a step forward the splendid beast sprang round and with a single leap almost disappeared over a depression in the ground. A second later he was once more visible in the open, now bounding away across the heather and dwindling in size with quite extraordinary rapidity. Never, I think, have I seen anything so graceful as the appearance he presented. Before a minute had elapsed he had become little more than a spot against the skyline. "You may think yourself fortunate," Solon said as we slowly made our way back to the hollow where our ponies had been left tethered. "I have gone out twenty times without being able to get SO near to a deer, particularly to a warrantable stag, even when I had harbored one. Today both wind and light favored us. I don't suppose I have ever watched a stag for so long a time under such favorable conditions. In the rutting season it would not be prudent to show one's self as I showed myself then, for at that time the stags are often dangerous." We turned our ponies' heads in the direction of a stretch of cultivated land visible in a valley several miles away. To reach this "oasis," he said, would take two hours at least. Sometimes, during that ride, the old man would lag behind, remaining in profound silence save when at intervals he muttered to himself. Then suddenly he would come up alongside and begin to talk volubly-and always about the deer. That he thinks all day about the deer and dreams of them by night I feel convinced. Men are said to come to resemble the creatures that they think of most, and during our long and rather tedious ride across the moor I detected more than once a similarity between the expression in the old man's eyes, when in conversation he became animated, and the expression in the eyes of the stag that I had studied so The Fortnightly Review. closely through my glass. From first to last he told me far more about the deer of Exmoor, their habits, their peculiarities, their remarkable intelligence, the kinds of food that most appeal to them, the ages that they live to, and so on, than it is possible for me to set down here. In the "clutch" of root fields, as he termed them, that at last we came to, he pointed out turnips that hinds had bitten into but still grew, and turnips that, in addition to being bitten, had been torn out of the ground and tossed aside. The latter, he assured me, had been "attacked" by full-grown stags. "Probably," he added, "hinds would tug these turnips up just as stags do, had they the strength." Almost at a glance he could pronounce approximately the ages of the various deer that had "attacked" the roots, and in the majority of cases also the sex of the particular animal that had done the damage. Indeed, a Sherlock Holmes or an Arsène Lupin could not have excelled in power of deduction this aged student of woodcraft, at least in deduction to do with the movements of the deer of Exmoor, for not a stretch of open ground, not a fence, not a gateway, not a tree, not a stone wall, not a pool of water escaped his observation when a possibility existed of its affording him a clue to the movements of a deer of any age. When at last my visit to his humble home came to an end, and we were about to part, he shook me warmly by the hand. "During all the years I have lived here in the heart of Exmoor," he said, "I have had only two men sleep under my roof. The first was the late Sir Samuel Baker, and I think he was as much interested in all I told him about the deer, and in all I showed him, as you have been. I hope that some day you will come again." Basil Tozer. THE SEVERINS. BY MRS. ALFRED SIDGWICK. CHAPTER VI. "What happened?" said Michael, returning to his family and staring in a puzzled way at the draggled parasol in his mother's hand. pose there was a pail? and suppose Mrs. Walsingham did trip up over it? The moment she saw us she ought to have forgotten all about it and let her soul meet ours. But I don't believe "Mrs. Walsingham didn't look where people of that kind have souls." she was going." said Selma. "She knocked over Mrs. Ginger's pail," said Mrs. Severin. "It was most unfortunate." "But where was the pail?" inquired the still puzzled Michael. "They have lovely clothes," said Clotilda, "Perhaps that makes up." "In your eyes-and theirs-not in mine. The girl is shallow and conceited." "She is very pretty," said Camilla, "On the front door step," explained looking anxiously at Michael. She his mother. "Isn't that an unusual place for a pail?" hoped her sisters were not vexing him. Camilla said less than the others, but she was rapidly becoming Michael's fa "Not at all. You must have a pail vorite, while she regarded him as a god about when you are cleaning." "But must you have cleaning done in the afternoon?" "Only when Mrs. Ginger comes." "On other days we don't clean at all," said Selma. "I wish you'd set Mrs. Ginger at Bob," said Michael. "pail and all." The united family then endeavored to make Bob wash his hands and brush his hair before tea. But it was not until Michael gave him a determined shove in the right direction that the boy did as he was told. The others sat down to tea and incidentally to talk about the Walsinghams. "They are much too fine for us," said Mrs. Severin simply: "I wish they would stay away." "Perhaps the pail will discourage them," said Michael, who wished it too. "Those empty worldly people are so depressing," said