He to her and her boy. Yes, that was the worst of the dark old-fashioned house at Masterton. He it. John Brownlow felt that but too clearly went over all her pretty ways to himself as he all through. It was hard enough to struggle went on. He saw her gliding about the great with himself, with his own conscience and in-house which seemed her natural sphere. He stincts; but behind all that there was another saw her receiving his guests, people who would struggle which would be harder still - the not have known her, or would at least have patstruggle with God to whom this woman would ronized her from a very lofty distance, had she appeal, and who, he was but too clearly aware, been in that house at Masterton; he saw her knew all about it. But sufficient unto the mo- rolling forth in her pretty carriage with the ment was its own conflict. He took his hat greys, which were the envy of the county. All after that, and took his visitor downstairs, and these matters were things for which, in his own answered the amazed looks of the housekeeper, person, John Brownlow cared not a straw. who came to see what this unusual disturbance did not care even to secure them for his son, meant, with a few words of explanation, and who was a man and had his profession, and was shook hands with Mrs. Powys at the door. no better than himself; but Sara — and then the The sunset glow had only just gone, so short a superb little princess she was to the rest of the time had this conversation really occupied, world! the devoted little daughter she was to though it involved so much, and the first magi- him! Words of hers came somehow dropping cal tone of twilight had fallen into the evening into his ears as the twilight breathed around air. When Mr. Brownlow left the office door him. How she had once said. Good he went straight on, and did not remember the heavens! what was that she had said? carriage that was waiting for him. He was so All at once Mr. Brownlow awoke. He found much absorbed by his own affairs, and had so himself walking on the Dewsbury road, instead many things to think of, that even the strength of driving, as he ought to have been. He reof habit failed him. Without knowing, he set membered that the dogcart was waiting for him out walking upon the well-known way. Prob- in the market-place. He became aware that he ably the mere fact of movement was a solace to had forgotten himself, forgotten everything, in him. He went along steadily by the budding the stress and urgency of his thoughts. What hedgerows and the little gardens and the cot- was the galvanic touch that brought him back tage doors, and did not know it. What he was to consciousness? The recollection of half-areally doing was holding conversation with dozen words once spoken by his child — girlish young Powys, conversations with his children, words, perhaps forgotten as soon as uttered; all mingled and penetrated with one long never- yet when he stopped, and turned round to see ending conflict with himself. He had been pas- how far he had come, though he had been walksive hitherto, now he would have to be active. ing very moderately and the evening was not He had contented himself simply with keeping warm, a sudden rush of colour, like a girl's back the knowledge which after all it was not blush, had come to his face. If the mare had his business to give. Now, if he was to gain been in sight, in her wildest mood, it would his object, he must do positively what he had have been a relief to him to seize the reins, and hitherto done negatively. He must mislead fight it out with her, and fly on, at any risk, he must- contradict he must lie. The away from that spot, away from that thought, young man's knowledge of his rights, if they away from the suggestion so humbling, so sav were his rights, must be very imperfect. To ing, so merciful and cruel, which had suddenly confuse him, to deceive him, to destroy all pos- entered his mind. But the mare was making sible evidence, to use every device to lose his everybody very uncomfortable in the markettime and blind his eyes, was what Mr. Brown- place at Masterton, and could not aid her maslow had now to do. ter to escape from himself. Then he turned again, and went on. It was a seven-miles' walk, and he had come three parts of the way; but even the distance that remained was long to a man who had suddenly fallen into company with a new idea which he would rather not entertain. He felt the jar in all his limbs from this sudden electric shock. Sara had said it, it was true - she had meant it. He had her young life in his hands, and he could save Brownlows to her, and yet save his soul. Which was the most to be thought of, his soul or her happiness? that was the question. Such was the sudden tumult that ran through John Brownlow's veins. He seemed to be left there alone in the country quiet, in the soft twilight, under the dropping dew, to