"What a host of admirers you have already in your train, Madge," whispered Mrs. Arnold to her sister as she came opposite the portrait of Lord Melrose and stood admiring the exquisite touch and execution of the artist.

The latter had been engaged in conversation with a group of ladies when his eyes fell upon Marguerite Verne. The earnest gaze made the girl look toward him, and as she did so that look made a deep impression upon the youth.

"I would give almost all I possess to paint that face," thought he, gazing intently at the spirituelle type of beauty that is so seldom seen.

"Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Verne," said Mrs., Arnold, who felt much flattered at the admiration paid Marguerite.

"I think that we must persuade her to sit for a portrait, Mr. Manning," said Mrs. Arnold, trying to attract her mother's attention from the niche in which she sat carelessly chatting with some acquaintances they had made on their ocean trip.

Soon Mrs. Verne found them, and was in ecstacies over her daughter's proposal.

"It would be such a nice way to show Madge to advantage. I am delighted with the thought," said Mrs. Arnold to her mother, as she toyed with her jewelled fan and gazed carelessly around to see if Lord Melrose were yet in the studio.

"How provoking. It is just always so! It will afford such satisfaction to my sweet-tempered husband."

"My dear Mrs. Arnold; it does one good to meet you after trying to live a few days at Portsmouth," cried a showy looking military man, perhaps forty years of age, perhaps younger, with a heavy reddish moustache and dark auburn hair.

"I cannot really say whether you are complimentary or not, colonel," said Mrs. Arnold, smiling with all the angelic sweetness at her command, "since I have never had the pleasure of visiting that renowned place."

"Well, I should consider it the highest compliment that could be paid," said a brother officer in dark blue uniform with a sprinkling of "silver threads among the gold," "coming as it does from one who can stand the siege when a thousand bright eyes are levelled upon him at a garrison ball in Portsmouth with a heart as impregnable as the fort at Gibraltar!"

"Thank you, Major Greene, for your kind consideration to both parties," said Mrs. Arnold, bowing sweetly to the former. The gallant colonel also bowed acknowledgment, and then espied Marguerite Verne, who still lingered near the artist, considering him far above the shallow set that frequented his studio.

"Who is that beautiful girl talking to Mr. Manning?" queried he, raising his eyeglass with an air of interest.

"I shall present you in due time," said Mrs. Arnold, with a faint smile revealing the most exquisite set of teeth that eye ever beheld.

As if by intuition Marguerite cast her eyes towards the aspirants and the action brought a faint blush.

"Beautiful as Hebe, by Jove," exclaimed the rubicund major, in an undertone that implied he was also deeply interested in the fair young face and graceful supple form.

How the manoeuvering mamma watched each sign of admiration thus directed towards her daughter.

"If I can only accomplish my wishes my life will be one uninterrupted calm. I will then lay me down in peace," thought Mrs. Verne, as she re-arranged the folds of her silken train to her entire satisfaction.

Hubert Tracy had been detained on a fishing excursion up the Cam, whither he had gone with some rollicking companions to recruit his health and restore some of the youthful bloom that dissipation had almost destroyed.

Marguerite could ill conceal her disgust as she met the weak-minded and, to her, contemptible young man, on the week following.

It was at a brilliant assemblage, under the patronage of Mrs. Montague Arnold.

Never was maiden more becomingly attired, for despite her friends' entreaties, Marguerite's taste was simplicity, indeed. Her modest pearl-colored satin was relieved by knots of delicate pansies—one of Marguerite's many favorite flowers—and the delicate and chaste silver ornaments, made her toilet simply bewitching.

"Mrs. Arnold is imperial, but Miss Verne is truly angelic," was the exclamation of a man of fashion, and the leader of his club, as the two sisters stood side by side receiving the brilliant throng of guests that filled to overflowing the gorgeously lighted parlors, sumptuous drawing-room and bewitching conservatories.

Why was it that Marguerite shrank from the touch of Hubert Tracy's hand as if stung by an adder? Why was it that, when she was obliged to listen to his flattering, oily tongue, that she saw the manly dignified form of Phillip Lawson standing between, with his hand uplifted, as if in gesture of warning, and a stern reproachful look upon his honest face?

These are questions that will be answered some day when the world is older and wiser—when the great road to science will have been trodden further on towards the goal which shall reveal all mysteries in the light of simple truths—when man can look a fellow being in the face and trace each thought written there.

Mrs. Arnold was in the confidence of her husband's friends, and she had partly deceived her mother to carry out her designs.

Mrs. Verne had hitherto set her heart upon Hubert Tracy, but she was now flattered by the admiration paid to Marguerite by several of the nobility, and she thought it would indeed be a rare distinction for her daughter to have a title.

"I see how it is with mamma, and if I am not sharp she will nonplus me," thought the beauty, as she watched the game which her anxious mother was playing so skilfully, and, as the latter thought, so successfully.

"But I will do nothing rash. Nothing succeeds like caution," and musing thus Mrs. Arnold placed her jewelled fingers in those of her partner and was whirled away to revel in the delightful elysium of waltzland.



CHAPTER XXI.

MRS. ARNOLD CONFIDES IN HUBERT TRACY.

Mrs. Arnold's beauty was commented upon by the fashionable throng with whom she daily mingled. She was sought after and courted by her many admirers; yet among them all there was none who thought her the most charming of her set.

The wily beauty had adopted a line of policy that was not the most discreet. She showed a spiteful spirit towards any of her sex who laid claim to personal charms, and often said many bitter things in a way that was neither dignified nor ladylike.

It was in such a spirit that Mrs. Arnold returned from a grand ball where she had seen Lord Melrose pay marked attention to the pretty Mrs. Maitland. With anger in her bosom she strode the elegant boudoir with measured beat and vowed vengeance upon her more fortunate rival.

"Why does any one envy me the charms I possess?

"Ah, me!" she cried, looking at herself in the mirror with her hands poised in the attitude of a Caryatid. "It is all I have. Happiness I shall never know; but one thing I do know—that I will laugh, dance and sing and have a merry life while I am young, and then when my charms have fled to a younger form I will bury myself in some remote convent and try to make atonement for my gay and worldly life."

It were strange, indeed, that Mrs. Arnold had this sense of wrong. She did, indeed, realize that her actions were not what any sensible woman would justify, yet she took refuge in the thought that when she grew old there was time enough for discretion.

Another trait of her disposition: It grieved her to see others happy. Like the arch fiend who turned aside with envy when he beheld the happy pair in the Garden of Eden and from that hour plotted their ruin, so Mrs. Arnold from, sheer envy was determined that the innocent and pure-minded Marguerite should be associated with the coarse side of humanity—in short, that she should become familiar with the fashionable miseries of a fashionable woman.

But Mrs. Arnold reckoned without her host. She met with more opposition than she expected, and the lesson she yet had to learn cost her a bitter experience!

Mrs. Verne's vascillating nature was a source of much annoyance to her first-born.

"It is so provoking," murmured Mrs. Arnold, as she noted the infatuation her mother possessed for a certain baronet of a distinguished Yorkshire family.

"I've set my mind upon Hubert, and mamma must yield. As for Madge, she is out of the matter entirely."

As if in answer to her thoughts the young man was soon at her side looking quite interesting.

"You naughty boy; I am inclined to be angry with you—not one dance have you sought."

"From the very fact that I cannot have one. Ah, Mrs. Arnold, you well know how to amuse yourself at the expense of us poor unfortunates," said Mr. Tracy, glancing at the tablet already filled for every dance.

"I have a mind to cancel this," said he, pointing to that of the Yorkshire baronet.

"No, indeed, Mr. Tracy; that would be pleasure at too great a sacrifice. I have a motive for entertaining the baronet."

Mrs. Arnold smiled one of her peculiarly attractive smiles, significant of the part she was to enact.

She whispered a few well-directed, words into the young man's ear, and taking his arm led him to the conservatory.

"I can only stay a couple of minutes at the least, so I wish you to be all attention."

Hubert Tracy seated himself beside Mrs. Arnold and listened to her dear confiding tones.

