"Where is Dorcas?" were his first words. "She has gone to lie down; she is tired out with the excitement of the day."

gentle, or respectful, do you think? Is it her way?"

"Sometimes," replied Brian; "not very

often."

"She told me I was wearying the lady with my talk-that I was all talk-and had better be gone. That I had made the lady cry speaking of her father and grandfather, -as if a woman could not cry without melting away. She-she actually said," he added, trembling with passion, "that she would take me by the shoulders and put me out of the room, if I did not go. The like of that to me! You hear-you hear how I have been treated-I, who have been jolted to pieces in a carrier's cart coming to see the last of Adam!"

"You must not mind Dorcas," said Brian kindly, "she says more than she means when the ill temper is in her-and that is only like humanity in the lump, Peter. The lady-Miss Westbrook-is easily fatigued. She is recovering from an illness—a severe shock to her system-and Dorcas is very careful of her."

"So it seems!"

"What did the lady say to the books and flowers?" Brian asked carelessly.

"That she was very much obliged to Mr. Salmon. They're the words, I think, but your hateful sister has almost put them out of my head," replied Peter, "and that it was very kind of him to think of her."

"Ah! yes," said Brian, "but perhaps he could not help that. Good day, Peter. A pleasant journey back to Penton."

The carrier's cart was in sight, and Brian Halfday turned and marched rapidly away from it, passing into a side lane which led to the Downs, up which he ascended to his own cottage quickly and persistently. Here he walked to and fro in a restless, wild-beast fashion until nightfall, when he locked the door again and went down to the inn at Datchet Bridge.

At the inn a message awaited him. Miss Westbrook would be glad to see him for a few minutes.

"She should have gone early to rest tonight," he said. He went up-stairs, however, and knocked at the door, and her soft voice from within bade him enter. He passed into the room, and found Mabel in the chair where he had left her last night. There was a faint but friendly smile of welcome for him as he entered.

"She is easily excited," answered Brian. "I am unwilling to intrude upon your grief this evening, Mr. Halfday," Mabel said; "but I was uncertain whether your duties in Penton might not take you to the city before I saw you again.”

"Madam, I have no great grief at my heart," confessed Brian; no sorrow that weighs me down, so far as Adam Halfday is concerned."

"Why have you kept away from us all this time, then ?" asked Mabel half reproachfully, half curiously.

"I did not think I should be missed; I have been to my house on the Downs," was the reply.

"You left me last night in suspense," said Mabel," and before you go away, I wish to speak of Dorcas, and of"

She stopped as Brian raised his hand. "Let us leave business till to-morrow,' he said candidly; "I have not the heart for it to-night."

"You will hasten away to-morrow morning without listening to my arguments," said Mabel.

"I think not," he replied; "I shall not be pressed for time."

"I have an idea, Mr. Halfday, that you are postponing this out of consideration for me," she said; "if so, it is a mistaken kindness, for I am well and strong to-night."

"I may have more news for you to-morrow."

"More news! Not bad news, I trust?" "I am waiting for a message from Penton, and I think the morning will bring it to me,' he answered, and Mabel was too quick not to read the evasion in his words.

"It is bad news," she exclaimed; "now, what has happened to cast me into shadow again? Is there never lightness or brightness to come to me in England ?"

"I do not say bad news," replied Brian ; "but it concerns the money in Penton Bank, and

"

"Oh ! the money, the money," she cried scornfully; "why do you strong, hale men think so much of money, or believe its loss or gain to be the misery or happiness of life? I was taught better than that in my American home."

I hope so," answered Brian.

"I do not want it back. I should be glad if you would never say a word concerning it again," she said. "There can be no friendship between us whilst this money question is for ever rising to the surface." "Yes; we quarrel about that," was the slow reply.

"If it were lost to-morrow, it would not give me one minute's concern, save for yourselves."

"For Dorcas and me?" he inquired. "Yes."

"I do not see ;-but there, there, this is business after all, and I would get away from it," said Brian.

"Now, please do not begin to walk up and down the room, Mr. Halfday," said Mabel entreatingly; "you have no idea how it fidgets me."

"I beg your pardon," Brian replied. He had reached the window by this time, and was facing Angelo Salmon's big bouquet in the vase upon the table. He scowled at it, as he came to a full stop.

