At first he hesitated: one day thinking that he would certainly go, and the next feeling that he had better not, even if he dared, venture. At one time it seemed to him mad presumption even to think of her; at another, nothing appeared more likely than that, if he had the courage to press his suit, it would have a successful issue. But other things beside the thought of the lady came into his mind and stopped his action. The thoughts that were foreshadowed on the evening when he had read the novel which had so deeply interested him remained with him. Could he, with fidelity to his own conscience, choose a life of wealth and pleasure while so much sorrow-some of which, at least, he might alleviate -was in the world?

This was the question which arose in his mind, and troubled and stopped him for some weeks. At last business called him to London. It was necessary to go in order to procure some new school materials. Arthur did not care for local productions in the way of seats, desks, &c.; and he believed that there was no place like the metropolis for getting that which he wanted. He liked London, too, for many reasons. He enjoyed being in the bustle of the streets, and watching the vehicles, and examining the warehouses. He liked the omnibuses and trains when they were crowded with human beings, all bent on business and pleasure. He delighted in the crowded steamboats and the laden barges. He could not look without emotion at such places as the chief Post Office, and Royal Exchange, and the Bank. He had keen and lively sympathy with all the circumstances and concerns of his fellow-men; and he could not be in the place where so much of the business of the nation is transacted without feeling the greatest possible interest. But two classes of the inhabitants secured the most of his thoughts and sympathy. He cared most for the children and for the poor, and he never saw them without feeling great compassion and an intense longing to help them.

But, as the reader is aware, his visit to London was chiefly in the hope of seeing the lady whom he could not banish from his mind. He tried to forget the beautiful face, with its flaxen curls and splendid eyes, but his efforts were in vain. Miss Heshbon came before him in his dreams and in far too many of his waking hours. He could at any time call up her face as he saw it first, and as it lay upon his breast in unconsciousness. He thought, too, of the sweet, gracious smile with which she regarded him when he had once again seen her in the street, and the memory was so fascinating that he could not but wish to repeat the pleasure.

He had not very much fear of the reception he would meet with. The little note which had accompanied her book, and which Arthur held as one of his most precious possessions, caused him to be very sanguine. And it was, therefore, with high hopes and gladsome expectations that he presented himself at Mr. Heshbon's splendid town residence.

But here a disappointment met the young man. Miss Heshbon had, contrary to her intentions, confided to her mother the little incident which had brought the two together, and although that lady was too wise a woman to make a fuss about the matter, she

scolded her daughter a little, and made a quiet resolution that she would look well after her in future.

"And so you have sent him a copy of your book, Angie?" "Yes, mamma."

"That was rather indiscreet of you, my dear. I can quite understand that you should feel thankful to the young man for having done what, however, any man in the world would have done. But you do not know anything about him; he may be an adventurer, or a person of bad character."

"Mamma!"

'Angie, I am not saying that he is; but simply that we do not know him. I think, my child, that you would not have done what you have, if you had thought more about it. You are young yet, and I am sorry that you have had a secret from your mother."

"That has troubled me very much, mamma. one again."

I never will have

"And, Angie, I am going to say what I fear will give you pain. If Mr. Dalebury is like some young men, he will fancy that you have, without waiting to be asked, fallen in love with him."

"Oh, mamma, he would not be so foolish, so presumptuous." Miss Heshbon's face was scarlet, and her eyes flashed scorn. Her mother saw that she had said enough, and also that she had said the right thing. If Mr. Dalebury should take advantage of the invitation in the note which she confessed to have written, Angie could be trusted.

"We will say no more about it," said Mrs. Heshbon. "If he should call I will see him."

"I should like to see him too, mamma."

"Very well, dear."

It was about a fortnight after this conversation that Arthur was ushered into one of the reception-rooms of Mr. Heshbon's house. He felt more elation than timidity as he waited; and when presently Miss Heshbon appeared his face was glowing, and he rose to meet her with an eagerness that was very emphatic.

But his ardour rapidly cooled. The young lady's face flushed, but she was as cold as ice, and when she had introduced her mother it was the older lady who talked to him. Arthur had really nothing to complain of; indeed, he had never been treated so politely before, but the young man's heart was filled with bitterness before he had been in the room ten minutes. Mrs. Heshbon thanked him gracefully for the presence of mind which had saved her daughter from being hurt, and then glided easily enough into the ordinary topics of conversation. But Arthur felt so chilled and uncomfortable that he had no wish to prolong his stay. He felt awkward, too. He had called ostensibly to thank Miss Heshbon for the book, but it was not until he had risen to go that he ventured to do it.

"I have read with great pleasure the book you were so kind as to send me," he said. "I thank you very much for allowing me to see it."

"Oh, Mr. Dalebury, do not mention it. As you were so

singularly connected with the circumstances of its publication, I thought I should like to send you a copy."

"May I wish for it a large circulation? I think it is calculated to do great good."

"Do you, really?"

The young lady could not help feeling pleased at the praise. "Oh, I am afraid not," said Mrs. Heshbon. "It will scarcely be read, I imagine, beyond the circle of my daughter's friends."

"Indeed! I am sorry for that. It would do much to cheer weary people, and encourage weak ones to do right, I think, and so I wish it could be read more extensively."

The lady smiled.

"It is often thought that to do good is the great mission of writers; but I question if much is really accomplished either by that or any other means.'

Arthur had never heard so strange a thing before.

Surely, it is what many people live for," he said, "and I think it is well that they do. There is so much wretchedness in the world that every little alleviation is of consequence."

"And every young reformer thinks he can accomplish so much." Arthur smiled frankly.

"But if he does what he can it is something."