"Mr. Tracy, I despise that Yorkshire bore, with his coarse English and stupid manners. And his effrontery in presuming to play the suitor to Madge. It is all your own fault. You follow at a distance and have not the courage to claim your rights—"

"Rights!"

"Yes; I say rights, Mr. Tracy. I say that you have a right to claim Madge, because we always looked upon you as her future husband. The girl knows not her own mind, but she will never go against mamma's wishes, and I know that she cares for you, though she will not own it."

"If I thought so I would be happy, for if any woman will ever reclaim me it will be Marguerite Verne."

"Such talk, Mr. Tracy; I'm sure you are no worse than the general run of men. Pray don't talk of reclaiming; that sounds as if you had committed something dreadful."

Just then there arose before Hubert Tracy's vision the sad picture of a brave young man, struggling so hard to prove his innocence when circumstances are all against him. He sees the reproachful gaze of the sorrowful eyes, and he stops his ears to keep back the sound of the reproachful tones that force themselves upon him.

But Mrs. Arnold knows it not.

"We will dispense with the word if it displeases you, Mrs. Arnold. I will do anything that you wish, even if it be impossible for you to be in a dearer relation than at present."

"Hubert Tracy, if you succeed not, remember it is through no fault of mine. Just listen to me."

The young man listened, and in a few short words Mrs. Arnold made known her plans.

"We will succeed or I am not what I think myself," said Mrs. Arnold, readjusting the spray of heliotrope that was displaced in her corsage.

"Adieu for the present, dear Hubert," said the latter, on seeing Lord Melrose advancing to claim her for the next waltz.

"Ah, my fear truant, you have given me a world of anxiety. Why do you persist in such delightful methods of torture."

"Torture! Lord Melrose!" exclaimed the lady with an air of arch coquetry.

Meanwhile Marguerite Verne sat in the quiet of her own apartment. She had retired from the heated ball-room at an earlier hour than many of the guests. A wearied look rested upon the girl's face. She was heartily worn out with the excessive fatigue attending fashionable life.

"Well, it seems that I am fated for a martyr, and I must calmly submit," said she, loosening the luxuriant mass of silken hair that had been arranged to suit the most fastidious taste of Mrs. Arnold.

Donning a loose wrapper, and exchanging the pretty white satin slippers for a pair of soft morocco ones. Marguerite threw herself into a large and inviting arm-chair.

"I will not allow myself to think. My thoughts are rebellious," and immediately a pretty little pocket Testament found its way into the girl's hand.

A few words escaped Marguerite's lips as if an invocation was asked; then she read aloud the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians: "Though I speak with the tongue of men and angels," etc.

The sweet voice of the reader was not heard in vain. Marguerite closed the book and remained motionless for some moments, when she fancied that there was a noise as if some one were listening at the door.

"I am so foolish. My nerves are unstrung from keeping late hours," murmured she. Then hastily glancing towards the spot whence the sound proceeded Marguerite knelt down and prayed that an All-Merciful Providence would keep her from the temptations of fashionable society.

"God help me, I'm lost. I dare not approach that angel in disguise, else I would ask her what is meant by that Charity."

These words were muttered by Montague Arnold, who having been unable to attend his wife to the ball, had now returned in a state of intoxication.

Had Marguerite listened she might have heard the words repeated; but she had dropped off into a quiet slumber and lay unconscious of the semi-brutal state of her dissipated brother-in-law.

The next morning brought invitations for private theatricals at the house of a distinguished foreign embassy.

The spacious mansion in St. James' Court received the grandees of every land. It was a high honor to enter "Rosemere Place."

Mrs. Verne was almost beside herself (to use a vulgarism). She walked on air, as it were, and could talk of nothing else but the elegance and grandeur in prospect.

"I have accepted Mr. Tracy as escort, mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, entering her drawing room with an elegant dress that had just arrived from the modiste.

"Now, Evelyn, have you not been a little premature? Would it not have been better to wait, for I think that Sir Arthur would in all probability have called to offer his service to Madge."

"Sir Arthur is a horrid bore, mamma—he is intolerable. I cannot see why you encourage him. I'm sure his estates are heavily mortgaged. I don't believe he can afford to pay for the kid gloves that he nourishes on his big brawny hands!"

"Some malicious person has been endeavoring to misrepresent Sir Arthur. I wish you would not listen to such stuff. I am certain that he is immensely wealthy, and then think of his family!"

Mrs. Verne did not wish to quarrel with her daughter; yet it seemed that a quarrel was brewing.

"You think it so important to secure a title for Madge that you would have her struggle amid shabby genteel surroundings in order to introduce her as Lady Forrester!"

"Shame, Evelyn! you forget that I am your mother," said Mrs. Verne, raising her hand with haughty gesture and looking the embodiment of injured innocence.

"Forgive me, mamma, I did not mean to anger you," said Mrs. Arnold with an air of deep contrition.

This act was the latter's only safeguard. She knew well the key to her mother's character, and was determined to take advantage of every point.

"You know, mamma that we must look to dear papa's interest as well. His business is in a precarious state. I heard Montague say that it is tottering, and Hubert's great riches will be at Madge's disposal."

Mrs. Verne could not but admire the thoughtful argument of her daughter.

"True enough, child; but if Mr. Tracy hears of the circumstance he will soon throw us over, my dear," said Mrs. Verne with something like agitation in her voice.

"Nothing of the kind, dear mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, placing her hand caressingly upon her mother's shoulder "it is thus that I have proved the true worth of Mr. Tracy's character—he not only spoke of the matter but intimated in a delicate manner that now he could sue more boldly for Madge's hand—be in a position to place dear papa on a surer footing than, he ever was."

"It is indeed a great blessing to know that we have such true friends," said Mrs. Verne in a tone that showed her heart was not with the subject.

Poor Mrs. Verne!

She had, since her arrival in England, changed her views as regards a son-in-law.

Her heart was set on the baronet and she wished that the merciless Evelyn would have expatiated on his riches instead of those of former friends.

"I can never have what I want," sighed the anxious mother as she sought her boudoir to write a letter in answer to the one which lay upon the Indian cabinet opposite.

"What on earth brings about these insolvencies is more than I can account for. One thing certain I can wash my hands of it. It is not our extravagance that will cause it."

Mrs. Verne glanced at the surroundings hoping to see much simplicity, but the elegance of the magnificent suite of apartments were sadly at variance with her speech.

"And to think of Evelyn's opposition. She is settled and should mind her own affairs, and judging from what I can see, she will have enough to do to keep her head up. Montague Arnold is no better than he ought to be. Well, well! I suppose his money will hold out and that is all that is required—oh dear, if Sir Arthur had Hubert Tracy's money."

The letter being finished a servant was despatched with the budget of mail, and Mrs. Verne took up a pretty design, of Kensington work that she was fashioning for a table scarf.

"I don't feel like anything to-day," murmured the woman, throwing the work aside and yawning several times.

"Madge, I'm glad you have come. Where is that novel I saw you reading yesterday?"

"Rossmoyne, do you mean, mamma?"

"Yes, I glanced over it and think it is fascinating, and I stand sorely in need of just such a work to-day."

Marguerite knew from her mother's fretted looks that she had been somewhat annoyed, and judging that Evelyn had something to do in the matter, said nothing, but quietly withdrew to her own apartments.

Although Mrs. Verne and her daughter spent much of their time in Mrs. Arnold's elegant suite of rooms, they occupied an exclusive suite of apartments in an aristocratic square not far distant.

Marguerite had been amusing herself in reading over some extracts from her pocket diary when a pretty young page entered with an exquisite bouquet of rare exotics.

"How lovely," was the simple remark, as the girl took them in her hand and held them out to view, while the fragrance exhaled was almost overwhelming.

A tiny note, peeped out between a cluster of heliotrope and blush roses.

"It is provoking," thought the maiden, as she drew forth the perfumed billet-doux and read what might be considered a declaration of love.

Sir Arthur Forrester was not a dissipated man, nor was he a disagreeable man, yet he was not what a girl of Marguerite Verne's nature would desire for a husband.

"This is just what mamma has been angling for," thought Marguerite as she tore up the note into tiny shreds and showed more spirit than her sister Eve would have given her credit for.

