"Not at all, ma'am. I'd be proud to go after you anywhere. I hope, ma'am, you were pleased with our meeting last night?

Very much pleased indeed, Mr. M'Quantigan. Especially pleased with the wonderful and forcible speech you gave us yourself. I was truly sorry I could not hear it all. The fact is I was taken with the toothache-I really believe it was the effect of your speech- well made up to me by the pleasure of what I did hear."

one great purpose. She never suspected | upon me, Mr. M'Quantigan; I was afraid
his identity with Bryan O'Cullamore, the you might think me very presuming."
cruel betrayer of poor Mrs. Roberts, and
also the father of her daughter. Mr. Dow-
las, in his important letter to her, had men-
tioned O'Cullamore's employment, nearly
twenty years before, in the very capacity
now assumed by M'Quantigan. But, not
being the most important fact of the story,
it had not much impressed Mrs. Ferrier,
and was now scarcely remembered by her.
In truth, it can be well believed that she
knew not half the extent of Orange im-
pudence. She could not have understood,
in her ignorance of controversial hardihood,
that any man convicted of so mean and
infamous a crime could assume, though pro-
tected by never so many folds of alias, the
position of a religious advocate! That Mrs.
Dowlas never hit upon the identity may
look more striking still. But something
in her nature always blinded her to any-
thing which would extenuate the faults of
her neighbours.

Mr. M Quantigan, as you remember, had no knowledge but that Eva was his daughter. Nor had he, at present, heard of the death and unexpected will of Mr. Griffyth.

He found Mrs. Ferrier seated near a desk, in which a drawer was visibly open. She had, indeed, been looking up one or two letters which referred to the girl so much an object of her dread. Perhaps, considering all things, it was not so very absurd in Mr. M Quantigan to fancy that he had won a heart unknown to himself. He might be called a handsome man. He was really very little the worse for the twenty years which had passed over him since he obtained such fatal ascendancy over poor Susanna Roberts.

He had reasons for thinking that an insolent swaggering tongue was not always an obstacle to female favour. Mrs. Ferrier was not a woman to admire him for that. But she thought only of the uses to be made of him. Scrupulous gentleness would have made him useless altogether. So Mrs. Ferrier went straight on her crooked way (as the gentleman himself might have said), and shut her eyes to the disgrace, never to open them until, dark and hideous, it encircled her as with a stream that flows between the living and the dead.

"She is in love with me, there's no question about it," the sanguine Murphy thought within himself. "I must encourage her a little to come to the point."

Then he went on aloud:

"Oh, ma'am, oh, Mrs. Ferrier, it was a
glorious meeting which we had! We shall
light up such a fire in England as will
never be quenched
never, until the
popish priests and their damnable idols
are utterly consumed and confounded. 1
go very shortly away from here, to arouse
the same spirit elsewhere in the country."

66

Well, Mr. M'Quantigan, I hope that
wherever you go you'll meet with the suc-
cess you deserve. I do very much wish I
could aid you in any way. But do you not
sometimes feel a little weary of this wander-
ing life?"

"It only wants a word or two more,"
thought Murphy again.
"But she might
be offended if I did it too soon." Then he
said:

"Mrs. Ferrier, it's not of doing good that
the likes of me would ever be weary at all.
But I'd be thankful to settle down with a
home and a wife. But I never hope for
such a blessing as that."

"You should not say that Mr. M'Quantigan. Come now, don't be offended, though it's somewhat unusual, I'm aware, to talk as I am doing; but I happen to know that, at least in one quarter, your excellent qualities are fully admired, and, indeed, I may say you yourself are loved."

Could any words have been plainer? M'Quantigan was within an ace of dropping on his knees, and saying something which would have brought the interview to a very strange conclusion. But something in the lady's air-something much more Mr. M'Quantigan made what he con- easy to detect than to define-kept him sidered a very elegant bow, and accepted from taking her quite at her word, encourher invitation to sit down. Then she be-aging as that word was. gan in a way well calculated by her beforehand.