consider it, shut out from all counsel or succor of God or man. Man he himself shut ont, locking his secret in his own breast - God! whom he knew his last struggle was to be with, And there can be no doubt that, but for the intervention of personal feelings, it would have been an easy thing enough to do. If there had been no right and wrong involved, no personal advantage or loss, how very simple a matter to make this youth, who had such perfect confidence in him, believe as he pleased; and how easy after to make much of young Powys, to advance him, to provide for him -to do a great deal better for him, in short, than he could do for himself with old Mrs. Thompson's fifty thousand pounds! If there was no right and wrong involved! Mr. Brownlow walked on and on as he thought, and never once observed the length of the way. One thing in the world he could not do that was, to take away all the sweet indulgences with which he had surrounded her, the delights, the luxuries, the position, from his child. He could not reduce Sara to be Brownlow the solicitor's daughter in crooning, with many quavers, one of her old songs. And Pamela, who had just watered her flowers, leant over the gate, smiling, and listening with eyes that were very like the stars. Somehow this picture went to Mr. Brownlow's heart. He went up to the child as he passed, and laid a kind hand upon her pretty head, on the soft rings of her dark hair. Good-night little one," whom that woman had insisted on bringing in, a party to the whole matter was not He standing aside in a terrible stillness, a spectator, waiting to see what would come of it, refusing all participation? Would God any more than man approve of this way of saving John Brownlow's soul? But the more he tried to escape from it the more it came back. She had said it, and she had meant it, with a certain sweet scorn he said, quite softly, with that half-shame which of life's darker chances, and faith unbounded in a man feels when he betrays that he has a heart her father, of all men, who was God's deputy to in him. He had never taken so much notice of the child. Mr. Brownlow quickened his pace, her before. It was partly because anything aswalked faster and faster, till his heart thumped sociated with Sara touched him to the quick against his breast, and his breath came in gasps; at this moment; partly for her own sake, and but he could not go so fast as his thoughts, for the sake of the dews and stars; and partly which were always in advance of him. Thus that his mind was overstrained, and tottering. he came to the gate of Brownlows before he "Poor little thing," he said to himself, as he knew. It was the prettiest evening scene. went up the avenue, she is nobody, and she is Twilight had settled down to the softest night; happy." With this passing thought, Mr. big stars, lambent and dilating, were coming Brownlow fell once more into the hands of his softly out, as if to look at something out of the demon, and, thus agitated and struggling, sweet blue. And it was no more dark than it reached his home. was light. Old Betty, on her step, was sitting whether they are written with the intent of blessing or of banning, enters an element of pain, a taint more or less engendered by the evil spirit of persecution. A CLERGYMAN'S LETTER. A clergyman in England offers £25 a year for a governess with the following qualifications: THE JEW IN LITERATURE. - An interesting | creant's life of crime. In all these creations, monograph might be written on the figure made by the Hebrew in the gallery of Fiction. As a strongly marked individual he has, at one time or other, tempted almost every fertile novelist who has dealt with serious passages and incidents. It is noticeable, however, that he has principally figured in one of two types, and those of the wildest contrast-either as a cunning and vengeful fiend or as an oppressed sage and benefactor, his diabolical or celestial quali- What religious authors do most exactly ties alike taking form and color from what may coincide with Miss H.'s opinions of scriptural be called the fatalities of his race. It is further truth? What living preachers are thought by to be observed, that the rehabilitations, so to Miss H. to be the most faithful and scriptural say, with which the Hebrew has been justly in their method of setting forth their opinions credited in fiction, have frequently been conse- Does Miss H. consider the doctrine of general quent on representations made by his people redemption to be scriptural, or is she at all inas to the injustice of such wholesale "blacken- clined to believe that of particular redemption, ing of their faces." Miss Edgeworth owns herself held by persons called Calvinists, to be more to have written "Harrington" at the request of scriptural? Does Miss H. instruct in music, an Israelite lady aggrieved by what she thought to have been too cruel representations