"I thought as much dear Madge," said Mrs. Verne, who on entering beheld the bouquet, "and to think that Evelyn should accept Mr. Tracy as escort when we could have Sir Arthur. It is, indeed, provoking beyond endurance. Madge you are to be congratulated upon such good luck; scores of girls would envy you the proud position as Lady Forrester, and for once I hope my child will consider well before she lets such an offer meet with refusal."

Marguerite sat as if in a state of utter abstraction. She was too much confused to reply. "Honor thy father and mother" had been an important part of her religion. Must she now say words of dire rebellion—the thought cost a bitter pang. The tears rose to her eyes and her lips were pallid and tremulous.

"Mamma I cannot think you would ask me to encourage Sir Arthur feeling as I do at present. I respect him but nothing more, please do not mention the subject again. I do not wish to leave you and I know papa wishes me to remain always with him and make his home what it ought to be."

The last remark was too much for Mrs. Verne's temper.

"Marguerite, lately I had begun to think that you had more sound sense than your fortunate sister but I am doomed to bitter disappointment. One need expect nothing but ingratitude from children—especially mine. Hear me, Madge: if you refuse Sir Arthur you will live to repent of it—remember my words!" and gathering up her trailing robes Mrs. Verne turned angrily away leaving Marguerite to her own sad thoughts.



CHAPTER XXII.

AN INSIGHT INTO MR. VERNE'S AFFAIRS.

Summer had passed into autumn—all nature was arrayed in robes of gorgeous dye. The foliage of Sunnybank was brilliant and the leafy shrubberies had not yet begun to show signs of decay.

Mr. Verne sat in the library and beside him sat a welcome guest.

Mrs. Montgomery made several excuses for her untimely interruption and Mr. Verne received them with the best of grace—he well knew what had prompted the visit—the good kind and generous heart.

As the matronly appearance of the new comer awakened a spirit of interest in the affairs of Sunnybank so it aroused the quiet unobtrusive master. Mr. Verne thanked God from the bottom of his heart that he could sit in his office and hear the voice of a true friend in kindly counsel with the domestics.

"Ah! if Matilda were only like her, how different our lives might have been," murmured the wearied man of business, then heaving a deep sigh glanced over the latest exchange sheets, trying to find relief from the depressing thoughts that were crowding hastily through his overworked brain.

"Sooner or later it must come and God knows it is through no discrepancies on my part. Poor little Madge; she is a good child. If she were only settled I would feel more relief; but she is to be bartered for pelf, poor child. I will stand by her to the last."

Voices in the parlor now claimed Mr. Verne's attention.

"Strange too, at the very moment," murmured the latter as he closed the folios and then ran his fingers through his hair as if to prepare for some pleasing reception.

A cheery voice exclaimed "business kept me away sir, but I could stand it no longer," and shaking his host's hand with more than hearty grasp Phillip Lawson soon found himself at home in Sunnybank's elegant parlor.

The young lawyer could not fail to note the careworn look upon Mr. Verne's passive countenance, nor did he fail to note the cause, while a strange yearning feeling went straight to the warm heart.

"If it were only in my power to help him," murmured Phillip in inarticulate tones as he took up a newspaper that lay on the small table near. It was a late English paper and bore the address of Mr. Verne in a neat graceful hand.

"We have just heard from Marguerite," said Mr. Verne, attempting to be very cheerful.

"I hope all are well, sir?" ventured Mr. Lawson timidly.

"Yes, they are in good health, but I fear that Marguerite is wearied of life in gay cities. Mr. Lawson, you cannot imagine how much I miss her. It seems as if part of my life is gone from me."

Mr. Verne's voice was husky and unsteady and his eyes had a far off wistful look that struck a vibrative chord in Phillip Lawson's breast.

"I might as well make a clean breast of it at once," thought the latter, "no good comes of carrying a pent up sorrow to one's grave without trying to seek sympathy from a fellow being—and to none would I go more willingly than her father."

A slight pause ensued and Mr. Lawson spoke.

"It is pleasant for Miss Verne to see the mother country and form comparisons for herself and no doubt she will be the better for having had a change of climate."

"Yes, that was why I did not oppose her going away. I knew that her constitution was delicate, but again, that fact made it the harder for me to associate Marguerite with late hours and all the inconveniences of fashionable life. I tell you what it is Mr. Lawson I am no advocate of fast living and I thank God that my daughter is only playing a part in which her heart has no interest."

"Miss Verne has a mind far above such things," said Mr. Lawson with some warmth.

Mrs. Montgomery had adroitly slipped out unobserved and was busying herself over some mending which was needed.

She could hear the hum of the voices and could almost distinguish the words being said.

"If Stephen Verne is not a downright fool he will straighten matters up yet," thought the woman as she put away the work-basket and began to plan work for the following day.

Conversation still went on briskly and Mr. Verne seemed himself once more. His burden felt light in the presence of the young lawyer and from the depths of his soul he longed for a closer intimacy—that bond of true sympathy which cements hearts forever.

Phillip Lawson partly realized the fact: the barriers of conventionalism were fearlessly torn down as he took courage to speak out.

"Mr. Verne you do not surely think that a man of sense can be blind to the inestimable and rare qualities which he sees in Miss Verne's character. If we had more woman like her what a different world it would be!"

"God bless you, my boy," said Mr. Verne fervently.

"Amen," responded a voice from another apartment but unheard in the parlor.

What invisible, subtle power prevented the young man from falling on his knees and confessing his love for the pure Marguerite?

What invisible presence laid a pressure upon Phillip Lawson's lips and sealed them fast?

What invisible force turned the conversation into another and entirely different source, yet did not weaken the bond already established.

Mr. Verne communicated many proofs of his entire confidence and the thought gave to his young friend more courage.

"It is indeed a trying season sir, but I trust you will keep abreast of the times. Many of our establishments are said to be in a shaky condition."

"If they give me time I am all right, if not I am gone."

Phillip Lawson was a poor man. What right had he to offer consolation? He said nothing, but inwardly prayed that the storm might pass over and all would be brighter than the May morn.

"I challenge you to a game of dominoes, gentlemen," cried Mrs. Montgomery who now felt that her presence was necessary.

"We are only too happy Mrs. Montgomery," said Phillip rising from his seat and placing a chair for her.

Mr. Verne also being seated the time honored game of muggins was soon in active operation and, as is often the cape, the lady being the best player was sadly worsted but submitted with a grace that was amusing.

"Come in often, Mr. Lawson; I am going to remain for three or four weeks and we need all the companionship we can muster," said the lively and unceremonious matron as she bade good-night to the former with an air of interest in every look and gesture—a something which seemed to say "depend on me."

Nor was the warm pressure of Mr. Verne's hand lost upon the susceptible nature of Phillip Lawson.

"If I had Hubert Tracy's riches what an amount of good I could accomplish; but what's the use." And for once the Christian spirit of the young man underwent sore temptation. He was wondering why it was that prodigals and spendthrifts, with no special ability but that of wasting other people's earnings, should have means inexhaustible while other poor fellows with fair ability should have to toil all their days for the means of subsistence and never have the wherewith to relieve their suffering fellow mortals or follow the yearnings of their impassionate hearts!

Mrs. Montgomery stood on the terrace and watched the receding figure of Phillip Lawson until he had crossed Queen Square and turned Charlotte street. She then returned to the parlor, and finding Mr. Verne sitting as if in deep study, was about to retire when he quietly motioned her to a seat.

"Sit down here. Our young friend has gone, and it seems as if he took all the sunshine with him, for I feel more prosy than ever."

"You need not try to hide your feelings from me, Stephen; it is of no use. I am here to help you all I can, and much as it will cost you I must hear your trouble. Heaven knows I would gladly do all that lies within my power."

Mrs. Montgomery's bustling and blustering nature had now become calm and gentle as a child as she sat beside her brother-in-law and poured into his ear such words of sympathy and encouragement as she could honestly give.

"We will not blame her altogether," said Mr. Verne. "She was young and fond of gaiety, and I thought that in course of time our natures should blend together, but sad to say, with coming years the breach widened. She went into society and I took refuge in seclusion."