"I am so much obliged to you for calling

"Well, ma'am," he said, "would some kind angel tell me where this comfort is to be found?"

to

Mr. M'Quantigan thought a moment or two before he said anything. Why should this lady care to see Miss Roberts married? Why, doubtless, because she wished to guard against having a step-daughter thrust on her after her marriage.

"Ah, Mr. M'Quantigan, you're like all say it would be an exceedingly good thing, - very vain, I see. Now I'll leave it if Miss Roberts were married very soon. to you to find out for yourself. And (of Now, what, M'Quantigan, do you say course we are both aware that what I am now that?" going to say has nothing to do with what I was saying)-and I very much wish, Mr. M.Quantigan. to ask after a certain young lady now in Wales - I mean, Miss Roberts." "Miss Roberts!" The excellent Murphy was startled indeed. If Mrs. Ferrier knew how lately he had seen "Miss Roberts," she almost certainly knew the tie between them, and, therefore, the shameful history of his former life. Had she brought him into her house only to convict and denounce him? No, that was absurd. If she wished to marry him (and she had all but said so now), it hardly mattered whether his former career was known to her or not. "Yes, Mr. M Quantigan, I know all about you and Miss Roberts. I know that you and she are bound together by no common tie. Now, am I not right?

Right, Mrs Ferrier? to be sure, you're right altogether. But may I just ask how you know?"

"Oh, I heard it from one of the family -from the young lady's aunt, in short. And I know that your claim is a rightful one, and that you have, in fact, received great encouragement."

"He speaks very confidently," she was thinking all the while; "and I don't think he'd readily give her up. Let me get them to exchange some words, which can be shown to that obstinate Richard of mine; or (better still) let me contrive for him to catch them together, and I shall gain the day, after all."

He was quick in replying to her latest remark:

"Encouragement, did you say I'd got from her, Mrs. Ferrier? Well you see, as things were, she had no choice but to encourage me. To do anything else would have brought on an exposure, you see. She did the only wise thing she could, and it'll be better for both, I trust."

"The worst that even I expected," poor Mrs. Ferrier exclaimed within herself. The wretched girl has parted with every shred of character, and this man talks quite coolly of it to me! Oh dear, oh dear; what depravity! But it's all the better for my purpose, and I really wish Richard had done no worse. "But now. excuse me, Mr. M'Quantigan," she again addressed him. "But I know and admire Miss Roberts; and have the highest respect for you. I should be truly glad.-well, now, I'll not be so rude as to be personal, suppose we

Mrs. Ferrier was more calculating and less impulsive in her passion towards him, than her self-presumed husband-elect had thought her to be. He must let the plum fairly drop into his mouth, and refrain from plucking it, even with the gentlest twitch. Meantime, he might regulate his answers according to her manifest wish in each case.

very

soon

Eva

"Miss Roberts married married very soon, Mrs. Ferrier? Why, I say that I know it to be a very likely thing to happen, indeed."

"But it can hardly happen without you, Mr. M'Quantigan.'

"That's very right and very true, Mrs. But it Ferrier. It ought not, indeed. shall happen with me."

'Well, now, Mr. M'Quantigan, just to put all manner of joking aside, and come to point the at once. As one, who led a very happy married life herself, while it lasted, I feel for all who are lonely in the world, and should like to make them happy, if I might: and- allow me to tell you that I have a little money of my own.'

At this point he really rose from his chair, and knelt down and kissed her hand. "Blessed angel, that you are! I'll love you for ever and ever!"

"There's

"Poor man!" she only thought. an honest warmth in his gratitude, that shows how desperately he longs for the means of marrying her. He'll come to no good with her, but it will be bis doing."