of "the tribes" in that acutely observant moralist's for mer novels. It has been whispered that Riah, in" Our Mutual Friend," was evoked by way of answer to a similar remonstrance, sincerely tendered to Mr. Dickens; and no one can wonder at such protest who recollects that most abominable of abominable Jews, his Fagin, the receiver, in “Oliver Twist,” and the tremendous trial and death scenes closing the mis thorough bass, French, Italian, geometry, Greek, Latin, natural history, botany, drawing, globes, needlework, &c., &c., Does Miss H. judge herself capable of finishing the instruction of young ladies, without the aid of masters? Is Miss II. heartily desirous of framing her whole life, privately and openly, to the will of God, contained in the word of God? Mr. D. wishes to add that if her replies to these inquiries be satisfactory and full, perhaps further communications may follow, otherwise not." CHAPTER XX. CONFUSION- AND CONCLUSION. IT was bright morning, too bright indeed for the after promise of the day. The sun had not yet appeared. The moon, high in the heaven, was visible still, though rapidly paling away. The morning-star was blazing its last, every other star having already gone out. The hedges, brown, yellow, and crimson, with fading leaves, and ripe berries, stretched in long double lines up and down the Somersetshire roads. Along one of those roads there walked one who had scanty regard for the peculiar beauties of that hour. She had remained in her own room for some time after the fatal and crushing discovery which had thus unexpectedly come upon her. Deverington Hall could now, indeed, be no longer a home to her. Not even as the lowest servant could she continue there, or, indeed, enter any other respectable house. And Murphy; he had promised that, sharing the peril, she should also share the profit; and he had observed his promise, by darting from her side with as much as he could secure of the profit, and leaving her to face the whole of the peril! Indeed, he had coolly calculated from the first, that such peril should be hers only; for he had retained in his exclusive possession that paper which would enable him, after all wrong-doing whatsoever, to make his peace with the Campion family. So now, with this miserable woman, the hopes that had failed her in the one direction found no compensation, no consolation, in the other. therefore, make her escape? Very likely no resistance would be opposed to her; at all events, not if she were prompt about it. When she was turning away, dumb-foundered and half-stupefied, from the presence of the two brothers, she had heard the elder of them say to the younger, that a strange affair of absorbing interest had hindered him from coming the day before; but that, acting on the possible chance of the funeral having been adjourned, he had travelled down by the night-train. There was evidently matter a-foot in the Campion family which would make even the loss of its choicest plate a thing of secondary moment; and when that latter affair came in question, it was to the fugitive M'Quantigan, and not to the captive Emma, that they must direct their first attention. What thereafter was to become of her, she did not know - she could not conjecture; only it did appear that the further away from Deverington the better it was likely to be for her. She would not be destitute all at once. She had plenty of money, secure about her, for any present necessity. She would go while a choice remained to her. She softly opened her door, as gently went along the passage, and so towards the narrow staircase, of which mention has been made already. She was compelled to pass near the drawing-room door. It was open at its widest, and a housemaid was there, sweeping away the feathers which had got there, everybody knows how. The servant stared very hard at the retreating criminal, but made no attempt at detaining her. Nor, indeed, when that same servant reported, a moment later, that she had seen Now, should she remain where she was, Miss Varnish go out into the garden, was and struggle to face it out, or should she any pursuit set on foot or suggested. The run away? Overtaken as she had been, to plunder which Mr. M'Quantigan had left brazen through the affair was not a very behind him was now in safe and faithful hopeful project. Mr. Campion would not custody. Mr. Gerald Campion had very very readily disbelieve his own eyes and excellent reasons for wishing that the links ears. And the lantern, carried by the between Deverington and Miss Varnish lodgekeeper, must have cast its light upon should be broken as quietly as possible. Mr. herself, when just assisting Mr. Murphy Herbert's heart and soul were taken up with M Quantigan to place the second hamper matters far more affecting and absorbing. upon his back. That gentleman was at So a contemptuous forbearance was, with least as largely gifted