"Stephen, you need not try to smooth matters!" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery, allowing her temper to get aroused. "She is all to blame. Matilda is a fool, and I would tell her so if she stood face to face with me to-night!"

Mr. Verne did not raise his eyes, for he did not wish his companion to see the look of desperation settled there.

"And to think of the manner in which poor Marguerite is dragged over the continent for the sake of hunting up a grand match is something beyond endurance."

"It is all too true, Hester," moaned the grief-stricken husband. "It is all too true."

"And I would oppose it to the bitter end, Stephen. Yes, I would face poverty a thousand times rather than see a child of mine subjected to such indignity. I have watched Matilda's high-handed work with keen interest, I have noted everything, and if she thinks she has hoodwinked me I pity her delusion."

"The truth is I have been too much immersed in business to attend to much else, Hester, but at times I have not liked the manner in which things were going on. I never gave consent to Evelyn's marriage, I could not sanction it, but the girl seemed bent upon it, and I made no opposition in the matter."

"Montague Arnold is a dissipated man and immoral in every sense of the word, but that matters not in good society."

Mrs. Montgomery's face was indeed severe as she took from her pocket a piece of knitting and began making stitches rapidly.

"It is one of the many enigmas of fashionable society which I can never account for: why the most worthless, debauched and dissipated young men are fawned upon, lionized and courted by the most respectable mothers and matrons, and allowed the full liberty of their ball-rooms, drawing-rooms, salons, &c., claiming the most virtuous maidens for their amusement and pastime! And further, an honest-minded young man, who leads a strictly moral life, and labors hard to gain a reputation for himself, is cast aside or scorned as a mere nobody!"

"It is too true, Hester, I can fully endorse what you say. I have indeed turned away in disgust from fashionable resorts when I have seen young men of the most vicious habits contaminating the very air with their dissoluteness, flirting and dancing with the pure-minded girls who would have shrunk away in loathing could they hare seen the same young men at a later hour in dens of iniquity."

Mr. Verne was excited; he thought of his lovely Marguerite, and a pang shot through his heart, causing his face and lips to become ashy white.

"It is a disagreeable subject to broach, but I cannot help it, Stephen—I mean Hubert Tracy," said Mrs. Montgomery, in suppressed and measured tones. "You are not blind, Stephen, to the fact that Matilda and Evelyn are conspiring to find a son-in-law for you, and that one is Mr. Tracy?"

"God forbid!" said Mr. Verne, springing to his feet as if stung by an adder.

"As true as my name is what it is, Stephen, you will see it—that is—if you do not try to prevent it."

"My Marguerite will never sacrifice herself in that way," said Mr. Verne, vehemently—"never!"

"She will be talked into it. Marguerite will do anything rather than incur her mother's ill-will; for depend upon it, Matilda will lead her a sorry life if she shows opposition to her will."

"I have been too careless, Hester. It is yet time enough, thank God! When Marguerite is once more safe in my sheltering arms she will neer be subjected to the importunities of disagreeable suitors."

"Evelyn has too much diplomacy in her character. Marguerite cannot cope with her ingenious allurements, depend upon it, but I hope everything may turn out for the best yet," said Mrs. Montgomery, with a wistful look upon her countenance.

"Hester, I have much to think of. Sometimes my thoughts are almost insupportable, I almost sink—I believe I would if it were not for Marguerite. She is my ministering angel—and I miss her so much."

It was only on this evening that Mr. Verne had become communicative. He was always looked upon as a cold, reticent man, who had no sympathy with humanity in general; but there were those who could say "God bless you, Mr. Verne," from the bottom of their hearts. Who will presume to say that those grateful invocations were lost upon the winds—that they were not wafted to the Throne of Mercy, and received the plaudits of the King of Kings?

"I have long been thinking of having a talk with you, Stephen, and I feel now is the time," said Mrs. Montgomery, in confidential tone, yet betraying some hesitation. "We all know Stephen, that your family is living beyond your means, and that you are robbing yourself of health, strength and peace of mind to keep up an extravagant appearance. I ask you if that is right?"

"Hester, it is this that is killing me by inches, yet I cannot prevent it. What can I do? I cannot breast the current that is carrying along everything with it in maddening fury. One day I must make the plunge!"

Mr. Verne buried his face in his hands and wept like a child, while Mrs. Montgomery sat motionless, her eyes fixed upon the quaintly carved case of the eight day clock, whose solemn tick made the stillness more oppressive.

Mrs. Montgomery was the first to speak. "Stephen, it is not too late to straighten up matters. Take my advice, and if you are not more prosperous a year hence I will give you the deed of 'Gladswood.'—a present on your next birthday."

Mr. Verne forced a smile, and grasping the woman's hand, exclaimed, "Hester, you are, indeed, a friend in the hour of need. I feel stronger already."

"It is growing late, Stephen, and you need rest; we will talk over the matter to-morrow," and bidding good-night, Mrs. Montgomery arose and retired to her own apartments, while Mr. Verne sat buried in thought until the clock struck the hour of midnight; then slowly he arose, and, with languid step, turned a sad face towards the door, musing, "It is all sent for some good. Teach me, oh God, to see things as I ought."



CHAPTER XXIII.

MRS. MONTGOMERY'S IDEAS OF SOCIETY, ETC.

Next morning Mr. Verne was astir at a very early hour. The rest of the household apparently wrapped in deep slumber, while the wearied man of business sat at his desk, his features fixed and immovable as the bronze productions of the inimitable Lysippus who had won the favor of the Great Alexander.

Scratch! scratch! scratch! went the pen over the lines with inconceivable rapidity, the writer occasionally glancing over his left arm at the document he was copying. The tortoise-shell cat sat at her master's feet with an air of self-importance and a look which seemed to say, "woe be to him who dare to drive me hence."

But there was another within the walls of Sunnybank who was also awake—Mrs. Montgomery.

She leaned on the side of her couch and listened to the faint sound that at intervals came from the office: "Well, well; what will be the end God alone knows! Matilda Verne, you will one day see the fruits of your folly and taste them in all their bitterness!"

"I must divert him from such work. It is killing the man by inches; surely there is some way out of the difficulty—where there's a will there's a way.'"

Mrs. Montgomery said the last words with a will—aye, with the spirit of a Leonidas, and hastily arranging her toilet descended to the silent, deserted parlors. She evinced no surprise when confronted by Mr. Verne. She had been calmly awaiting his presence.

"It is too early for you to be astir, Hester. I would think you might take things easy when you could. I'm sure there's nothing to get you up here—no milking and farm work as at 'Gladswood.'"

"It's second nature with me and I can't help it any more than you can help getting up with the sun and poring over those tedious papers; Stephen, I would think you ought to get sick of such work."

"So I do, Hester, but I must not let myself feel so; there may be an end far too soon."

"Stephen you are getting a monomaniac on these things. I tell you what it is if William Montgomery were in your shoes he would not last a week. Thank God, he is a farmer—there's no life like it."

"True, indeed, Hester; I wish I had become a sturdy yeoman before I gave myself up to this business. Ah! it's nothing but uncertainty."

"Listen to me Stephen; the quiet of the hour prompts me to say something which I have been thinking of for some time past—it is of Mr. Lawson."

"Yes," said Mr. Verne, in a manner that seemed to say that he knew what was coming, "he is a worthy young man!"

"Worthy, did you say, Stephen? There is no words in the English language sufficient to speak his praise. He is a man such as the Creator premeditated before the world rose out of chaos—a man in the true image of his Maker!"

Could Phillip Lawson then have looked upon this woman as she sat there and spoke such holy thoughts—how simple and yet how eloquent—could he then have heard the tenderhearted matron plead for him what a flood of gratitude would have welled out from his honest heart!

"I have invited Phillip Lawson to 'Gladswood' purposely to study him through and through, and each time I find something nobler in him to admire."

"I believe it," said Mr. Verne, gravely.

