'I should have avoided anything which might serve to revive the recollection of yesterday's painful event,' Mr. Bruce explained, but that the occasion seemed too urgent for delay. This is the man who escaped from the fire.'

René said she would hear all that was to be told in as few words as possible; and, bowing her head, endeavoured to listen, calmly and with fortitude, to details which she knew must shock her.

Mr. Bruce signalled to John Smith, who said, with some difficulty in finding words for his purpose,

'It's like this. I'm a man that ain't got any friends, and I don't want to get into trouble just as the season's coming on, when a man can earn a living pretty comfortably; and as I've come for'ard of my own free will, when there wasn't any call for me so to do, no more'n a want to do the thing that's right towards the dead, I hope you won't take advantage of my position to have me lagged after I've said what I got to say.'

'You do not wish to be detained after you have made your statement that is what you mean, I think?' said René.

'Just so, miss. It's like this. About a week ago Master Fox-I don't know whether you know him, miss-used to be at the house afore you came, in the old gentleman's time.'

'I remember him.'

'He comes to me and says as he goes in danger of his life because of this here Frenchman, Mounseer de Gaillefontaine, and he hires me to protect him when he went out a-walking. Well, miss, business being slack, and the job a honest one, I undertook it. One day he goes for a walk with this mounseer, and I follows, keeping a heye on him. Sure enough, when they got into Quarry Wood, side o' the

pit there, mounseer takes the old gentleman and tries to shove him over the rails. Of course I did my bounden duty; but whilst I was holding of this mounseer, Master Fox he took a little bag hidden under the French gentleman's shirt, declaring it was hisn. Business took me up here in Lunnon, and strange enough I met Master Fox, who was quite delighted to see me, as he wanted me to protect him again, as he was invited to your ball and couldn't refuse you. Master Fox and the Frenchy met each other quite pleasant and agreeable, and, from what I heered, offered to sell him the very bag as he took away from him last week, and which, so's it shouldn't be taken from him, Master Fox had gave me to take care on. This here Gaillefontaine says, "Meet me on this terrace at six o'clock, and I'll let you know for certain whether I'll buy it or whether I won't," he says. At six-rather afore than after-mounseer comes wrapped up in a cloak all of a hurry, as if he'd forgotten us; but when Master Fox asks him if he wants to buy the bag, he says, "Oh, yes, I will. Foller me," he says, "to where we can talk private," says he. He took us into that theatre by the back door, leads us into a little room, and locks us in. Then he sets fire to the shavings on the floor, intending to burn us there, and escape by the door he had come in by. But whilst he was getting a light, Master Fox had taken the keys out of the door; and when we bust out and he come back for 'em, it was too late to get to the door for the fire, and so we was all caught in the trap together. I was the only one who escaped.'

René lifted her eyes and listened aghast, but with a sensible relief. Hitherto a vague impression haunted her that she in some manner

was implicated in the death of De Gaillefontaine.

John Smith took a bag from his pocket, and continued,

'Now, miss, it ain't for me to judge them two men, cruel as that Frenchman acted towards us, and their sufferings is enough to take the spite out of any one's heart, and, moreover, I took a solemn oath when I was, like a miracle, delivered from that awful fire, as I'd never do nothing wrong no more. And I've kep' my oath. I ain't so much as looked at this bag; and as you're the only party as I know any way connected with them there dead men, I give it into your hands, hoping it won't lead me into trouble.'

René took the bag with some hesitation, and drew from it the folded parchment, on which was neatly pasted the two crumpled, torn, dirty halves of Gregory Biron's last will. Her astonishment as she read, and the reflections that followed the reading, so absorbed her mind, that she forgot the men, until a movement of Mr. Bruce's broke off her reverie. She dismissed them, bidding Mr. Bruce reward John Smith liberally for his trouble.

When they were gone she became eagerly impatient for the coming of Hugh; and when she was told that he had promised to return in a couple of hours, and since promising little more than an hour had elapsed, she sent for a cab, and declining attendance, was conveyed to Charlroy Street. The woman of the house remembered her.

'I don't think he'll want you, miss,' said she. 'He's been sadly put out about something since you used to sit to him, and he can't settle down to anything this morning. He's been in and out two or three times, and now he's out. However, I daresay his studio's

unlocked, and if so you can sit there till he comes in; if so be it's locked, you can come down and sit with me in the kitchen. He's a'most sure to be back presently.'

