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Dick gasped, and a lump in his throat stifled speech for a season. Presently he asked politely the nature of Mr. Carteret's immediate plans, and learned that he was leaving San Lorenzo for Santa Barbara on the morrow. Dick had determined not to let his father stray from his sight till he had seen him safe out of the country, but he told himself that he must confer with the 'Bishop' at once. The 'Bishop' must act as go-between; the Bishop,' by Jove! should let the cat out of the bag; the 'Bishop' would gladly colour the facts and obscure the falsehoods. So he bade his father good-bye, and the old gentleman thanked him courteously and wished him well. To speak truth, Mr. Carteret was not particularly impressed with Mr. Cartwright, nor sorry to take leave of him. Dick soon secured a buggy, and drove off. En route he whistled gaily, and at intervals burst into song. He really felt absurdly gay.

The Bishop,' however, pulled a long face, when he understood what was demanded of him. 'It's too late,' said he.

Do you funk it?' asked Dick angrily.

'I do,' replied his reverence.

'Well, he must be told the facts before he goes south.'

Dick little knew, as he spoke so authoritatively, that his father was already in possession of these facts. Within an hour of Dick's departure, Mr. Carteret was walking through the old mission church, chatting with one of the padres. From his cicerone he learned that at San Clemente, not twenty miles away, was another mission of greater historical interest, and in finer preservation than any north of Santa Barbara. The padre added that there was an excellent hotel at San Clemente, kept by two Englishmen, Cartwright and Crisp. Of course the name Crisp tickled the parson's curiosity, and he asked if this Crisp were any relation to the late Tudor Crisp, who had once lived in or near San Lorenzo. The padre said promptly that these Crisps were one and the same, and was not to be budged from that assertion by the most violent exclamations on the part of the stranger. A synopsis of the Rev. Tudor's history followed, and then the inevitable question: Who is Cartwright?' Fate ordained that this question was answered by one of the few men living who knew that Cartwright was Carteret; and so, at last, the unhappy father realised how diabolically he had been hoaxed. Of his suffering it becomes us not to speak, of his just anger something remains to be said.

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He drove up to the San Clemente Hotel as the sun was setting, and both Dick and the Bishop' came forward to welcome him, but fell back panic-stricken at sight of his pale face and fiery Dick slipped aside; the 'Bishop' stood still, rooted in

eyes.

despair.

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The Bishop' led the way to his own sanctum, a snug retreat, handy to the bar, and whence an eye could be kept on the bartender. The 'Bishop' was a large man, but he halted feebly in front of the other, who, dilated in his wrath, strode along like an avenging archangel, carrying his cane as it might be a flaming sword.

'Now, sir,' said Dick's father, as soon as they were alone, 'what have you to say to me?'

The 'Bishop' told the story from beginning to end, not quite truthfully.

'You dare to tell me that you hatched this damnable plot?' The Bishop' lied: 'Yes-I did.'

'And with the money obtained under false pretences you bought a saloon, you, a deacon of the Church of England.'

The Bishop' lied: Yes-I did.'

'The devil takes care of his own,' said the parson, looking round, and marking the comfort of the room.

'Not always,' said the 'Bishop,' thinking of Dick.

'Well, sir,' continued the parson, 'I'm told that money can work miracles in this country. And, by God! if my money can send you to gaol, you shall go there, as sure as my name is George Carteret.'

'All right,' said the Bishop.' 'I-er-I don't blame you. I think you're behaving with great moderation.'

'Moderation! Confound it! sir, are you laughing at me?' 'The Lord forbid!' ejaculated Crisp.

'Men have been shot for less than this.'

'There's a pistol in that drawer,' said the 'Bishop' wearily. 'You can shoot if you want to. Your money can put me into gaol, as you say, and keep you out of it, if-if you use that pistol.'

Mr. Carteret stared. The 'Bishop' was beginning to puzzle him. He stared still harder, and the Bishop' blushed; an awkward habit that he had never rid himself of. Now a country parson, who is also a magistrate, becomes in time a shrewd judge of men. 'Will you kindly send for my-for your partner?' he said suddenly. Please sit or stand where you are. I think you'll admit that I have a right to conduct this inquiry in my own way.'

Accordingly, Dick was sent for, and soon he took his stand beside the 'Bishop,' facing the flaming blue eyes of his father. Then Mr. Carteret asked him point blank the questions he had put to the other, and received the same answers, the 'Bishop' entering an inarticulate demurrer.

'It appears,' said Mr. Carteret, 'that there are two ways of telling this story. One of you, possibly, has told the truth; the other has unquestionably lied. I confess,' he added dryly, 'that my sympathies are with the liar. He is the honester man.'