Then Mrs. Heshbon asked him if he had seen a certain picture which was on exhibition, and when he replied in the negative, she advised him to do so without delay. He thanked her, and said that he would, at once.

As he was leaving, he glanced for one moment into the face of Miss Heshbon, and there he saw a sweet wistful look that went to his heart. Once again too, though she blushed as she did so, she shook hands with him. Her mother frowned slightly. That was likely, she thought, to undo the good that had been done; and her own parting was studiously cold and formal.

"I will never seek her again until I can do so as her equal." So vowed Arthur Dalebury as he walked away from the house which he had entered with vague but pleasant anticipations.

"Henceforth there is nothing for me but work. I will do twice as much as I have done in my school, and in the town. And I will live for the good of others, and not for my own pleasure. I am not disappointed. I did not expect that I was going to be at once received as a friend and a lover; but, whether I ever see the lady again or not, I will try so to live as to deserve the love of any good woman, whether she be rich or poor."

That evening Arthur went home, resolved more than ever to work. "There is nothing like work," he said, and he proved it to be true; for, in labouring for the good of others, he found his own joy and satisfaction.

CHAPTER XVIII.-SUSPICIOUS.

Some months after his visit to London, Arthur Dalebury was spending an evening with Mrs. Winterset and her family. As usual, the master of the house was absent from the circle; and Arthur could not help noticing how the shadow deepened upon the face of

the lady who had always a kindly smile for him. He vainly wished that he could help her in some way. He seemed powerless to bring back the early joyousness which had, when he first knew her, made her so lovely. But she had some comforters, for her children were now healthy, and their winning ways always stole, for the time at least, the mother's sorrow from her heart. "How does your ragged class get on, Arthur?" inquired Mrs. Winterset.

"It is prospering famously. It is so large that I shall soon not be able to accommodate them in my room."

"Will that matter very much? I should think it would be better for them to meet in one of the schoolrooms than in your own apartments."

"But I like them to come to my lodgings. I think I owe much of the good that has been done to the refining influences of a well-furnished room. The boys enjoy sitting upon real chairs, and putting their feet on real carpets."

"Have they no chairs and carpets at home, then?" inquired May.

Oh, they may have a chair or two, but a bit of carpet is a luxury beyond the reach of most of them. A short time ago I invited them all to tea, and I said, jokingly, that as they were so many, I thought they would have to bring their own cups and saucers. 'We have not got any, sir,' said one of the boys. Not a cup and saucer! How do you manage to drink, then?' 'Oh,' said the boy, 'I have a tin mug, and father has a broken basin. But I think I could borrow one, sir. My grandmother only lives about two miles off, and I know she has one, so I could borrow it of her.'"

"Oh, Arthur, was he really so poor as that?"

"Yes, he was."

"He is not one of the boys who give you their money to keep for them?"

No, poor fellow. He never gets any money."

"Did the boy of whom you were telling us when you were here last save enough money for his new clothes?

"Yes; and I went with him to purchase them. He thought himself very grand indeed when he had them on, and he went to school on Sunday imagining himself a prince. But on Monday morning he came to my lodgings with the new clothes neatly packed up in a parcel. Why do you think he had brought them to me ?

'Perhaps he wanted you to take care of them?"

"Yes, he did. He said he was afraid that if he left them at home his mother would pawn them."

66

How dreadful!"

"Yes, it is very sad; but I have some hope for the boys. I want to teach them habits of soberness, and if possible to lead them to trust and love the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Yes. No one can do for them what He can."

At that moment a servant entered to ask Arthur if he would go to Mr. Winterset's room, as that gentleman wished to see him.

He found him looking very haggard and wild; and there was an unmistakable expression of fear upon his white face. But the reason was not far to seek. Standing near him in a menacing attitude was the same man who had before so disturbed Mr. Winterset on the evening when his child was suffering from an attack of croup.

"Dalebury," said Mr. Winterset, "this stranger, of whom I know nothing, has again forced himself into my presence. Will you eject him for me, or shall I have to send for the police ?

Arthur regarded the pair in unfeigned surprise. That a man who was a stranger, and had no claim upon the master of the house, should have taken such a liberty as to enter his own private room, and that Mr. Winterset had not immediately turned him off the premises, was more than could be understood.

"Have you come again?" said Arthur to the man.

"Yes; and I shall come again, and again, and again, until I get my rights," said the man; "and if you are a friend to Mr. Winterset you will advise him not to provoke me to open

measures."

"But you have no claim upon Mr. Winterset. He told you so before."

"But he said what was not true. He has money which is miue, and if he does not pay at least a part of it over to me, I will denounce him."

"Very well. Why have you not done so already? I told you before to appeal to the magistrates if you really had any case." "He has none," said Mr. Winterset. "Ought he not to be punished, Dalebury, for thus insulting me?"

"Certainly he ought."

"I do not wish to insult you, Mr. Winterset, I only want my own_property."

"I tell you that I have nothing which belongs to you. I do not even know what you mean. Go out of my house this moment." "I shall not go until I have that which belongs to me."

"Shall I fetch the police?" inquired Arthur.

"Yes."

"Stop a moment, young man. If you are too fast you will injure your friend more than you can help him. Now, sir, I will ask you a question. Have you not had a certain iron box, which is not your own, in your possession for more than a year?"

"No, I have not," said Mr. Winterset, with perfect truthfulness; but he turned very pale, nevertheless.

"How can you so perjure yourself?" said the man, sternly. "I am saying only that which is true."

"You are a liar."

"Let me at once fetch a constable," cried Arthur.

"No," said both men at once.

"If you do," said the stranger, "I will instruct him to search the house and see if my stolen goods cannot be produced."

"If you say such things I will myself expel you from the house," said Arthur.

"I will speak in another tone then," said the man. "Mr. Win