eyes and started up. "Oh Christopher, I wish you wouldn't come and frighten me so," she said, petulantly turning herself away from him.

"Dear, I have been here ever so long; only before you lay so quiet, that when I heard you move and sigh, I thought you were awake perhaps and wanted some thing," Robin could command her ac

tions better than her words; she stretched out her hand to him, "only to be left quiet," she added.

"Do you mind me sitting here?"
"I'd rather you went away."
Christopher turned to go.

Robin was stirred by compunction. Christopher, you don't think me unkind, do you? I don't want to be."

"Unkind! No, why should I think you unkind? Because you don't want to be fidgetted by me, for fidgetty I am and always shall be, I fear, whenever the slightest thing is the matter with you the toll we pay for love is anxiety."

"But there is nothing to be anxious about. I am not ill. I haven't anything the matter with me."

sure.

The words were so tenderly spoken that they dropped like dew on Robin's fevered heart. Should she tell him? tell him all. Confide in him about Jack, of her meeting with him, and who he had proved to be?

She hesitated, a something which she would not own, which she resolutely turned away from, rose unbidden and held her back. She knew that she might trust Christopher, that he was worthy of her confidence; it was not that which stopped her, it was something in herself, still, after all, perhaps. . . The opportunity was gone.

Christopher, recalling what she had said, pressed her hand with his lips, and before she had fully made up her mind what she would do, he turned away and went out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ROBIN'S appearance at breakfast the next morning, recovered and her usual self, disowning any remaining trace of indisposition, and laughing at the bare idea of having a doctor to see her, did not tend to improve the bad temper in which Mr. Blunt had arisen. Possibly the reaction from his self-indulgence of the night before had something to do with his

state; when he went to bed his castles were stories high, he had awakened with a sense that they were crumbling, and now he saw them shattered and laid low. Added to this, Sunday was a day which always tried him, its minutes seemed to drag themselves out to hours, and he was glad of any prospect which offered some which the example set by his neighbors change to the routine of church-going, in

had to be followed.

He had intended that Dr. Heywood should have been asked to pay his call at luncheon-time, this would have insured his hearing all the gossip for twenty miles round, and on his part he had arranged what he would say regarding Mr. Chandos, about whom now he would no longer keep silent; he should tell the doctor that he was free to repeat his words to anybody, and by this means he fancied it not impossible that they might reach the ears of the squire himself.

As is usually the case when cheerfulness is the result of effort, Robin's spirits seemed unusually high, and this in itself aggravated Mr. Blunt and made him resentful towards her. The suspicion concerning that money transaction came back with renewed force, he felt perfectly convinced that she had "put Christopher up to it," and he cautioned himself to be on his guard, and keep tight hold of the purse-strings, for fear that by indepen dence his authority might be slackened. Christopher dead, Robin left with children, unless he kept some hold over her, who could say how she might treat him? "No, no," it was very well now all was fine-weather sailing, but he hadn't forgotten to whom she belonged, nor how that who had served him, and he raked among his recollections in search of bygone slights and injuries, banking up his illhumor and setting it smouldering.

Unfortunately familiar with the look upon his father's face, Christopher, noting the impatience of his movements and the surly tone, of his voice, felt particu larly uneasy.

Up to the present time Robin had seen nothing of his ill temper, and whatever rough speech he had indulged in had never for a moment rested on her; but this morning she evidently did not please him- his tea was too sweet, he had it thrown away; in the next cup given him, she put too much milk; in each remark she made- and poor soul, what an effort it cost her to make one! - he found something to contradict, until, with that unlucky fate which generally leads persons

Christopher, plunging into a long-winded, roundabout reply, hoped that his father was not going to notice it. Illusory supposition! Mr. Blunt had been itching for something to be dropped that he could catch up and be offensive about.

His state was by no means singular in Wadpole that very morning a finger might have been placed on a good score of persons, old and young of both sexes, who to their own torment, and the torment of their families, felt themselves in a similar disposition; but among them all not one labored under the disadvantages which beset Mr. Blunt; from whom, the moment his good-humor forsook him, the thin veneering of social polish vanished completely, and you saw the man as nature had left him, coarse, rough, bullying, with no comprehension of any of those finer feelings, about which he himself knew nothing.

A great many of the wounds he gave he had no idea of giving; and he prided himself on forgetting the injuries he received far sooner than those who had injured him forgave the rebuffs he gave them.

Only waiting till Christopher had so far delivered himself that he might feel certain of commanding Robin's undivided attention, Mr. Blunt gave vent to a succession of snorts intended by him as a laugh, but which might be taken for anything indicating contempt and derision.

