"Poor creature, I fancy he has forgotten all about shame."

"Come down-stairs, then, Fanny. I am ready, and I shall be glad to be near the fire, I feel so shivery. How I wish Tom were here!"

"So do I," returned Fanny, with cordial acquiescence.

It was considerably past seven when the friends established themselves in their cozy parlour, Fanny stirring the fire into a brilliant condition, sweeping up the hearth, and making all things orderly.

Mrs. Temple at once sat down to write to Tom, her heart still throbbing at the recollection of Galbraith's words and tone and looks. Her letter was very short: an exhortation to come without fail on Saturday, an announcement of Trapes's momentary appearance, but no word of Hugh. "If I mention him, I must tell everything, and that is quite impossible. It would be bad enough to tell Fanny, but Tom is out of the question."

Fanny had just returned from delivering this epistle into the hands of Sarah, to be posted on her way home, when a low, cautious ring of the front-door bell was heard. Mrs. Temple and Fanny both started. Rings at the front-door bell were rare at that hour, and this was a stealthy, equivocal ring, suggestive of the doorchain and careful reconnoitring.

"Who can it be?" exclaimed Fanny, stopping short in her approach to the fire. "Tell Mills to be sure and put on the chain," said Kate.

"I will go too," said Fanny, with heroic courage. She did so, but considerably behind the valiant Mills, who, candle in hand, advanced to face the enemy. A short colloquy ensued, and Fanny darted into the sitting-room on tiptoe. "It is Trapes!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "I told you he would come. He will not give his name, and Mills will not let him in. Shall you venture to see him?"

Do

"Yes, I must, though I don't half like it. But, Fan, we are three to one. you think he is sober?"

"He seems very quiet." "Oh, go and bring him in," cried Kate, impulsively.

Mrs. Temple will see the gentleman,"

He had endeavoured to impart an air of respectability to his attire. The dented hat had been restored to shape, though the mark of its misfortunes could not be obliterated. A dark overcoat in good preservation made him look a trifle less raffish, while both tie and collar were straight and in good order.

"Čircumstances which I will explain to Mrs. Temple, compel me to call at this unseasonable hour," said Trapes, in the best manner he could recall from his better days, as he stepped in and took off his hat.

"This way, if you please," returned Fanny, opening the parlour door. Trapes bowed and entered. Fanny hesitated to go or stay, but, at a sign from her friend, followed him.

"You wish to speak to me," said Mrs. Temple, who had risen, and who was standing by the table.

"Excuse me," said Trapes, still in a state of elegance, "but my communications are for you alone; may I request this young lady to leave us?"

"I have no secrets from Miss Lee," rèturned Kate. "Even if she goes away now, I shall tell her what you tell me an hour hence."

"Still," replied Trapes, "considering what sages (ill-bred old buffers, I grant), say of confiding a secret to one woman, it is not very prudent to reveal it to a brace."

"You will tell me no secret without her," said Kate, quietly and firmly, "for I will not speak to you alone, and if your secret is to do me any good, it must be very generally known.'

66

Ay, the part that concerns you! However, Mrs. Temple, I cannot blame you after my disgraceful conduct to-day," continued Trapes, with an air of penitence; "part of my errand here this evening was to crave your pardon. I am heartily ashamed. I can only say that I was under the influence of the demon drink, to which I have been driven by misfortunes not all deserved the base ingratitude of but," interrupting himself loftily, "I did not come here to complain about the inevitable! May I hope you will forgive me?

Fanny crept close to Kate, in a state of fear, dashed with acute curiosity.

"I do forgive you," said the latter, gently. "But it is very sad to reduce yourself voluntarily to a condition in

66

"It is it is, by George!" cried Trapes, heartily and naturally. However, it's never too late to mend," he went on, taking the chair indicated to him; "perhaps I may | recover myself yet. Anyhow, madamMrs. Temple, as you wish to be called - I shall not forget the kindly manner in which you interceded for me with that strong-fisted ruffian who knocked me over - not but that I would have done just the same in his place! I was always disposed to befriend a lady. I am especially so disposed towards this particular lady' a bow to Mrs. Temple; "but " -a long-drawn "but"-"it is my duty to see that my impulses square with my interests." Here Trapes drew forth with a flourish a large pocket-handkerchief, bordered by a pattern of foxes' heads, and used it audibly.

"You are very good," returned Kate, looking steadily at him. "Now perhaps you will tell me the object of your visit."

"Certainly, madam," he returned, then paused, eyed Fanny with some irresolution, and returned his handkerchief to his pocket.

66

'My object, ahem, is simple. It is, in the first place, to obtain the the advance of ten shillings you were good enough to desire me to call for, when you found your self minus your purse this afternoon." All Trapes's natural and acquired impudence was restored by the sound of his own voice.

"I do not think I named any sum," said Kate smiling, "and I think your conduct exonerates me from any promise."