'Yes,' said Dick. I'm about as big a blackguard as you'll find anywhere, but I'm your son all the same. Father-forgive me.'

One must confess that Dick played his last trump in a masterly fashion. He knew that whining wouldn't avail him, or any puling hypocrisy. So he told the truth.

Is that what you want?' said the father sarcastically. Only that my forgiveness and my blessing?'

Dick's bold eyes fell beneath this thrust.

'The man who drove me here,' continued the father, 'told me a curious story. It seems that Mr. Crisp here has toiled and moiled for many years, keeping you in comparative luxury and idleness. Not a word, sir. It's an open secret. For some occult reason he likes to pay this price for your company. Having supported you so long, I presume he is prepare to support you to the end?'

'He's my friend,' said the 'Bishop' stoutly.

My son,' said the old man solemnly, 'died six years ago, and he can never, never,' the second word rang grimly out, be raised from the dead. That man there,' his voice faltered for the first time, is another son whom I do not know-whom I do not want to know-let him ask himself if he is fit to return with me to England, to live with those gentlewomen his sisters, to inherit the duties and responsibilities that even such wealth as mine

bring in their train. He knows that he is not fit. Is he fit to take my hand?'

He stretched forth his lean white hand, the hand that had signed so many cheque. Dick did not try to touch it. The 'Bishop' wiped his eyes. The poor fellow looked the picture of misery.

'If there be the possibility of atonement for such as he,' continued the speaker-' and God forbid that I should dare to say there is not-let that atonement be made here where he has sinned. It seems that the stoppage of his allowance tempted him to commit suicide. I did not know my son was a coward. Now, to close for ever that shameful avenue down which he might slink from the battle, I pledge myself to pay again that five pounds a month during my life, and to secure the same to Richard Cartwright after my death, so long as he shall live. That, I think, is all.'

He passed with dignity out of the room and into the street, where the buggy awaited him. Dick remained standing, but the 'Bishop' followed the father, noting how, as soon as he had crossed the threshold, his back became bowed and his steps faltered. He touched the old man lightly on the shoulder.

'May I take your hand?' he asked. 'I am not fit, no fitter than Dick, but'

Mr. Carteret held out his hand, and the 'Bishop' pressed it gently.

6

'I believe,' said Mr. Carteret after a pause, that you, sir, may live to be an honest man.'

'I'll look after Dick,' blubbered the 'Bishop,' sorely affected. 'Dick will pan out all right-in the end.'

But Dick's father shuddered.

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'It's very chilly,' he said, with a nervous cough. Good night, Mr. Crisp. Good night, and God bless you.'

HORACE ANNESLEY VACHEll.

THE GREAT BIRDS OF THE SOUTHERN SEAS.

So long as men go down to the sea in great ships the magnificent soaring powers of the albatross will exercise a strange and irresistible fascination. Where wind and wave strive their hardest, and where icebergs wander at their own sweet will, the great birds are most at home; they battle with restless energy against the elements, as if weariness were a thing unknown, and circle for days around a passing ship with no apparent effort to themselves. Amid the ceaseless roll of the Southern Ocean all kinds of the seafaring birds of the petrel family find a trystingplace, Tristan da Cunha and Kerguelen Islands being favourite breeding-stations of the race. The late Professor Moseley, in his Challenger Notes,' records the first appearance of the Great Wandering Albatross (Diomedea exulans) in latitude 27 degrees south of the Equator; I saw it from the deck of a sailing vessel in latitude 30 degrees south, and from this point the birds were our more or less habitual companions until we reached the Australian coast. The stately creature first attracted attention as it beat imperceptibly against the wind from the distant horizon, travelling in great circles towards the ship that it always had in view. Who can gauge the sight of an albatross ? The eyes can be focussed at will to penetrate incredible ranges, and a fragment of food cast upon the waters will rapidly allure it from distances far beyond the powers of human sight.

To see the enormous bird thus circle round the ship, with wings fully expanded, though wellnigh motionless, is certainly one of the wonders of Nature. The only muscular action visible is a slight tremor at the extreme points of the wings, a vibration so rapid that it cannot be detected without the most careful observation. There is no suggestion of force employed in the flight, but simply that movement which sailors understand by the word cant-a tilting of the body out of the plane-which serves to give both power and direction in space. In very calm weather there is a heavy flapping of the wings; in ratio, however, as the force of the wind increases, so muscular action disappears, until a gale finds the albatross poised above the ship in mid-air with an

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