66

That's good," he said, "about Sundays; he must have precious altered before church-going was anything in your father's way.' The sneering tone and manner, more than the words, made Robin's cheeks scarlet; for a moment she was silent; about her father caring to go to church there was nothing she could say. How often, since Christopher had talked to her, had she lamented that she had not been more persistent in her urg. ing! It was true that at times she had asked him to go with her, but when he declined she was quite content that he should stay away; Jack didn't go, why should he? In those days Jack had been Robin's standard of morality and consist ency.

"He never interfered with me though, papa didn't," she said, looking up in reply to Mr. Blunt. "When I was old enough to do as I liked, and I could go, I always went to church every Sunday, more especially latterly," and in an instant her memory had travelled back, and she saw herself setting off to go, because perhaps God would listen to her there, would hear her prayers better, would spare her father to her.

A burst of tears followed on her words. "Robin! Robin!"

Christopher was beside her.

"It's because it made me think of him," she sobbed, "and how I used to hope he would get better."

Christopher passed his hand tenderly over the bent head, trying to soothe her. He knew how uncontrollably these bursts of sorrow came, and how bravely she tried to subdue them. Already she was wiping their traces away.

Mr. Blunt, for the moment taken aback, now gave vent to a most lugubrious sigh. "If you're going to give way to the habit of every time anything's spoken, of treating us to a set-out of tears, Robin, it's best for you to know that I for one can't stand it; I never could in my life, and I ain't going to begin now. It's what I never was accustomed to crying in females, more particularly when there's nothing to cry for. It's true you may have lost your father, but that's in a course of nature. Everybody, if they live to, sooner or later, must some time or 'nother lose their fathers."

"Well, of course she knows that," said Christopher, "although what difference it makes I can't see. It's only very natural that she should sorrow for him, seeing how devoted they were to each other."

Mr. Blunt laughed offensively.

"Oh, well," he said, "I suppose it's the right way: spend every farthing you can lay your hand to; beggar your wife, leave your daughter dependent on charity, and you'll be lamented as the best father that ever was. It's something new to me, though, and I'd hoped my daughter-inlaw would have showed more sense than to try and teach me the lesson. I'm willing enough to let bygones be bygones. I don't want to rake up the past, nor to have names mentioned that I never speak of-only, if they are, don't treat me to a scene which leads to a regular upset," and jumping up, he pushed back his chair violently, seemed as if he was going out of the room, altered his mind, and came back again.

Perhaps he was expecting that she would say something. Robin tried to stifle her sense of injury. Her eyes, dry of tears now, were opened to the full, bright and sparkling: a spot of color had come out on either cheek; she held her head more than usually erect, and her voice, when she spoke, was high-toned. "I am sorry if I have made you at all uncomfortable, uncle," she said, addressing him. "I will take care it does not happen again; but to speak, as you have just done, of my father to me, is not kind of you."

"Oh, indeed, isn't it?" said Mr. Blunt surlily. Well, I'm the best judge of that."

"No, I don't think you are. I cannot suppose that you knew how much it would wound me, or I don't believe that you would have said it."

"I tell you what it is, young lady: you know very little about what's happened between your father and me, so the less you take me to task about it the better we two shall get on together."

His wrath was beginning to increase. Christopher, dreading a further display of it, hastened to be peacemaker.

"Come, come, father," he said; "let us say no more about the matter. I am sure you must see that Robin had no thought of vexing you any more than you wished to wound her. So let's forget all about it."

But, quick to note, Mr. Blunt saw that as he spoke he took Robin by the hand, an evidence, to his mind, that he sided with her.

"Two against one," he thought; "and that's what it will be in future if I don't put down my foot upon it," so assuming more displeasure than he positively felt, he said,

"Easier said than done, at my time of life. You must, both of you, try and keep it in mind that I'm master of this house, and therefore expect to be a little studied."

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Well, I hope you have had no reason to complain of that so far," said Christopher. "I'm sure Robin has entirely devoted herself to you."

"Oh, dear, bless my heart, I don't want her to make a trial of what there's plenty as good as she, and better too, would look upon as a pleasure. There must be a fat lot to complain of in eating and drinking of the best, having a carriage to ride in, and not being asked to soil a finger, especially to one who's been so very much used to that sort o' thing as she has."

It was Christopher's face that grew scarlet. A glance at him showed Robin how his father's words were paining him. In a moment she had gone over to where the old man stood, and stretching out her hands to him, "Uncle," she said, “you know that is not what Christopher means. He knows and I know, too how very kind you have been to me, and if I have in any way said anything to offend you, forgive it; only-only when when you speak of my father"-her rising tears began to choke her, and unable to stem the torrent, she ran out of the room, leaving the father and son alone.

From The Cornhill Magazine. A FRENCH ASSIZE.

I.

THE entrance of two judges into an English assize town is, weather favoring, an impressive sight; or at least it can be made so.