"Young Salmon must have fancied you were going to the opera to-night," he said suddenly.

"

Are you fond of flowers? was Mabel's quiet response.

"In their seasons, and in proper places," he replied.

"They add sweetness and beauty to a lady's boudoir at all times."

66 Do you call this three-cornered room a boudoir?" said Brian disparagingly.

"Scarcely; but it was the best refuge that could be found for me at Datchet Bridge. I shall always remember it gratefully." "May I ask the reason?"

I have met much kindness in this part of Pentonshire, and I have friends, I hope." "If you are charitable enough to consider me a friend, Miss Westbrook, I will ask you to reserve your judgment till to-morrow," said Brian mournfully.

"Oh! that dreadful morrow-which never comes, however. What next?"

"You will distrust us Halfdays again; and it is natural that you should," said Brian; "you do not know how you will despise us all presently!"

"You are in a morbid frame of mind today, and that is natural also. You have lost a "

"Relation," said Brian, interrupting her; "but I have said already, I do not mourn

for him.

Had he been a better man, a kinder or an honester one, I might have grieved bitterly."

"You are of an unforgiving disposition." "I don't know," he replied; "people say so, I believe. I am hard enough." He recommenced his perambulations, and Mabel said—

"You are anxious to be gone, I perceive. I will not detain you further, if there is no chance of talking of business tonight."

"I am in an unsettled mood-restless and savage and discontented. I own it," cried Brian.

"But you will not tell me the reason? You keep me in a suspense which will rob me of my sleep," said Mabel.

"No, no; don't say that," said Brian, very solicitously now; "there is nothing to distract you. It's only the money, after all— and you don't care for money?"

"Not a bit," was the frank confession. "And I am thinking the worst of some one whom I may be suspecting unjustly," he continued.

"Dorcas ?" "No."

"Mr. Angelo Salmon ?"

"Confound Angelo Salmon!" said Brian irritably; "what put that milksop into your thoughts again?"

"Mr. Halfday!" exclaimed our heroine. "I beg pardon-I apologize-I am very rude to you; I forget I am in the presence of a lady," stammered Brian. "I am totally unused to ladies' society; I am a bear-let me go away to my den on the hills."

"Yes, you are seriously disturbed tonight," said Mabel, thoughtfully regarding him, "and it will be well for you to get home and rest, Mr. Halfday. You are unwell?"

"I never was better in my life," he answered, "but I have offended you by my roughness ?"

"Not at all," said Mabel, "for I think I understand you."

"I had no right to speak slightingly of Mr. Salmon; I forgot myself. He is a friend of yours," said Brian," and a genuine, simple-hearted fellow, I have every reason to believe. There, is that the amende honorable, Miss Westbrook?"

Mabel smiled assent.

"Then I will go home before I commit

myself further by saying something absurd and unnecessary. Good-night."

"Good-night, Mr. Halfday. You do not wish to see your sister ?"

"She is asleep, I think you told me?" "Yes."

"I will not disturb her," he said. "Neither will you let any one else disturb her, Miss Westbrook, I am sure."

"What do you mean?”

"and he will take a long time to understand."

T

CHAPTER XXII.

THE LETTER FROM PENTON.

"The some spoken?" "Yes."

"She is not fit to see any one to-night," said Mabel; "she has been completely borne down by her grief."

"Yes," said Brian, "I did not give her credit for having so much affection for the old man. Good-night again."

"Good-night," she repeated; "have you any books at your house on the Downs?" "Not any. Why do you ask?" "You may be indisposed to sleep, and some of these volumes--"

"May assist me," he concluded for her, and with one of his rare smiles flickering over his face.

He walked to the open packet of books which Mr. Salmon had sent that day by the carrier and Peter Scone, stooped, read the titles on the backs, and said contemptuously

"Trumpery novels, and weak-minded verse. No, thank you.'

"Here is a volume of the Rev. Gregory Salmon's sermons," said Mabel drily, "you will find that more solid reading."

"I'll take that," said Brian, seizing the book; "it will be solid enough for any mortal man, I have no doubt. It never struck me that Gregory Salmon had an original idea in his head, and here's a whole book full of ideas!"

"You do not like the Master of St. Lazarus ?"

"He is a -" Brian paused, his knit brow relaxed, and his eyes became full of a new softness; "he is a friend of yours, Miss Westbrook, and I have not a word to say against him. For the third time, goodnight."