"Then pledge yourself with me to bestow upon him all that can give him the only earthly happiness he desires. Stephen, you are not blind—you know he loves your child—make the way brighter for him— give him your confidence, your encouragement, and before a twelvemonth has passed away you will be happier, Madge will be happier, and Phillip Lawson will bless you while he lives!"

Mr. Verne turned uneasily in his chair. He felt somewhat guilty of not seeking the young man's confidence the previous evening when he made allusion to Marguerite.

"Stephen, I'm no fool; I can sometimes see more than some people would like me to see—but I care little for people's opinions," said Mrs. Montgomery in a defiant mood, "I am here to say what I think is right—I care for nobody."

"I know that the young man admires Madge, but we have proof of nothing further."

"You surely cannot say that, Stephen, and note the interest which Mr. Lawson takes in your affairs. Ah, we women can see you men through and through—you don't mean what you say."

It did not take much persuasion to gain Mr. Verne as an ally to the cause so dear to the woman's heart.

Now what suggestions Mrs. Montgomery made to her brother-in-law and his acquiescence, the whole-hearted management and cleverness, also delicacy of plans, we do not care to reveal, suffice to say, that the plans were matured and put into execution from that hour, and that there were those who lived to thank Mrs. Montgomery with all the fervor of their hearts.

Mr. Verne was indeed happier from the light-hearted manner in which Mrs. Montgomery strove to entertain him and relieve the monotony of his busy life. "Sunnybank" had been closed from society for several months. No guests desecrated the stillness of the deserted drawing-room, and save the occasional calls of a few business men, "all around was quietness."

"I will make a change," said Mrs. Montgomery, and a change was made. Phillip Lawson found time to drop in two or three evenings of the week, and when the gentlemen were engaged over their game of chess, there would suddenly steal upon their senses a fragrance that portended hot delicious coffee, not to speak of the choice rolls and delicate cheesecake.

Mr. Lawson was truly at home in Mrs. Montgomery's society. He admired her independent spirit and correct judgment as to what should constitute society in its wholesome state; he listened with eagerness to her exposition of the shame and rottenness of good form and the consequent evils arising from them.

One evening they were enjoying the refreshing breeze that stirred the leafy shrubberies at "Sunnybank." Coolness reigned everywhere, within and without. The halls were redolent with heliotrope, and breath of roses, the hour was inviting and the conversation was spirited.

Mrs. Montgomery, clad in her silken gown, was indeed fitted to pass close criticism. She was sensible looking, neat and respectable, and her genial warmth of manner formed no secondary consideration.

"It is disgraceful to society to tolerate it," said Mrs. Montgomery. "I should like to see a girl of mine receive attention from such a man, and to think of his going to Mrs. M.'s company utterly incapable. Had I been there I would have insulted him before the company."

"It is just as well that you were not," said Mr. Verne, smiling.

"We country people are verdant, Stephen, but thank heaven we escape your good-form style that is ruinous both to body and soul," said Mrs. Montgomery with considerable vehemence. "Our young women are educated to a sense of their position, and to demand that respect which they ought. Ugh! just for one moment imagine a young man of loose immoral habits seated in our parlor. Why the very thought of it makes one sicken with disgust."

"Hester, if we had a few such women as you there would be a sweeping moral reform throughout our land," said Mr. Verne, vehemently. "Yes, we would have such a wholesome state of things as would entail a world of happiness to succeeding generations."

"I tell you one thing, Stephen, there would be no living beyond one's means; neither this abominable keeping up of appearances, which has possessed two-thirds of our people, and which is the cause of nearly all the misery and degradation that we hear of every day of our lives—and those mothers and daughters will be held responsible for the souls of the suicides who were goaded to the rash deed by their doings! Yes, Stephen, I say it, and hold to it, that it is our women who are at the root and bottom of these horrible misdeeds."

"It is true in a great measure, Hester," said Mr. Verne, his face betraying evident emotion—his voice strange and his manner altogether changed.

Mrs. Montgomery's words had a powerful effect. They took deeper root than she intended and the woman felt a strange misgiving at her heart. "What if he might seek refuge in such," thought she, and a feeling of revulsion passed through her which was in nowise comforting.

Mr. Verne seemed to anticipate her thoughts. "It is an unpleasant subject, and can do little good for either," said he, trying to force a smile.

"Yes, Stephen; I can bear your reproof, for I am too hot-headed. I need a strong pull in the opposite direction to set me right."

The sound of domestics astir suggested employment, and Mrs. Montgomery set forth to superintend affairs with more concern than the real mistress. In fact, there had been a sad want of attention to matters in general. There was an apparent lack of system and good management that only such an one as Mrs. Montgomery could set right.

"I want you to do it this way," was her order, and it was done.

An untidy chambermaid had been dismissed, and the cook was given her choice to retrench in the enormous waste or find a new field for such extravagance.

It was indeed surprising what a change had been wrought during Mrs. Montgomery's first week at "Sunnybank."

"And to think of her coming from such charitable motives. The woman is a host in herself." Such was Mr. Verne's comment as he began to see how affairs were managed on the reconstruction plan, when even the parlor seemed to admit the beneficial change.

"I shall have to attend a meeting of the Board of Trade this evening; and thinking it would be dull here, I asked Mr. Lawson to come in and bring Lottie. You know the poor child idolizes him, and it is a shame to keep him from her."

"How kind of you, Stephen. I shall be delighted to see Lottie; she is a sweet child. It really does me good to see the young man pet his little charge and minister to her wants with the delicacy of a woman. I tell you there are few men that will compare with Phillip Lawson."

Mrs. Montgomery was determined that she would let no opportunity escape when she could say a word in her friend's praise. "They will thank me one day for it," said she to herself, as she turned leisurely towards a pot of heliotrope and stood inhaling the sweet fragrance.

"The Board of Trade to-night. No rest for the overwrought brain! What a pity that our women, Instead of decking themselves out for hours before a life-sized mirror, and when arrayed like peacocks amble into drawing-rooms or conservatories to listen for so many hours to the idiotic, half-formed expressions of the semi-monkeys who answer to the fashionable appellation of dudes, should not give themselves some fit employment. Oh, dear me! thank Heaven I'm not a society woman, and still better, that none of my family can lay claim to the title."

As Mrs. Montgomery made the last part of her remark, she thought of her first-born, the sweet, but bright-spirited Jennie, who was always ready for fun and amusement and never was happier than when administering to the wants of her fellow creatures.

Jennie Montgomery was also a maiden of sound intellectual ability. Her fund of reading was extensive. She never allowed a day to pass without devoting two hours to good solid reading. Pope was a constant friend, as was also Wordsworth, and few could give a better exposition of the mental depth of this metaphysical poet, his self-knowledge and his keen realization of the depth of such knowledge.

But of the expected guests. It was indeed a red-letter day for Lottie Lawson when Phillip announced his intention of taking her to "Sunnybank."

"Oh! Phillip," cried she in ecstasies of delight, her saucy curls dancing around the pretty head, "and I shall see Mrs. Montgomery; was there ever such a lucky girl as I?" and the bright eyes danced with joy and eagerness. "Goodness gracious! it's almost too good news to be true. Phillip, what shall I wear? Dear me, if I had only known I would have made Kitty do up my white lawn."

The little maiden's countenance had suddenly changed from great joy to dismay, and the indulgent brother was much amused.

"I don't think it will make much difference to Mrs. Montgomery, so long as your dress is neat," said he smiling, then added, "I hope my little sister has not commenced to be vain already. It is too soon, my dear."

"Indeed I am not quarter as bad as the other girls," replied the little miss. "I wish you could see how they dress for school; why Nellie Bliss wears a different dress every afternoon, and to-day she had one with the greatest lot of lace ruffles."

"Well, well, my dear, let Nellie enjoy her ruffles, and Lottie Lawson be a sensible little girl."

As the brother fondled the fairy-like child, he thought of the inherent weakness that showed itself thus and exclaimed as the little form was beyond hearing, "the ruling passion truly," he paused, then added, "with most women."

To say that Lottie Lawson enjoyed herself at "Sunnybank" would be speaking too mildly. Even the dogs gave her welcome, romping, playing and frisking till warned to restrain their unwonted hilarity.