Selma. "They were scornful the whole time, but not more than I was. I have a burning contempt for people who magnify small irregularities. Nothing is so underbred. Sup who had come from the clouds to be honored and obeyed. "I suppose you will have to return the call." he said, leaving his sisters' comments otherwise unanswered. "I never pay calls," said Mrs. Severin. "If people like to come and see me they are welcome-except when Mrs. Ginger is turning out the drawing room-but I would rather not go to see them." "Why not?" said Michael. "Oh! what's the good?" said Mrs. Severin. "We all prefer to lie on the grass and hear Deminski play the fiddle," said Selma. Michael thought that perhaps this accounted for their friends, who reminded him, as far as he had seen them, of the remnant counter at a bargain sale. They were all oddments. "We are going to have music tonight," said Clotilda. "Several people are coming." "I didn't know it," said Mrs. Severin. "I heard from Deminski this morning, and I sent a note across to the Henderson boy. His 'cello is useful. Perhaps I'll let Sydney Jenkins come too. And I met Marie Petersen near the Zoo. She said she meant to come in. So I suppose Kremski will come with her." Mrs. Severin looked uneasily at her son, but said nothing. He noticed the look, however. When tea was over he remained in the garden, lighted his pipe and opened his evening paper. His mother and sisters had gone indoors, but presently Clotilda appeared again, and without either hat or gloves went out of the front gate. The click of the gate when she returned a few minutes later caused Michael to look up, and he saw from her face that something must have happened to vex her. She came into the garden and sat down on the grass near him, but she did not speak until Harriet, who was clearing away tea things, had disappeared. Michael became absorbed in his paper again, but put it down when his sister claimed his attention by saying in a low, emphatic voice: "Miss Jenkins is an old pig." "Who is Miss Jenkins?" asked Michael, understanding that some appeal was being made to his sympathy. He remembered the inferior-looking young man of that name, but he knew nothing of any womenfolk belonging to him. "She is Sydney's aunt," said Clotilda. "She lives just opposite, and Sydney made her call because he admires us so much; and she found Sophia smoking a cigarette and reading 'L'Homme qui assassina.' I suppose the old cat was shocked, and we never returned the call-Sophia won't. you know-but one day I sat next to Sydney in the Tube and asked him to come in, and he has been as often as we'd let him ever since." Michael had put down his paper and was listening attentively to his sister's ingenuous tale. "She was sitting at the window when I ran across just now," Clotilda went on, "and she stared straight at me and never blinked. But when I asked if Mr. Jenkins was at home and the maid went to see she said in a loud voice so that I could hear, "Tell the young person that Mr. Jenkins will not be home till late and that it's no use her coming here after him.' What would you have said, Michael, in my place." "My dear girl, I never should have been in your place. What did you say?" "I just ran away. I was taken by surprise you see. But isn't she an old pig?" "There can be no doubt about that," said Michael. "I shall have to send Harriet across with a note or I might catch him on his way from the station. That would annoy his aunt most." "I wouldn't do either the one or the other," said Michael. "Why not?" "We can get on quite well without Mr. Jenkins." "But Sydney loves coming here-and it's all the old cat's nonsense about being late. I had a letter from him yesterday." "How many young men do you correspond with?" asked Michael. "I don't know-not many-why?" "Do you ever let Tom see the letters?" "Certainly not," said Clotilda, flashing into smiles at the thought. "My dear boy, they're love letters. Three men at least are in love with me." "If you call them men," said Michael. "But seriously, Clotilda-" "Oh, don't be serious," said Clotilda. "It's so dull." "You must go back to your husband." "I could not breathe out of London." "Nonsense!" Clotilda laughed and darted to her feet as a weedy-looking young man in the dress of a City clerk passed the front gate with lagging footsteps and stopped to raise his hat and speak when he saw her in the garden. But Michael caught her arm and stopped her from running forward. "You are not to waylay that young man," he said. "I don't want him here." "Why not?" said Clotilda, dismissing her admirer for the present with a friendly nod. of her assignations with this man. One night she had been to a Wagner concert with him; another night for an evening walk. There were various occasions when she had evidently met him and been for some time in his company. Besides, she did not mock at him as she did at her young English admirers. Michael feared that she was dangerously attracted by a man he saw to be a wind-bag. Deminski talked nonsense, but he had a vivacious mind and set your own thoughts going if only in contradiction to his, and Mi "Well-because-to put it plainly chael understood how it was that the he's not good enough." "Oh!" cried Clotilda, drawing a long delighted breath: "may I just send Bob across the road to tell his aunt so?" "I shall write to Tom Crewe again to-morrow," said Michael, "and I shall ask