with impudence as little or no hesitation, accorded the fugitive she was; and he had had nothing for it, woman; and protected by this negative but to turn, and run away. Deverington shelter, she walked on her miserable way Hall was truly a fatal place to Mr. M Quan- to Bridgewater. She went along the high tigan. Twice within its precincts had that road. The broken down, or common, by brazen audacity, seldom or never at fault which Mrs. Ferrier had been prevented before, been put to flight when most from travelling, might prove rather muddy thoroughly needed. No wonder that Miss and wet. She was coming very near to Varnish despaired of putting any gloss upon Bridgewater, and was descending a somethe very awkward attitude in which Mr. what steep hill, when the sound of wheels Campion had found her. Should she,behind her arrested her quick and terrified attention. Turning at once round, she saw a fly driving slowly down the hill; of a more rapid pace the nature of the ground there would not admit. When the fly came up abreast with her, which she presently allowed it to do, she saw it held one passenger, and that Mr. Murphy M'Quantigan was he. It was so. But a person with fewer reasons for remembering him might have possibly left him unrecognized. He had found occasion, this man of rapid and ready expedient, to rid himself of the beard which had grown during his week at Deverington. He had also procured a new wideawake, and gloves. She could see inside what she rightly guessed was the hamper, wrapped in a covering of canvas. To think how lightly he appeared to trip over all the dangers which were pitfalls of destruction for her; this tortured and enraged her, as nothing else had done that horrible morning. "Murphy! Mr. M'Quantigan! No; I will speak to you! You cruel, cowardly, bad man! Don't expect me to consider you, who have never considered me. Whatever may become of me "Hush, now!-do hush, my good creature! I'll speak to you all soon enough, if you choose, but not for a third person to hear us. Come! I'll get out, and walk down the hill with you.' The driver had stopped at Miss Varnish's invitation, and the Irishman got out, and joined her at the side of the road; and they two-most assuredly not agreed-walked, nevertheless, together. "Mr. M'Quantigan, your behaviour is base beyond all believing!" "Then you shouldn't believe it, my dear. What better could I have done? I fancy that fellow who came upon us was the elder Mr. Campion was he not?" "Yes, he was. You may talk about it as coolly as you please, but it has ruined me. I am running away, heaven knows where; and you you'll take care of yourself, I know." “I hope I shall, indeed, my dear; I humbly endeavour to do so. But it's just your fault that I could not take better care of myself this morning than I did." My fault? Well! It shouldn't surprise me, I'm aware. There's nothing too false or too shameful for you to say!" "And I mean to say, over again, madam, that it was your fault entirely. We had all but done the thing. Five minutes moreten, at the most- would have allowed us a good start, with all that our industry had gained us. And twice or thrice that time did you go on dwadling, the early part of the night, pretending that you couldn't make up your mind to the thing. Just see how different it would have been if you had followed my advice at once!" 66 'Well, Murphy, but how have you managed to get here in this manner? Why, the very moment I saw that the game was up at the house, I went off to the dog-cart in the stable-yard, got out the hamper that I had put there already, and took it on my shoulders to Chelford. I walked with it all the way. There I got to a decent inn, made myself comfortable, got hold of a piece of canvas to wrap the hamper in; and bought-early as it was— one or two little articles for myself. I was tired enough with walking, so I took a fly, as you see." "But you're not going to wait for the next train to London?" "I rather think I shall be off by the next train of all, go wherever it may, my dear. And now we're at the bottom of the hill, I'll get in again, and wish you good-bye." 66 Murphy Murphy! can you have the heart to leave me in this dreadful condition? At least allow me to get in with you, that I may have a chance of escaping. Murphy, there was a time when my company was not so unwelcome to you." "I doubt, Miss Varnish, I haven't any room. You'll very soon walk it. I suppose you've saved pretty considerably?" "God help me!