"Very logical," said Trapes. "Nevertheless, a lady like you is not going to sell a poor devil with such a pleasant smile as

that?"

"I shall give you a trifle," she returned; "but before doing so, I should like to have some idea in what way you can serve me. I do not want you to tell all you know, but prove to me that you do know something."

"Deucedly well put, Mrs. Travers Temple, I mean. Well, then, I can prove that your late husband's will — I mean the one administered by Sir Hugh Galbraith is a forgery! I can produce the man who drew it out, two or three months after Mr. Travers's death, and I can produce the man who employed him to do it." Trapes pulled up short, with a triumphant wink.

"You can do all this!" exclaimed Kate, her eyes fixed upon him. "Then why

"I am too much taken by surprise to answer you," returned Kate, changing colour visibly, quivering all through with a strange mixture of feelings - exultation and fear, pain and pleasure. "If you are quite sure of what you state, how is it that you do not reveal all from a simple sense of right?"

“Because I am not a simpleton, my dear madam," said Trapes, with an indescribable wink. "I am poor-infernally poor. I have been driven and chivied, and sold right and left all my life, and I want a trifle to keep me going for the rest of my days. Now I have told you the sum total, I know; but, by all that's good, the rack shall not draw the particulars from me, unless I have some profit." Trapes closed his lips firmly as he ceased to speak.

Kate felt dreadfully puzzled. She must not seem too eager, she must not lose the information. She did a little mental calculation during the momentary silence which ensued. This man had evidently been hanging on Ford since the spring, when he had gone to Tom Reed to inquire about him. He had then either exhausted or quarrelled with Ford - probably both; if so, Trapes's only chance of turning his secret to account was with herself. It would be too bad if Ford was ruined, and the baser of the two rewarded. Her strong inner conviction of Ford's guilt gave her a key to the position which her shrewd legal adviser did not possess.

'Well, Mr. Trapes," she said at length (it was the first time she had mentioned his name — he looked up sharply), “I am still at a loss to answer. I do not know how far I might injure myself legally by entering into any bargain with you. I really can say or do nothing without Mr. Reed's advice. I expect him on Satur

day; come here and talk matters over with him. I am not indisposed to assist you, Mr. Trapes. I have heard Mr. Reed speak of you as a man of excellent abilities, but unfortunate."

"Oh, his patronage!" interrupted Trapes, impatiently; "he is rather a keen hand to deal with. But as you like, Mrs. Travers beg pardon, Mrs. Temple. If you don't think my information worth a trifle, why I may as well bottle it up. I am not sure I can see Reed on Saturday. I'm due at Bluffton on Saturday. I came here in the best of good feeling towards you, though that tall chap has warned the police against me. I had gone into the waiting-room at the station to rest a bit, and I saw him; he was just opposite the window, talking to a constable and describing me, till he stepped into the train and started. I had to slink out pretty quick, or I would have had more questions to answer than was agreeable. Yet I stuck to my text, and came to give you what help I could. I cannot say you have shown much gratitude."

decide upon I shall be happy to lend, or let you have". amending her phrase with a smile" the half-sovereign we were talking about."

And drawing one from her purse, she laid it within his reach.

"I must say that is acting like a trump," cried Trapes, clutching it eagerly. "You couldn't make it a whole sov., eh?"

"I cannot, indeed, you see I am far from rich.”

"Well, well, come to terms with me, and you may ride on velvet the rest of your life."

"We will see about it. Good evening, Mr. Trapes."

She bowed him out politely but decidedly, and he retired, Fanny holding a candle, and locking, bolting, and chaining the door carefully after him.

"What a fearful, dreadful, dishonest creature," she cried, when she was safe in again, sitting down on the side of a chair. "The whole place smells of bad tobacco! Why would you not promise anything, Kate? I am afraid he will not tell a word that will do you any good unless you give him some money. Do you really think he knows all he says?"

"I can only repeat, Mr. Trapes, that without Mr. Reed I can do nothing. You may be quite sure that I am eager to assert my right, and I am not the sort of woman to be ungrateful; but, as to meeting Mr. Reed, you must do what you think best. It might be," she added, after an instant's pause, in which a sudden flash of thought suggested a stroke she would probably not have played had she reflected, "it might be more to your interest to make your confession to Mr. Ford." Her eyes were on Trapes as she spoke, and though he kept his countenance with tolerable success, there was a momentary look of blank astonishment, instantly covered by an insolent laugh.

"And who the deuce is Ford, when he is at home?"

"I need not describe him. You know probably more of him than I do."

"Not I," he returned, carelessly. "Well, then, I suppose what you say is not so unreasonable. If, on reflection, I think it advisable to meet Reed here on Saturday, I will do so."

"Meantime," said Mrs. Temple, willing to conciliate him, "whatever course you

having to prosecute Mr. Ford for forgery -he was so respectable and kind and obliging-and then Hugh Galbraith! I do not seem able to face it all."