him to come and fetch you as soon as he can. It is his business to look after you." "Then you'll bring matters to а crisis," said Clotilda. "What do you mean?" "The three other men," she said mockingly, and ran off into the house. Michael, rather disturbed and provoked, sat down to his paper again. He had expected to find a house that was higgledy-piggledy, and ways that were like the house, but he had not foreseen difficulties of this special kind and he did not feel equal to coping with them. Mr. Jenkins did not weigh on his mind. He felt sure that Clotilda was not seriously engaged with that anæmic, weak-chinned young man. He supposed the second string to her bow might be the Henderson boy, and he did not count either. It was Deminski who mattered. Michael had not seen him since that Sunday evening when he had danced and fiddled in the garden, but he felt sure that Clotilda had met him in various places since then. She hardly made a secret LIVING AGE. VOL. XLVIII. 2530 man attracted his mother and sisters. They took his veneer of learning for depth, his liveliness for genius, and his opinions for gospel. "Who is Marie Petersen?" he asked when his mother came into the garden again, for he wanted to know why she had looked uneasy when she heard that Marie Petersen was coming. "She is a Russian," said Mrs. Severin, "a very clever woman. She speaks six languages, and has a contralto voice that harmonizes with Clotilda's soprano. But she is really Selma's friend." "Who is Kremski?" "He is Kremski," said Mrs. Severin, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. "He manufactured the bomb that Mariedear little Marie-threw at the Russian general. When you see her you will be astonished that any one so small could be so brave." "Did she get the general?" asked Michael, astonished but interested. "She did," said Mrs. Severin; "that is why they live here. Deminski brought them to the house and asked us to be kind to them. We could hardly refuse, and I did not foresee that Selma would swallow their views as she has done. When she first knew them she was a Ritualist." "Is Kremski married?" "I believe he is. I'm sure I've heard him mention a wife and children. I suppose they are in Russia." "I see," said Michael, "and Marie Petersen is here?" "Yes," said Mrs. Severin, "I was rather scandalized myself at first, but Deminski assured me that they were a most high-minded couple. I think they are in some ways. After all, we can't apply our English parochial morality to Russian anarchists. You might as well object to a Turk because he has more than one wife." "What do the high-minded couple do for a living?" asked Michael. Mrs. Severin said she had no idea. She supposed they were helped by their organization, and that probably they kept body and soul together with difficulty. His question reminded her that she must have a large dish of sandwiches brought in at ten o'clock. After dinner, when the evening was well advanced and various people had arrived, Michael knocked the ashes out of his pipe and went into the drawing room. He found that he might as well have taken his pipe with him, as Deminski and another man who sat beside Selma were both smoking. Michael's first impression was that the two men were a good deal alike. They both wore queer, badly-made clothes, and wanted their hair first cut and then brushed; and they both looked the same color, the color that in his narrow, insular opinion came from insufficient exercise and insufficient soap and water. He shook hands with both men, and then Clotilda presented him to a small thin young woman whose eyes were so eager and burning that they arrested him. She wore a Turkey red blouse and a gray skirt, both of the cheapest make, and quality, she was smoking a cigarette, she had sunken cheeks and a frog mouth, and her black hair was cut so that it touched her neck but was too short to coil. When Michael was brought up to her any rate, still smoking, she got up, went to the piano, and shouted across the room to Kremski in Russian. He answered in Russian, and Michael, watching his pantomime, decided that after all he was not much like Deminski. He had small, dark, furtive eyes, while Deminski's were curiously light in color. He had a flat Tartar face with high cheek-bones, and Deminski's face was no shape at all. You could have made it yourself of putty. He was small and slender too, while the Russian was thick set and misshapen. They both talked with gesture and vivacity, but Kremski had an unpleasant scowl, while Deminski smiled at the world, and if he only handed you a tea-cup would make eyes at you. The two English boys were in the room, so Michael gathered that either Miss Jenkins or her maid must have delivered Clotilda's message to one of them; and there were three or four other people whom Michael had not seen before and would have been delighted not to see again. There was not much talking, because every one paid attention to the music which went on incessantly. Michael saw that Kremski was decidedly bored by the music. He sat hunched up in a corner and looked at some books in his reach. Deminski remained by the piano. After each item there was an eager little discussion such as Michael had been used to hear after a round of whist or bridge. He had never been amongst people who took music so seriously. but it was good music and he enjoyed it. He saw that Deminski was on in |