Own

There was one other thing. Did Miss Eva's Irish admirer know of her absconding and rubbing her uncle and aunt? If not, he might now be in ignorance where she was. So she promptly asked him if he were just now in correspondence with Miss Roberts. I hear from her almost every day," was his reply, dictated by the implied desire for an affirmative answer.

"Well, then, Mr. M'Quantigan, as you do not appear offended at my meddling with your affairs, I should very much like to see her positive promise to be married on a certain day. I have so great a dislike to any uncertainty in these cases; - and

some

and if you could really let me see that, he might win at once a promise of another then I would think what I could do with sort from the widow lady, who the little money that I said I had." where or other had seen and loved him. self.

Mr. Murphy did not quite like the idea of adjourning his own good fortune until his He was stopping at a very good hotel; daughter could be married, young and almost as much of his latter life had been handsome though she were; so he prof-spent in such abodes as in residences of a fered a compromise.

"If you'll only believe my word, my dearest madame, I assure you that she shall never come to trouble you from the happy hour which makes us man and wife."

more private kind, and his up-and-down life had made him acquainted with every grade of modern hostels, from the houses in which princes occasionally lodged to the grimy beer-shops where burglaries were planned and arranged, and husbands fought their wives.

“Oh, I wish her well, I am sure and under your protection I should be very glad to see her. I should feel myself safe, you In Mr. M'Quantigan's way home, he callknow; - what am I saying? I mean, weed at the Post-office, and inquired for letshould get on better."

"My sweetest lady, now only say what you'd have me do about her."

'Well, I think," said Mrs. Ferrier, who was getting rather fidgetty under the warmth of his Irish gratitude, "I think you really should tempt her to write to you something definite; not, perhaps, to fix a day, but just to say that-loving you as she must, she wishes to leave it all to you, and awaits your own intentions. Excuse me again, Mr. M'Quantigan, but I should like to be allowed to contribute to your happiness."

"Excuse me, you angel!" as he again took a kiss of her hand; "you shall just be contributing the whole and total sum by my soul, you shall! Have you any Irish whiskey in the house?

664

Irish whiskey? Well, I don't know. Yes, I rather think my son had some when he was here; I'll inquire.'

There was some whiskey, not Irish, but Scotch, and Mrs. Ferrier, a little afraid of her new and warm-hearted friend, excused herself from keeping him company while he addressed himself to it. She had a pressing engagement, she said.

ters.

There were only just two for him, and one of them was a bill. The other we will read. It was written in a feminine hand, and it took the Irishman a little while to read it through, which he did in the coffeeroom of his hotel, when he reached it. Thus ran the - to our main story very important letter:

"Deverington Hall, Bridgewater,

September 9, 1856. "Dear MURPHY, — It is too bad of you to grumble because I cannot at present send you any money. At least you know that I would not refuse you anything that I could possibly give you. But, really and truly, you ought to consider, that I have suffered and risked a great deal for your sake in time past; and the least you can do is to leave me in peace, until my position becomes a more assured one; and then, dearest Murphy, you may feel assured that I shall be anxious to bring back as much of the good old times as it will be safe and prudent for us to do. And now for the prospect which, I think, is fairly open to me. I often think of what those horrid And so she left him, happy in his fore- aunts who brought me up were always saytaste of mastership in that same house. He ing one to another I don't think Emma had, indeed, some difficulty in believing that understands her position;' 'I don't think good fortune to be a real thing. Yet who Emma is aware that she will have to gain a could mistake what she had said? There living by her own exertions.' was a singular inconsistency about her, it was true, and when she seemed most thoroughly to confide in him, in the very next moment she put on a look of coldest indifference. However, that might be the natural reaction of the violence her woman's nature had been doing itself.