"No, indeed I am sure it is enough to turn your brain. But as to Hugh Galbraith," insinuatingly, “ "you said you would tell me all about him."

I

And I will Fan, I will! but not now. could not now-indeed I could not-1 want to think. Give me my writing book." After arranging her writing-materials as if about to begin a letter, Kate suddenly laid down her pen. "No, I shall not tell Mr. Wall until I have seen Tom. Fanny, do take your work and sit opposite to me; I cannot bear you to creep about putting things away in that distractingly quiet fashion. Ah, dear, dear Fan! how cross and unreasonable I am and to you who have been such a help and a comfort to me during my eclipse."

"Have I really? then I am worth something. Never mind, the eclipse is nearly over, and won't you blaze out gloriously by-and-by!"

"Heaven knows! I fear the future

more than I can say. I feel it is just a toss-up, apart from success or failure,

three hours be easily reached from the Waldbruck station, and the toy villages of Gröden are united to the outer world.

On the day of this memorable event (Oct. 26th, 1856), such a crowd of Grödners, and their Romansch neighbours from the adjacent valleys, was gathered on the declivities and meadows at St. Ulrich as had never been seen before nor ever will be seen again. They were assembled to watch the first carriages drive into Ulrich in solemn procession to the sound of triumphant music and the firing of guns. Owing to the difficult nature of the undertaking, the majority had doubted its accomplishment. Many old people shed tears of joy. A child, full of astonishment, exclaimed to her mother, "See, the gentlemen have brought a little house with them;" and when the woman explained to her that it was a stage-coach, she returned, “Yes, but it is still a house. Look at its windows, and the doors by which they go in and out."

The next morning the simple peasants heard for the first time the posthorn. Their region had become to them Wonderland. And Wonderland it still remains in another sense to me. I propose, therefore, to jot down some particulars of this peculiar people, whether gathered from their own lips or from the trustworthy account of them, which, under the title "Gröden und die Grödner," their former parish priest and countryman, Don Josef Vian, has had the goodness to write in German.

We are privileged to possess a summer residence in Tyrol, and health and strength to make thence long excursions year after year into adjacent valleys. Thus it hap pened that a friend and I were once seated on an upland ridge of the Enneberg district. We were resting, and by our side stood a weird, weather-beaten old man of the mountains, who acted as our guide. He had first opened our hearts by offering us a portion of his scanty store of bread, and we had now opened his thin lips by unexpectedly producing sandwiches and bidding him partake. How loquacious he became how his dull eyes glistened! He told us, in a queer mixture of broken German and Italian (he being Romansch, a native of the district, and speaking a different tongue), that during the eighty-five years he had lived he had scarcely seen meat; it had been for eighty years one loaf a day, a drop of coffee in the morning, a drop of coffee for merenda in the afternoon. And it was hard to get that.

"But over there," and he waved with his

withered hand in the direction of a stupendous dolomite, towering far above green valley and forest-clad col—" over there lived gente, who knew the taste of meat; and the frauen, the signore, all painted. They were rich, they were! And they painted and painted, and drank coffee by the cup, not the drop; and those frauen understood his mother tongue, which the signore with whom he now spoke did not."

This account was interesting but perplexing. "Did the frauen paint thus?" and we produced paper and brushes. The old man shook his head: "They painted oggetti." These oggetti remained a mystery, because the more the poor old fellow tried to explain, the more he mystified us, and finally himself, losing all thread to his small German and Italian vocabulary, and resorting to Romansch, with much emphasis.

We could merely, therefore, note the direction in which the wealthy women dwelt, and determine, as soon as circumstances permitted, to clear up the question for ourselves.

must

Now the riddle is solved. We are at St. Ulrich. Look with me from the window, and you shall see one of "the signore who paint." She is a young Grödnerin, who sells apples and pears at the door of the "Adler," opposite. Although fruit in this elevated region is scarce, and brought from a distance, she does not carry on a brisk trade. Consequently, being a pru dent girl, desirous to make both ends meet, she employs her time in administering little dabs of vermilion on the cheeks of a multitude of farthing dolls. To-morrow she will add the rosy lips, the red shoes and white stockings; the day after, the black eyes, eyebrows, and hair, all forming the distinctive features which these literal "babes in the wood possess. Let us cross over the road and speak to her. We are not proud : how pleased she is. She tells us that Herr Purger gives her the dolls to paint. He pays her a farthing a dozen, out of which sum she must herself find the paint and size. If she could work at home she could, however, paint several hundred dozen a week, but with her stall she never manages more than half the number. Her home is a mile off; her father carves horses and dolls; her mother and sister paint. So much for Nanna; and we can add that the painting, whilst bringing in little profit, being very poorly paid for, is extremely pernicious, as the health is often injured by the employment of white lead,