He bowed and left the room.

"That is a very singular young man," mused Mabel, after he had withdrawn,

Brian had left his home, and was at the post-office at Datchet Bridge, a little shop which combined with the postal duties of Her Majesty's Government, the sale of groceries, tobacco, and haberdashery to the natives of the district. Letters for the tenant of the house on the Downs had always to be called for at the post-office, it being no man's mission at eighteen shillings a week to carry letters to the outaway habitation perched amongst the hills.

The morning's mail had arrived, and there were letters awaiting Brian Halfday, as he had anticipated. The postmaster passed them over the counter with a "good morning, Mr. Halfday," to which Brian took no heed in his eagerness to receive news from his native city. He snatched at them unceremoniously, and walked to the door of the shop, on the threshold of which he came to a full stop.

There were half a dozen letters for him, five appertaining to business at the museum, and the sixth enclosed in a long blue envelope, which he tore open eagerly. His was a face certainly dark with displeasure as he read, from beginning to end, the epistle for which he seemed to have been waiting. When he had finished the perusal of it, he turned to the first page and read it carefully through for a second time, the furrows deepening in his forehead, and the thick black eyebrows drooping ominously over his eyes.

"It was to be expected of him," he said as he folded the letter, and became aware that a gentleman was facing him on the grass-grown path, and waiting politely for his leisure.

"Good morning, Mr. Halfday. I am very glad to meet you," said Angelo Salmon.

Angelo was neatly, even trimly dressed, with a flower in his button-hole, and four inches of spotless shirt-cuff displayed beyond the wrists of his coat. He wore patent boots, and straps to his trousers, and had

evidently paid considerable attention to his general "get up" that morning. A beau of Bond Street could have scarcely looked more resplendent by the side of this dandy of Datchet Bridge.

"Good morning," said Brian, gruffly. "I thought I would not interrupt you whilst you were reading your letters, Mr. Halfday," Angelo continued, "but upon my word I am very glad to meet you, as I have said before."

"Have you any business with me this morning?

66 Not any. But I thought you could tell me how Miss Westbrook is to-day, how she got over all the excitement of yesterday, and then, you see, I need not trouble her for an hour or two longer."

"I see," said Brian, as he put the letter in his breast-pocket, and buttoned his black coat carefully over his chest.

"I never remember suffering so intensely as I did yesterday," Angelo Salmon went on, "sick headache, and a pain in the chest all day."

"You're bilious," Brian remarked.

"Oh dear, no, Mr. Halfday, it was pure anxiety concerning that young lady whom I have the honour to call my friend," said Angelo; "she had taken so strong an interest in your grandfather, and his death was so terrible a shock, and then this inquest, and she so weak. They might have postponed the inquest six or eight months, don't you think? and given Miss Westbrook time to come round, and take change of air, and so forth. There was no occasion for hurry." "Did you arrive here this morning?" asked Brian abruptly.

"No, late last night. I came disguised lest any one should recognise me and tell her I was in the village."

"And give her another terrible shockyes," said Brian.

I had promised to keep away till the inquest was completed. I had given my evidence some days since, but I could not rest a moment after four o'clock yesterday afternoon, so I came here," said Angelo. "I called on the landlady of the inn last night, and she told me Miss Westbrook had seen you after the funeral, which I hope you enjoyed-I mean, which I hope went off very well-that is, without anything particularly afflicting, you understand."

"It went off very well, thank you,"

answered Brian drily. "Which way are you going?"

"I am going towards the green, I think,” replied Angelo with hesitation, as if doubtful of his future steps.

"I am going in the other direction," said Brian very decidedly.

"Indeed," said Angelo, with a little start, and his face flushing very red. "Ah! I am afraid I'm in the way, and so soon after your bereavement too?"

"Yes," muttered Brian, "you are too

soon."

"But you have not told me how Miss Westbrook is."

"Getting strong rapidly."

"Thank Heaven," exclaimed Angelo. "I am really much obliged to you, too, Mr. Halfday, for this good news."

"Why it should be good news to you in particular, I scarcely comprehend," asked Brian sharply, "unless you have a greater right to thank Heaven for her better health than anybody else?"