An oil painting of Marguerite Verne made the child clap her hands with delight.

"Oh, it is just like her! It seems as if Miss Verne were speaking to us," cried she, getting as near to the portrait as she possibly could. "I can imagine myself in Sunday-school now and our dear teacher among us. When do you expect her, Mrs. Montgomery?"

The bright eyes had a wistful look and gave the piquant face a thoughtful tone.

"I cannot say, my dear, but we hope we may expect her soon."

The eager eyes favored the portrait with occasional glances while the white fingers ran over the keys of the piano.

A pleasant evening was thus spent and Lottie was delighted when it was arranged that she would be allowed to pass many such pleasant hours during Mrs. Montgomery's stay at "Sunnybank."

"How thoughtful," was Mr. Verne's comment as he heard the voices in the parlor on his return.

Phillip Lawson with a pang at his heart could not but notice the wearied look upon Mr. Verne's face, also the stooping form which once had been erect and majestic, and his sympathetic look could not escape the eagle eye of Mrs. Montgomery.

"Business is business, my boy," said Mr. Verne as he bade his guests good-night.

"Yes sir, it is all business these hard times. Business is business," and musing thus Phillip Lawson went on his way, so busied in thought that he scarce heeded the prattle of the child at his side.



CHAPTER XXIV.

A COMBINATION OF EVENTS.

Four weeks had passed away and Mrs. Montgomery still presided at "Sunnybank." The days were spent in a variety of ways that tended to one grand end and that for the best.

Lottie Lawson was blithe as a bee, humming little snatches of song and often cheering the rooms by her presence.

An important functionary among the domestics was Melindy Jane Thrasher, the happy fiancee of Mr. Moses Spriggins.

Melindy Jane took much pride in informing her fellow-laborers that "she had been engaged to work with the Verneses all through the Montgomeryses, for she had seen the first Miss Verne along with her intended up to the upper neighborhood at church, and she and a hull lot of the young folks came out from Mill Crossin' to go, and when they seed the grand folks, they'd inquired and found out all about him. Then, what do you think? dad saw an advertisement in the paper, and he rit right away and got this situation; and here I am ever since, and s'pose will be for a leetle longer" and with a knowing look Melindy Jane would draw her hearers' attention to Mr. Spriggins, and by a series of phases expatiate on her lover's manly form and weighty principles, not forgetting his importance among the good folks of Mill Crossing.

Marguerite Verne had often listened to these speeches, and stimulated Melindy Jane's eloquence by her earnest attention, and for such kindness she was eulogized in the presence of Mr. Spriggins, until the latter vowed that "that 'ere Miss Verne hadn't an equal in the Dominion."

It so happened that Melindy Jane one evening asked for an hour or two out, and the request being granted a few minutes later the happy rubicund face of Moses, beaming with smiles, illuminated the gateway as he passed through, hand-in-hand with his fiancee.

Mrs. Montgomery was a lover of fun, and she enjoyed the sight with evident relish. Mr. Lawson's voice soon after interrupted her thoughts.

"I came near being run down by one of your family, and an old friend of mine," cried he, his manner bright and cheerful, "I did not know that Mr. Spriggins was paying his addresses to anyone in this house."

"If you saw him, Mr. Lawson, you would soon be convinced of his honorable intentions. Indeed, Mr. Spriggins is an attentive lover, and in every way worthy of Melindy."

"He is one of the best fellows I ever met," said Mr. Lawson, with much enthusiasm.

"You have reason to know him?" said Mrs. Montgomery, with evident surprise.

"He did me a very great service, Mrs. Montgomery, and one I can never adequately repay."

This was indeed a sudden revelation, but the lady showed good taste in her replies, and was much pleased with the knowledge that Phillip Lawson's character was made up of gratitude.

Mr. Moses Spriggins thought proper to spend a dollar or two upon Melindy "each time he came to town," and on this evening in question the happy pair might be seen on Charlotte street making glad the heart of the grocer by the extensive purchase of peanuts, peaches, pears, bananas, and every choice confection that was appreciated by Miss Melindy.

"I tell yer what, Melindy, if I was a-livin' in town I'd live. I'd buy them fellars out in less than no time," exclaimed Moses, as a fair-sized banana disappeared from view at one gasp. "Tell you what it is, Melindy, them fellars makes a fortin' out of this stuff; by golly, it's good." A fact which was evident from the gusto resorted to in mastication.

"Thunder! what's that purty thing a-hangin' out in front of that 'ere stoppin' place? Look Melindy."

"Why you goosey, that is the Royal Hotel light—the electric light."

Melindy pronounced the three words with an air of pride, which indeed seemed to say "please bear in mind that I am no ignoramus."

"Wal, I do declare, if that aint the highfalutin' light they were a-tellin' about up to Wiggleses t'other night."

This was an unlucky speech for Mr. Spriggins. Melindy's face was black as Erebus in less than a minute and her eyes fairly darted fire.

"Don't mention those Wiggleses agin Mose, or as sure as my name is Melindy Jane Thrasher, I'll never speak to you agin!"

"Now, listen to me, Melindy, I was a-goin' to tell you that I only went up to Wiggleses to borrow a crosscut from Josiar. True as I live I w'ant inside the gate for I met Josiar a-comin' out o' the milkin' yard and I then and there ups and tells him what I was arter."

During this conversation the unconscious pair had gained the foot of King street and turned up Prince William street toward Chipman's Hill where they took a stand.

"And you got the crosscut at the gate?" asked the perturbed Melindy, rather timidly.

"I did, you dear old gal. Now, what's the use of you gettin' jealors of me and Josiar? I'm darned shure I don't be a-courtin' him."

"Don't talk so simple, Mose," said Melindy, giving her affianced an affectionate push against a large building that stood on the corner.

"If I w'ant skeered of them 'ere police chaps I do believe I'd feel tempted to kiss you in this very place!" exclaimed Moses in very pathetic style.

"I'd like to see you, Mose Spriggins, forgit yourself in such a manner—it would be the last time you would act so in my presence," returned Melindy Jane in simply bewitching tones and more bewitching gestures.

"Well, just you wait till we get back to Sunflower Dale."

"'Sunflower', a nice name to be callin' our place. I wish that Mrs. Verne heard you Moses, it would be the last time you'd poke your nose in there, I can tell ye Mister Mosey."

"Well, now see here, Melindy. I see town is makin' you too toney, what's the use of cuttin' a fellar up so when he makes a little mistake?"

"Well, say Sunnybank, and I won't be findin' any more fault."

"Well, Sunnybank! Aint that right Melindy?"

"Leave out the well, and all will be well," said Melindy, spitefully.

"Melindy Jane Thrasher, you are a gettin' too cute for anything. That was the cutest sayin' I've heerd for a long time. If you stay in town much longer you will be able to talk with any of them lawyers that's around as thick as thieves."

"Moses be keerful what you say, for some of the same fellars might have you hauled up for definition of character, and some of them can afford to do it too, for I believe there are honest ones among 'em. Indeed, I know of one."

"And I bet I know the same chap," said Moses, jumping at the conclusion, with an accompanying exhibition of elasticity, not unworthy of the bygone arena, and then added, "and we both of us seed him this 'ere evenin'. Aint that so, eh, Melindy?"

"There, don't be silly, Moses," said the half-indignant Melindy, pouting her ripe red lips, and trying to look very prim.

When Melindy wished to administer reproof to her betrothed she always addressed him as Moses, a circumstance which had a very chilling effect upon the offender.

"Well, I vow if it aint—speak of the old fellar and he's sure to appear," cried Moses. And instantly they were recognized by the stalwart young lawyer who was on his way homeward.

"He didn't stay long. Perhaps the missus ain't in very good humor to-night," surmised Melindy.

"Perhap's he's too busy hisself. Like as not he's off on some law scrape now. That's just it, for Court's a settin' all this week. Well I hope Mr. Lawson will get a good share of the pickins, for he's as honest as the sun, and when a fellar goes to him for advice he gets it in good English law, and no runnin' roundabout way that would puzzle a chap till his hair would turn gray."