His own course was very clear. He must get a promise from his daughter (and she would most likely give it for the asking), not to intrude herself upon him in any wise. And, fortified with this assurance,

"This was all their talk if I complained of getting up to practise the piano at six in the morning, while they lay in bed until noon. If the said Emma, now more than thirty, understands her present position; this it is I shall be the second Mrs. Campion before the next winter is followed by another. Events have played into my hands. Just before our leaving town, that precious Emily's flirtation with young Larking (such a stupid young fellow!) came to the ears of her papa, who straightway took

her off on a visit to her aunt at Dieppe. If said, 'Don't touch that! You shall not she-but not he could have been drop- touch that! Nobody shall look at that ped in the Channel by the way, it would while I am alive!' I wondered if she were have saved some trouble to the whole fami- a female Bluebeard, and if the desk held ly, for she is a most tiresome and perverse the mouldering bones of her six victims. girl. And though I have pretty well Then it seems that the property is, after all, allowed her her own way (as the simplest not Mr. Campion's, but his brother's; and safest course), she is rather worse than though the brother appears really to have better for the advantages she has had. But parted with his claims beyond the power of I cannot thank her sufficiently for provoking reasonably re-asserting them. I have seen her papa to put her out of the way for him once. He is a very silent, unhappya time. It has given me opportunities looking man, and fully bears out, in himself, which I have improved and last Thursday the air of mystery which apparently en-only last Thursday, I get as decided an wraps the Campion family. To crown all, offer as a man with a wife yet living could he is married, and his wife is nobody possibly make me. I was suggesting that, seems to know where. He is Mr. Herbert my pupil being away from home, it might Campion. My patron,' as you know, is be no longer suitable for me to remain at Mr. Gerald Campion. Mrs. Gerald is the Hall. Then Mr. Campion fidgetted in thought to be failing fast. Moreover, any his usual way, and asked me if I objected to great shock might make an end of her remain. I told him that, with Deverington at once. It is quite pitiable to hear of her and its people my happiest recollections changes backward and forward, from his would ever be commingled. (And it was lips: My poor wife appears to feel the heat no great falsehood, for my life has been but a great deal.' This fine summer weather a sorry affair.) Then my patron' went appears to benefit my poor wife.' It would If, indeed, it be so, Miss Varnish, be stupid to blame him because he has why cut yourself off from such associations thought of a successor to her already. so soon? The highest acknowledgment What with her illness and her whims (if, which a gentleman can make to a lady shall indeed, they are not something worse) she be laid at your feet, if you will a little long- has left him virtually a widower for three or er brighten my gloomy house!' I believe four years at least. She is just a corpse, you are aware what that means. I have only not so still. told you more than once of Mrs. Campion's "Remember what I ask you, dear Murphy, failing health, and queer ways;- how she and at the same time, do not keep this letruns away, at the sight of company, like a ter. How glad I shall be to find myself in mouse before a cat; and the knowledge of so comfortable a refuge at last! Our mututhis discourages company from coming at al friend, Miss Kelfinch, told me (you know all. (It will be different by and by.) But when), that, though she could not retain me this woman does perplex me not a little. in her school, she would recommend me to She is not insane, and, as I am told, it somebody else. She did not know then of is not so many years since she was as lively what a brilliant success she was laying the and as full of conversation as any lady in foundation-stone. I fear she would not have all the county. If she is not insane, what is done as much if she had but known all. she? My dear Murphy, you would oblige Yet all this family mystery fills me with a me, and (very likely) benefit yourself, if (as strange uneasiness. However, you will tell you know so many persons everywhere) you me anything you may hear. Write to me could tell me if anything queer is known or soon again. rumoured as to the Campion family. Looking forward as I do to entering that family myself, it greatly concerns me to know. And I will tell you my reasons for thinking that, somewhere or other, there is a very awkward family secret. One day, not very long ago, I was upstairs in Mrs. Campion's room (by the way, she hates me, and sees no more of me than she can avoid), and I was looking for a sheet of note-paper to write at her request. I happened to put my hand on a drawer in a standing desk. She almost screamed out to me to let it alone.

"Yours always,

"EMMA VARNISH."

M'Quantigan complied with the request embodied in this letter, and destroyed it when he had twice or thrice read it.