"No sir; no greater right," said Angelo. "I trust that there is nothing in my manner which has suggested that I have. I would not for the world have such a question asked of me again," he added with less confusion and more dignity.

"Upon second consideration, Mr. Salmon, I am sure I had no right to ask it," said Brian, more gently; "but your manner was peculiar, and I-well, I am in one of my worst tempers this morning!"

"I am sorry to hear it. Your manner also struck me as peculiar, if I may be allowed to say so," said Mr. Salmon, "for when I saw you here, a few days ago, it suggested itself to me-almost suddenly, as it werethat I should like to know more of you."

"You are very kind," said Brian, becoming grave again.

"I mean, to see you more often-or rather to see if I could gain upon you by degrees, and become almost your friend. You would be surprised to hear I have not a friend in the world out of my own family." "Indeed."

"People do not take to me very readily," added Angelo sadly, "or I do not take readily to other people. I hardly know which."

"Friends will play you false, or borrow your money-you are better without them," was Brian's misanthropic advice.

"Have you not any friends?" inquired Angelo.

"I find my friends in my books, and they never betray me."

"Yes; but apart from books

66

"

'Apart from books I have no friends." "She said so."

"Who said so?" asked Brian, turning suddenly upon his companion; "who has dared to speak of me as friendless. Dorcas ?" "Miss Westbrook and I were speaking of you a few days since, that is all," replied Angelo; "and Miss Westbrook certainly said that you appeared to her to be a desolate young man."

"It's an odd word--desolate!" said our hero thoughtfully; "but it is pretty close to the truth."

"I happened to allude to myself in some way; I scarcely remember in what way now," Angelo continued, "but I know Miss Westbrook said that she thought I should be the better for a male friend who was strong-minded, and manly, and fearless, and all that."

"And she recommended me?"

"Or some one like you," replied Angelo ; "I know she mentioned you as a firm, selfreliant man."

"She compliments me," said Brian, more thoughtfully than ever.

"It is at my expense a little," added Angelo, with a feeble little laugh; "but I don't mind that. I know I'm more like a great girl than a man; they think so at home, I fancy. But chambers in town, and travelling to America, have done me a great deal of good lately. I seem to know the world now."

"It is a bitter knowledge very often," replied Brian," and I would not follow it too closely in your place. As for friends-they will be no good to you. As for myself, I am of a different sphere, and unfit for you.' "I do not quite understand." "I have not time to explain," answered Brian.

"

"I am detaining you," said Angelo very quickly; "probably I shall see you again before I drive Miss Westbrook to Penton."

"Oh! does she leave to-day?"

"I don't know. I am going to ask her if she feel well enough to undertake the journey," said Angelo; "my father and mother, and myself, don't like the idea of her remaining in this place."

"Will she return to the Hospital as your guest?"

"I hope she will-for a few days at least." "I shall see you again, I dare say," said Brian; "good morning."

Angelo re-echoed his "good morning" as Brian walked away from him. He went slowly and in a purposeless way towards the village green, whilst the curator dashed on at almost a headlong pace towards the churchyard.

"That man is softening," muttered Brian, as he strode on; "heaven and earth, what a friend to recommend to me! If Miss Westbrook had been in better spirits, I should have thought she had been jesting with us both."

He turned into the churchyard, and then stopped suddenly, with his hand upon the wicket gate. Mabel Westbrook was there; she was standing by the new grave wherein all that remained of Adam Halfday was buried.

"It is as well there-perhaps it is better there that she should hear the news," Brian said as he went towards her.

CHAPTER XXIII.

BY THE GRAVE OF ADAM HALFDAY.

ΜΑ

ABEL WESTBROOK was too deep in thought to notice the presence of Brian Halfday in the churchyard, until that gentleman was close upon her. Then she turned and saw him.

"It is kind of you to come here, Miss Westbrook," Brian said in rapid tones, "but I scarcely comprehend the motive for it. He was no friend of yours-he was an enemy to your family."

Mabel had extended her hand towards him, but he did not see it, or affected not to see it it was doubtful which—and, with a slight heightening of colour, the hand fell back to her side as she replied.

"Should I bear him malice now?" she asked.

"No, no-but why do you come to his grave?" rejoined Brian ; " what is the use of it? where is the necessity?"

"I thought I would come," said Mabel; "I can scarcely explain the reason, except