The key was in the lock. She opened the door, but paused upon the threshold, as familiar details of the room revived the feelings of the past. She could regard these feelings now with nothing but regret and shame. Something more than mere curiosity took her to the easel, and made her uncover the picture upon it. She sat upon the stool, and looked long and steadfastly at this portrait of herself, and as she looked, there came joy and pride and love into her heart. This face, in which were nobility and purity and truth, and all that makes a woman's face divine, reflected Hugh's thought of her. These virtues he saw in her in spite of all she had done to make him think her silly and weak, and even worse than that. looking upon the portrait, her bosom swelled with a great hope, a great belief that she should yet prove the truth of all Hugh had painted on that canvas.

Still

The door below opened and shut, and René rose with a heart beating high as some one came bounding up the stairs two steps at a time.

'I was told at the hotel you had left,' explained Hugh; and my heart told me you had come here.' 'Your heart never does me wrong.'

'It never deceives me.'

'Yet what will you say when you know that I have been foolishly and wickedly wasting your money for months and months past?'

'If I were convinced that you had been wasting it, and that it really was mine, then I daresay I should say that you had used it, thinking it your own.'

'Who is happier, better for the

money I have spent? A heap of ruins is all I can show for my stewardship. See, this shows that the wealth was yours.'

Hugh took the paper with some curiosity, and said, smiling,

'So this is the will about which there has been so much fuss. Why, this paper does not assure me that the money was mine! Legally it is no will at all, I expect; certainly it would give me no moral claim.'

René seated herself, and in silent wonder looked up at Hugh.

'Do you know that this paper was taken from my friend, De Gaillefontaine ?'

'Yes.'

'And yet with the possibility, nay, the probability, that I shared his knowledge of the contents, you

steadily painted truth and goodness in that portrait !'

'I have need of some virtues, if it be only decent generosity; for within two days you have given me a life and a fortune; and I have it in my heart to ask yet more of you.'

René hung her head, for she knew the meaning of his words; and as he stepped towards her, she sprang from her chair, and flung her arms about his neck, vowing he should not kneel at her feet. She gave him her lips to kiss, closing her eyes in passionate delight. Then she burst into tears, being yet so weak and shaken, and between her sobs told how she would be a good and wise wife under his guidance, beginning her new life with humility and faith.

ERIC was old when his dear wife Ethel was laid under the brown earth; and his grief was such that he did not care to live, and would neither eat nor drink. Doubtless

he had died but that his daughter Ina did woo him from his grief, bringing him gradually to think less of himself and more of her. Then came the desire for life, that he might provide for her welfare. He accepted Ina's gentle ministering, and gained strength apace. But his illness had impaired his judgment; his mind was no longer active and strong as of old, but sought assistance, even as the infirmity of his body obliged him to lean upon the arms of younger and more lusty men. He was at a loss how best to guard his daughter against the ills to which, at his death, she would be exposed. She was but seventeen, and to leave her unprotected in the throne coveted by a dozen greedy knights was as heartless and ill as to send her alone by night into the wild, trusting fortune to shield her from the wolves. In his perplexity he resolved to appeal to the wisdom of his knights; and as soon as he had strength to leave his bed he summoned them to his palace, which stood beyond the wild of Kent, upon the banks of the river now called Medway.

King Eric sat, with his daughter beside him, on the daïs at the head of the board in the great hall, and around the table sat his knights, eyeing each other distrustfully, like hounds waiting for a bone; and when Eric had told his concern,

and asked them to advise him to his good, Redberd struck his fist upon the board to call attention, and spake thus: 'It beseemeth a king of Kent to leave his throne to a son: a son hast thou not of thine own loin, but a son thou mayst have by the marriage of thy daughter. Thou shouldst select from amongst thy knights the noblest and most powerful, and to him shouldst thou give Ina to wife. Thus shall she be queen, with power at her hand to fulfil her decree. Such is the counsel that Redberd giveth thee for no self-interest, he being the humblest and poorest of thy subjects.'

This advice was seconded with enthusiasm by the knights, for each reckoned himself better than his neighbour, and thought he had that to throw into the scale which should make the balance in his favour; but when the king's clerk, taking the roll, read from it that Redberd had the greatest and richest estate, and claimed to descend from Horsa (whereof he vaunted his red beard in proof), there was great clamour and discontent, one knight holding that he was most powerful who had the cunning to get and to hold; another protesting that he had most strength who had money to buy assistance when he required it; and a third declaring that wit and wisdom and wealth counted for nothing against luck, which gave a man often enough the advantage over ready wit and a stout arm. Then three or more knights struck the table and began talking one against the