Then he remembered that he had got a letter to write himself. It took him but a very few moments to scribble it off. It was written, as you will be prepared to hear, to Miss Roberts, Llynbwllyn Rectory, and it contained only these words:

"The Victoria Hotel, Leamington,

10th, Sept., 1856. "DEAR DAUGHTER, I have just been thinking that not having heard from you for so long makes me anxious to know how you are. So write me a letter of some sort. Only make it a very affectionate one, for I am a little unwell. Say you'll always do whatever your papa wishes you to do; and I promise you your papa will always do as you wish him to do. You may put a five-pound note, or a ten-pound note in your letter, before you fold it up. It may be the last I shall ever ask of you.

"Your doting father,

"MURPHY M'QUANTIGAN."

In spite of his inability to obtain any money from his lady-friend at Deverington, the Irishman was pretty well off just now. Even suppose his daughter Eva sent him nothing, there was Mrs. Ferrier, now surely available for any requirements.

So, at the Leamington Hotel, and living on its best, he continued, and meant to continue. Friday, or Saturday, would probably bring from Eva the loving and dutiful epistle which, at Mrs. Ferrier's desire, he had written to demand' from her. And. with such a reply in his hand, he could boldly re-enter the widow lady's presence, and, by thankfully accepting her proffered hand, secure himself an easy and merry life as long as his days should be upon earth.

CHAPTER XIV.

OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

MR. DYKHART and Mr. Ballow were in consultation together, in a private room at the "Golden Cross." It was, we may repeat, the 29th of August: and the subject of the Welsh estates had been for a time laid aside, in favour of a matter at once more interesting, and more perplexing, and that matter was the true and rightful parentage of Eva.

Eva was the child of Mrs. Campion, and the
name of Mrs. Campion occurs, in the
strangest way, both in Mr. Ferrier's history
of his adventure and in the letter of the
Welsh clergyman. But what we want is -
not conformation, but explanation; and
that this paper in no way supplies. We
know a little more than Mr. Ferrier knew,
but that little more makes the thing darker
than ever."

"Yes, indeed. The more we learn about it, the less we seem to know. But, Mr. Dykhart, you (I understand you to say) had some acquaintance with the Campion family in years gone by. Now, I was not without hope that you might know something in their history, something in their circumstances, which would give us a clue to their strange proceedings. But you appear as little able to account for their proceedings as I am. I do not regard it as so strange a thing, Mrs. Campion's attempt (which she seems to have made) to impose a foundling on the world, for her own child. Such things have been done, and sufficient motives for such an act may readily offer themselves. But that their true and genuine offspring should be cast out into the world

--

that is the mystery. Could it be all the work of some one else, taking advantage of the serious breach between the child's parents, and desirous, from purposes of his own, to get her out of the way? And this brings me round to the question, Are you acquainted with any family matters of the Campions which would make such a matter at all a likely thing?

"You knew Mrs. Campion in her early life? and you formed a high opinion of her?"

"A most high opinion. It was a greater sorrow to me than I can well describe, when my friend Leyburn, only the other day, told The narrative confided by Mrs. Ferrier me that scandal had fed itself upon her into Mr. Ballow's hands, had been thor- name. I could not believe it then, and I oughly and carefully perused by Mr. Dyk-am even less inclined to credit it now. hart; and he and our Minchley friend were But I never knew Mr. Campion. I used, at met together, to bring the whole stock of one time, to hear a good deal of the late their joint knowledge to bear on the family Mr. Campion, his father." mystery.

Mr. Ballow asked the vicar, if the written narrative, just read by him, confirmed him in his previous opinion.

"Most assuredly," Mr. Dykhart answered; "my opinion was that our young friend

"Indeed? Perhaps it might be worth while to recall what you heard of him. You know, that he was alive several years after the marriage of his son to Miss Somerby."

"Of course he was. I used to hear about