can you take her by the short way ?" "It's impossible, unless the night is very good indeed," the driver answered. "But it surely is," said Mrs. Ferrier; "there is not a cloud on the sky, and it is a full moon. "" They were on the shady side of the station; but the clearness of the night was without a single speck. "Are you sure, ma'am, it's the full moon?' asked the man who was to drive Mrs. Ferrier. sure. that's They drove for half-an-hour, and emerged out of the shadow of the woods aforesaid. Only that stretch of common lay between them and the woods which immediately girdled Mr. Campion's mansion. Mrs. Ferrier, absorbed in her one thought, had been silent all the while. Nor had the driver presumed to disturb her. But now he halted at the very threshold of the open ground, and told the lady that the night was darker than he had ever had any idea of; and that to cross the common would be out of the question entirely. She started in terror at his words. - "Dark? it cannot be! Did you not hear it was a full moon! Why, it was in the almanac!" "Well, ma'am whether it was in the almanac, or not, all I can say is, I dont see it here! Will you just be kind enough to look yourself, ma'am?" She threw back her dark, thick veil, and looked at the sky. Dark it was, indeed. What had happened to the night? Had The policeman here pulled an almanack clouds come over the heaven? Clouds! out of his pocket. "Full moon? Yes There was a full attendance of the stars in yes; full moon on the thirteenth the firmament; it seemed as if the muster had included all. And the Milky Way was there. But what of the full moon? Mrs. Ferrier turned her eyes to the quarter in which the Queen of Heaven might be expected to show herself, and then she perceived that the moon was totally eclipsed. "Then ma'am we can go the short way, as you wish it." "Do, for mercy's sake, and be quick! How long will it take us to get there?" "Not more than three quarters of an hour, ma'am; hardly so much." "Thank God for that!" and off they drove. And Mrs. Ferrier's heart beat high with hope of saving the girl her son loved, from the terrible fate impending over her. She could arrive at Deverington Hall by eleven o'clock, and it was next to impossible that anything before that hour could have been done. She threw her veil over her face, and resolved herself into as much composure as was possible to her. We must just describe the way by which, at her special instance, Mrs. Ferrier was being carried now. For a mile or two it lay along a good high road. Then it wound through overhanging woods, which left no superfluous light at any time. But the real hindrance consisted in about the last mile of all. That latest stage passed through an open common, and was no proper road at all. The common, or down, was broken up in several places with gravel pits, and other excavations. In tolerable weather, and by day, or by a strong moonlight, the way might easily be threaded. In the dark it was like an enchanted ground, full of perils at every step. Totally eclipsed! Instead of the round of shining silver, there was but a disc of rusty red; and stars were now the only comforters of the night. There was a moment in which Mrs. Ferrier forgot that this had happened in the course of the heavenly way, and felt as if the very skies themselves were dooming her to destruction. That awful eclipse might take away her hopes for ever. She clasped her hands in anguish, almost as if beseeching the host of heaven to give her the light, without which she must perish for ever. Then she spoke to the driver. "What, then, am I to do? I remember hearing, a few days ago, that this was to be. But other matters had utterly driven it out of my head. Can you not go on? Oh, I am ruined and wretched for ever if we do not reach there in time! I implore you go on if you can!" "Indeed, ma'am, I'm really most sorry; but we can't. We should be sure to roll into one of these quarries here about." "Gracious heaven! This is maddening! Let us go on foot. Let us walk! I will give you any money; the whole value of |