Doubtless Mr. Spriggins would have expatiated on his friend's good qualities for a much longer time, but Melindy was not inclined to have him waste so many eulogistic speeches at her expense.

"How time goes! Well, it seems no time since we left, and here we are back agin," said Melindy, glancing up at the grand facade of "Sunnybank," which looked as pretentious as its neighbors on the same imposing terrace.

Mr. Spriggins was annoyed to think that it was only nine o'clock, and he must part with Melindy.

"You know what we used to learn in the little yellar book at home," said the latter.

"Yes, that's all very fine when a fellar hasn't anything better to do, but when a feller has sich good company, he don't think of being healthy, wealthy and wise, eh, Melindy."

"We'll not quarrel about it, anyhow," said Melindy, evidently well pleased at being reckoned such good company, then instantly exclaimed, "What time are you agoin' to start in the mornin'; perhaps you can run down, and I may have somethin' to send the folks."

A step upon the gravelled walk warned the lovers to retreat, and ere long Mr. Spriggins was wending his steps up Sydney street, muttering imprecations upon the unknown person who had so unceremoniously broken up their rendezvous.

Meanwhile Phillip Lawson was enjoying the quiet of his cosy back parlor. He was seated in his huge arm-chair enjoying the Evening Globe and a choice cigar.

Lottie Lawson had once remarked that brother Phillip might go without his tea, but he could not sleep without seeing the Globe. And the little maid was right, for nothing is more inviting for the hurried man of business, the politician, the professional or the student than the perusal of the evening paper. Look into the counting-rooms, the offices, the libraries—aye, even the brilliantly-illuminated parlors—and you will in each find your answer.

But we must turn to our legal friend. As Mr. Spriggins surmised, it was court week, and a very busy one for Mr. Lawson. Brighter prospects were now in store. Prosperity had dawned upon the untiring student, and he looked forward with encouraging hopes.

"Thank God I am here yet," was the young man's exclamation, as he threw aside the paper and began to ruminate upon his prospects in general.

Strange to say he did not harbor ill-will to Hubert Tracy. He pitied him with a tender pity, and mourned for the wreck of a life that had such a good beginning. But Mr. Lawson had a feeling of enmity towards his contemporaries in the far west. He could ill repress the angry feelings that arose when the scheme presented itself in all its horrid reality.

"What ground for bringing the gang to the scratch and making a startling expose of our legal brethren; yes, nice brethren too."

No wonder that Mr. Lawson felt ashamed of his fraternity. If the shades of Coke and Blackstone could only arise—what a reckoning would be made. What a scene—aye, one that would need a Milton to describe.

Thoughts akin to these were passing through the young lawyer's mind when he suddenly recalled the cause. The heavy brows are contracted and a scowl appears. "The wicked flourish for a season and so may you, my happy friends, but your happiness is not of the enduring kind." Another scowl. "But if he succeeds I am miserable," muttered Phillip Lawson, his countenance betraying deep agitation. "But I will not suffer her to become a sacrifice. Heaven forbid."

There was determination in the tone and in the gesture which accompanied it.

There was indeed to be a struggle between right and wrong, and a bitter struggle, too, but an All-Wise Providence rules over all, and disposes of events in an inscrutable order, and in the way He foreordains for His own glory.

It is necessary to explain how matters stood between Hubert Tracy and the Winnipeg solicitor.

The latter had entered heartily into the affair and was looking forward to the big bonanza that he would gain. But some weeks passed and hearing nothing further Mr. Sharpley resolved to test the matter. Receiving no answer to the first letter he despatched a second and was surprised to receive it re-addressed to himself. What did it mean? Had Mr. Lawson removed to another field or had Hubert Tracy played false?

The solicitor then wrote an acquaintance making some modest inquiries concerning Mr. Lawson's whereabouts and was further surprised to find that he was still in St. John, also that he was prospering in the profession and would one day rank as one of the leading practitioners there.

Mr. Sharpley then directed his interrogations across the sea and much chagrined charged Mr. Tracy with duplicity. But it was the latter who felt the most non-plussed. He cursed Phillip Lawson from the bottom of his heart and hoped that he might live to crush him in the dust.

"Fool that I was to listen to his palaver!" cried he, "when I could have contrived some means to silence him most effectually. It is just what I deserve. He will dog my steps to the bitter end if I cannot accomplish my work very soon."

It was while Hubert Tracy was being thus humiliated that he received a summons from Mrs. Montague Arnold and hailed it as an omen of success.

The interview was lengthy and boded no good to Marguerite.

"Depend upon me, Hubert," cried the heartless young matron as she graciously extended the tips of her taper fingers and smiled her most enchanting smile which the young gallant more than graciously acknowledged as he sprang into the cab awaiting him at the end of the court-yard.

A few moments later he was at the club, and surrounded by a host of the most abandoned profligates he joined in the ribaldry and obscene jests with a zeal that betrayed the utter depravity of his habits, and also shewed that he had taken a headlong plunge into the vortex and must soon become a hopeless wreck. And yet a short time ago, so fair to look upon, Hubert Tracy had been indeed prepossessing in appearance. His neat, well built figure, graceful but manly carriage, agreeable address and fine manners gave him a significant tone and made him much sought after in society.

There was even a pleasing expression in the young man's face that was really attractive. His chestnut locks of silken hair clustering in luxuriant ringlets were indeed the envy of the many less favored youth, while the hazel dreamy eyes, soft and expressive as a woman's, seemed to suggest that they had once been the pride of an indulgent mother and kind friends.

"Zounds, Tracy my fellow, you're going all to sticks! What the devil is up? Why, you look as if you had been trailed through seven cities—got the blues,—eh?"

"Worse than that, Turpin. I'm in a fair way for the Old Bailey."

"The deuce you are!" exclaimed the latter, who owing to several sharp feats performed upon some members of the club, was dubbed Turpin.

Mr. Turpin was a lucky kind of mortal who had a propensity for living on the funds of his more fortunate friends and always kept an eye to Mr. Tracy.

The latter was lavish in expenditure and thought it a streak of luck to have an individual like Turpin to cater to his caprice and assist in making his every day life free from remorse or anything approaching to it.

"'Jordan is a hard road to travel,' eh Dick?" said Hubert Tracy as he raised the cocktail to view and stood gazing upon it, then swallowing the contents, as if anxious to get through the job, exclaimed, "Heavens Dick, I wish that were the last drink on this side of Jordan," and after a desperate effort to appear at ease the young man left his rollicking set and sought his apartments in Regent Square.



CHAPTER XXV.

MR. SPRIGGINS INTERVIEWS MR. VERNE.

While Mr. Verne sat in his office in Water street, busy as usual on his exchanges, etc, an individual was making his way thither at a rapid gait, which, in fact, bore more closely to business than grace.

The individual was Mr. Spriggins of Mill Crossing. Any one keeping close behind the said gentleman might have heard the following soliloquy.

"Well, sir, I'm deuced glad I didn't let on to Melindy, for like all wimen she'd be a peekin' to see what it was. It's terrible queer that not one of 'em is better than another. Still we can't get along without 'em, nohow."

Here Mr. Spriggins emphasized the remark by a shrug of his herculean shoulders, and allowed himself to think what a blank this world would be without Melindy.

"Wal, I reckon them bisness fellars have so many papers, round that its 'tarnal queer they don't loose money, but ten to one this 'ere thing don't amount to a goose egg."

Mr. Spriggins had now gained the office, and with smiling countenance inquired for Mr. Verne.

A genial "come in" from the inner office inspired our friend with additional confidence.

Mr. Verne bowed in a respectful manner, and taking off his gold-rimmed spectacles motioned the young man to a seat.

"Good morning, sir," said the latter, feeling somewhat embarrassed as how to begin.

"It is fine weather, indeed," returned Mr. Verne, pleasantly.

"Its no use delayin'," thought Moses, "I'll make a bold dash," and jumping up from his seat, exclaimed, "You're Mister Verne that lives in the big house on that high bank up there by the square?"

"Yes, sir," said the latter, respectfully.

"Well, sir, did you ever see this 'ere piece of writin' afore, I picked it up near your house, and supposin' it were your'n I brought it here."