—no. What I have will be gone in a very few months. It's not so much as fifty pounds." "Not fifty pounds! Ah, then, I'm sorry to say there is no room for you here; and so we must say good morning at once." 99 And opening the chaise-door, he took his seat therein, shut the door again, and told the driver to proceed. In that very instant, the woman, who (at least from him) deserved better treatment, formed a pas sionate resolution what she should do. Time and thought must enable her to master the details of her sudden scheme. present necessity was to follow him so closely to the station, that she might secure a seat in the very train which carried himself. The The fly that he had hired at Chelford had a board at the back, on which, without any great discomfort, it was possible to sit. Reckless of everything save her main purpose, Miss Varnish placed herself thereon as the fly was driving away. She remained unmolested during the rest of the journey. No uncharitable tell-tale called out “Whip behind!" or in any graver way called at tention to the supernumerary passenger. | with bed had been of a very imperfect and As the vehicle slackened its pace in turn- desultory character indeed. It might be ing into the station-yard (the town did not rather rash to leave traces behind him at lie in their course), Miss Varnish got again the station, but he might fancy that he had upon her feet, and contrived to watch fairly cut them off in his early morning M'Quantigan pass through the booking- flight from Deverington. And Miss Varoffice on to the platform beyond. She nish knew that, more than once in his life, quickly ascertained that the train shortly to her quondam friend had, in devotion to the start was going in the direction of Bath: comforts of the present, allowed his greater to Bath it was therefore probable that the ex- interests to lapse; so she felt very certain cellent Murphy would proceed. But she took that the "Ostrich Head" would shelter a way of ascertaining this more surely. him long beyond the time at which she pur"First class to Bath," she said to the clerk posed waiting on him there. It took her at the ticket-stand. The clerk handed the not long to reach it on foot. It was for his ticket, and named the sum required. She precious hamper, and not for himself, that affected surprise at it: "So much as that! M'Quantigan's cab had been needed. I thought I heard you tell that gentleman only five-and-sixpence?" Miss Varnish took special note of the situation and entrance of the inn, and, for the present, turned away from it. She quickly found another and a humbler hostel. Stepping in there, she took a hasty but substantial breakfast. You will not wonder that she greatly required it. There was no real reason for hurrying. Indeed, she must defer her attack until her enemy was likely to be as helpless as she could hope to find him. And, while securing her departure by the proper train, the less time that intervened between her execution of the task and her quitting Bath, the better and the safer for her; for, of course the less would be the chance of the good Murphy's detecting and pursuing her. Having breakfasted, she went about making one or two purchases. They were as various as a number so small could very well be. What they were, they shall declare for themselves in the using. And, satisfied that the gentleman was really bound for Bath, the lady, with no more demur, laid down the full fare demanded of her. She strove to keep out of sight of M'Quantigan, until, in separate carriages, they should start upon the same journey. Even if he should detect her presence, he might possibly be too supercilious to imagine that it boded any mischief to him. As far as she was ever aware, she managed to conceal herself from him until they were both in the train and on their way. And, to all appearance, the like good fortune attended her when, at Bath, they both alighted at the station there. She saw him engage a cab, heard him order it to be driven to the "Ostrich Head" inn, and, at the mention of that house, it oc- Just at ten o'clock, the rain, too faithfully curred to her that, at some recent period, heralded by the transient brightness of the and in some peculiar association, she had morning, began to fall steadily down. The heard its name before. She stood for a stately amphitheatre, which rises above Old minute or two considering how it came to Bath, and which Czar Alexander named be familiar to her. When the recollection" the drawing-room of Europe," was now occurred, it gave her great encouragement, for it promised no trivial assistance to the project already forming in her mind. Ere quitting the station, she ascertained at what hour the return train started for Bridgewater. Its time was exactly at eleven, and now it was half-past eight; two hours and a half were therefore permitted her to mature and execute the scheme of getting the one good card out of Mr. M Quantigan's hands into her own. The Irishman had doubtless betaken himself to the "Ostrich Head" with a view of remaining the day, if not the next night there. Almost his first act would surely be to take a bed, and enter on the actual enjoyment of it. He had had a sleepless night and a wearisome walk; moreover, for a full week past, his relations bedimmed and beshrouded, like a drawing- -- sus |