It is not often that a sheriff evinces his parsimony after the manner of a certain official of that rank, who went out to receive Lord Chief Justice Cockburn in a hansom cab, and was straightway fined 500l. for his impudence. Most sheriffs are anxious to acquit themselves creditably of the task which the law imposes upon them, and some would no doubt go to extremes in the matter of pageantry had not an etiquette arisen which informally regulates to what extent the ceremonial of receiving the judges shall go. The judges must have fine carriages with four horses, servants in livery, javelin-men; a comfortable house tollodge in, and the sheriff, who houses and feeds them at his own expense, must attend them into court daily attired in uniform. If the calendar at the assizes be a heavy one, the sheriff's expenses in entertaining the judges for several days must often be considerable. In France, where the calendars are always heayy, the assize judges have not only to defray all their own expenses, but they are expected to give at least one dinner to the local officials. By way of indemnity they receive from the State a fee of five hundred francs, or 20%. The regular salaries of these assize judges, who are councillors of the District Court of Appeal, specially commissioned, vary between 2407. and 3607.; but never exceed this last figure.

This is only another way of saying that French judges are as a rule men of private means who have accepted judicial

him the stiffest of bows, saying, "Sir, I have come to pay you the visit which the law requires." The prefect was a good fellow, and returning the call an hour afterwards, said with the blandest of smiles, "Sir, I come to pay a visit which in some cases might be a mere duty, but which in this instance is a real pleasure." The interviews between judges and bishops are generally more genial than this.

While the judges have been getting through their visits, the avocat général appointed to act as public prosecutor at the assizes has also been exchanging civilities with the local authorities; but in his case card-leaving is held to be sufficient. The avocat général is one of the assistants of the procureur général or chief public prosecutor of the district over which the appeal court has jurisdiction. He sits in the assize court in red robes, and conducts the prosecution of all the prisoners: it is only in cases where private prosecutors want to get pecuniary damages out of a prisoner, besides seeing him punished according to law, that they are represented by counsel of their own. They are then said to constitute themselves civil parties to the suit. They may do this even when a prisoner is on his trial for murder, and indeed pecuniary damages are almost always claimed when a prisoner is supposed to be able to pay them. It has not unfrequently happened that a murderer, besides being sentenced to death, has been made to pay a heavy fine to the relations of his victim. These fines are inflicted, not by the jury, but by the bench. A few years ago a gentleman named Armand, of Bordeaux, was put upon his trial for trying to murder his servant, Maurice Roux. The jury acquitted him, but the bench, having their doubts about the matter, sentenced him to pay twenty thousand francs damages to Roux, and the Court of Cassation upheld this curious decision. Prince Pierre Bonaparte, when acquitted of the murder of Victor Noir, the journalist, in 1870, was also made to pay twenty thousand francs damages to his victim's mother; and only a few months since. a country gentleman, who was convicted of having killed an antagonist in a duel, was sentenced to pay 4,000l. compensation to the deceased's widow, in addition to undergoing a year's imprisonment, and paying a fine of 40l. to the State with all the costs of the trial.

II.

FRENCH assizes are only held to try criminal causes. All civil suits are heard

at the courts of appeal, which are stationary, and whose presidents never figure in assize commissions. When a calendar is unusually heavy, the judges arrive two or three days before the proceedings commence; but in any case they come one clear day beforehand, in order that they may have ample time to examine the dossiers of all the causes. This is always done with the utmost care. The dossier is a compilation which includes not only the indictment and the depositions of witnesses before the examining magistrate, but all the facts and rumors which the police have been able to collect concerning the antecedents of the accused. A copy of each dossier handed to the judges is laid before the chambre des mises en accusation, which performs the same functions as an English grand jury. The members composing it are specially delegated judges or magistrates of a lower rank than councillors, and it rests with them to determine whether prisoners shall be put upon their trial. They are not limited, however, to the two alternatives of finding a true bill or ignoring the bill altogether. They may order a supplément d'instruction, that is, send back the case to the examining magistrate for further inquiry. It is the main principle of French procedure that a case should come up to a criminal court complete in all its details, and this throws upon examining magistrates an amount of labor and responsibility almost incredible.

Four categories of offences are tried at the assizes: firstly, crimes involving sentences of death or penal servitude; secondly, political offences; thirdly, by the Act of 1881, press offences; and fourthly, manslaughters caused by duelling. The offenders in the last three categories are generally, though not always, treated with courtesy. They have been at large on their own recognisances; they are not required to surrender themselves into actual custody, and they do not sit in the dock during trial. All other offenders, however, even when they have been admitted to bail, must surrender at the house of detention on the day before the assizes open, and must be brought up in custody. It is the public prosecutor, and not the bench, who decides to what extent accused persons shall be enlarged before and during trial. He may if he pleases keep a political offender or a journalist or duellist as strictly confined before trial as an ordinary felon; and he may at his discretion stay the execution