Mr. Spriggins placed the document in Mr. Verne's hand, and the latter glanced at it carelessly at first, and was about to return it to his visitor, when his eye fell upon the following:

"We can make him appear so guilty that all the laws under heaven could not clear him. Two thousand dollars would be a sum sufficient to entrap him. If he is as trusting as you say, the easier will be the job to do it. At any rate, Connors can finish what I undertake— that is the silencing forever of that law sprig."

"Just be seated for a few minutes, sir," said Mr. Verne. "I think this is to me a very important document."

Mr. Spriggins was now quite at home. He took in the surroundings with an air of interest, and became on terms of intimacy with the handsome spaniel that lay near him.

Mr. Verne's hand trembled violently as he re-read the letter. He was deeply agitated, but fortunately the fact escaped Mr. Spriggins' notice.

"I am deeply indebted to you, sir," said Mr. Verne, addressing his visitor. "I trust some day I shall be able to repay you."

There was an earnestness in the tones and also a look of gratitude that made Mr. Spriggins feel a sudden sensation in his throat—a suffocation which made it impossible to reply—the big heart was full to overflowing.

"This is an honest creature," thought Mr. Verne as he pretended not to observe his benefactor's emotion.

Mr. Spriggins rose to go when suddenly Mr. Verne exclaimed "this is not going to be our last meeting Mr. Spriggins," (the latter had introduced himself previous to this) "I want to see you the next time you are in the city. Remember you are welcome at my house any time that you call. Don't forget to come."

Mr. Verne received a more than hearty grasp of Moses' iron hand and graciously escorted him to the door where he disappeared muttering along the street, "By hokey, I'm the luckiest chap in all Christendom. There's no knowin' but what I may turn out to be the biggest gun among 'em yet."

On his way home that day the hilarity of Mr. Spriggins was unbounded. Even the canine denizens of the district through which he passed received compliments of no secondary order, and to quote his own expression "he was the happiest fellar between town and Mill Crossin'." But we must return to Mr. Verne.

About an hour after Mr. Spriggins' departure he is seated in the library at "Sunnybank" waiting summons to luncheon.

"What is the matter with your time in the office, Stephen?" said Mrs. Montgomery with an amused look upon her face. Mr. Verne glanced at his watch.

"I made a mistake of an hour," said he absent-mindedly. "Poor man," thought Mrs. Montgomery, "it is no wonder," and then hurrying off to give orders for an early meal, left him to the misery of his own thoughts.

But this time they were not distracting ones. Mr. Verne had in his possession proof of the baseness of Hubert Tracy and his legal accomplices, and the more he thought of it the more puzzled he was.

How did the letter get in the vicinity of "Sunnybank." It certainly had been in the possession of some person or persons since it had been received by Hubert Tracy, as he had now been abroad for nearly three months. Had it fallen into Mr. Lawson's hands? Could it be possible that he had thus been warned of this conspiracy and changed his course of action?

Mr. Verne thought over the matter and a light seemed to dawn upon him. He remembered of hearing his young friend making some inquiry as regards the affairs of a well known legal firm that had left St. John and earned a well-deserved reputation in the far west. He also thought of certain transactions which went to prove that at times Mr. Lawson's prospects were indeed sadly blue, and that, doubtless, Hubert Tracy had taken advantage of those occasions to hold up the tempting bait.

"Base scoundrel," muttered Mr. Verne with set teeth. "Providence has not allowed him to ruin a noble life."

Mr. Verne was not blind to outward circumstances. He knew full well what had prompted the deed, and he shuddered as he thought of his guileless child associated with such a character. He was in a quandary as to what steps to take that he could ward off suspicion.

Mr. Verne wished to keep the affair a secret until he could have further ground for action. He knew that Mrs. Montgomery would be a sure ally, but second thoughts prompted him to say nothing of the matter just then, so he calmly supped his coffee at luncheon and talked over certain little plans with more than ordinary interest.

"Mr. Lawson is much engaged lately," remarked Mrs. Montgomery, as she passed a second fragrant cup of coffee to Mr. Verne; "he only had time to make a short call last evening. I forgot to tell you before."

"What is the matter, Stephen, you look alarmed or surprised or some such way that I cannot describe," said the woman, glancing again at her brother-in-law.

"I must give you credit for having more of the imaginative than I thought, Hester," said Mr. Verne, trying to cover his agitation with an accusation.

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not, Stephen," said Mrs. Montgomery helping herself to another of the delicious cheese cakes, the pride of the time-honored cook at "Sunnybank."

"You were speaking of Mr. Lawson, Hester. What had he to say?"

"Nothing of much consequence, only that he was much occupied during the week. He seemed in such good spirits that I told him that he must have fleeced some poor mortal unmercifully."

"Hester you are a dreadful woman. It is a good thing that people don't mind what you say."

"It would make little difference to me whether they would or would not, Stephen. I shall always say just what my evil thoughts prompt me to say, and as you remark that is considerable."

In justice to Mrs. Montgomery, we might as well here add, that what she said or did, was in a conscientious way. No slander could ever be traced to her nor could anything that savored of deception find a place in this honest woman's heart.

"But to return good for evil," said Mrs. Montgomery, "I asked Mr. Lawson to let Lottie go home with me."

"Home?" questioned Mr. Verne, in surprise.

"Yes, Stephen, I cannot stay much longer. The fall work is coming on. Jennie is a host in herself, but I must not impose upon good nature."

"Jennie Montgomery is a rare jewel; and I least of all should insist upon your staying longer. You have, indeed, done much for me."

"Stop, Stephen, I am not going to listen to any such stuff. Indeed, it's a pity I could not come down to amuse myself for a while without you having such notions. The fact is, I needed change of air, and now having a sufficient store to subsist upon for the next half year, think I had better make tracks."

"Did you think of it yesterday, Hester?"

"To be honest with you, Stephen, I scarcely thought of it until the sight of good-natured Moses Spriggins reminded me I had a snug little nest in Kings County, and had better fly away to it."

"Spriggins, did you say, Hester?" queried Mr. Verne, in a manner that showed that the name had been hitherto associated in his mind.

"Yes, sir, I said Spriggins. Did you not know that Melindy Jane Thrasher has a suitor who calls as regularly as he comes to the city?"

Mr. Verne laughed cheerily, a circumstance which was so unusual that the domestics in the basement were on the qui vive to see what was the matter.

"And you happened to interrupt the lovers I suppose," remarked Mr. Verne in his quaint dry way.

"I did nothing of the kind, Stephen. I met Moses on the landing. I tell you what it is, I have great respect for Moses Spriggins. Yes, for every one of the family," said Mrs. Montgomery in an earnest and respectful manner.

"They live near you Hester?"

"About ten miles, perhaps not so far. Simon Spriggins raised a large family, but there are only two of the boys at home now, and Nell Spriggins is a nice looking girl. I tell you their home is neat and tasteful, although not very showy."

"It seems quite a coincidence that the same Moses Spriggins should have occasion to call at the office to-day—"

"To ask for Melindy Jane Trasher, I suppose," cried Mrs. Montgomery, with as much merriment as a young girl.

"He was merely conveying an important message," said Mr. Verne, "and in course of conversation I was quite interested."

"Moses is one of the best hearted creatures for miles around. He is often imposed upon when anything in the shape of tea meetings or bazaars are on the go."

"All's well that ends well," said Mr. Verne, rising from the table quietly.

"Quite a digression," murmured Mrs. Montgomery, as she touched the gong and arose from her seat.

Within the sanctity of his private apartments Mr. Verne now saw clearly how matters stood. He was convinced that Phillip Lawson had been in possession of the letter and that he had dropped it while going or coming from "Sunnybank," and that Moses Spriggins, following in his footsteps, had picked it up.

"Truly, indeed, 'God moves in a mysterious way,'" mused Mr. Verne as he glanced at the crumpled paper, "and to think they have been foiled in the outset. To think that I have entertained such a monster, and to have heard him applauded until I was nigh sick. Heavens! if there be a retributive justice it shall surely be meted out to that accursed viper, Hubert Tracy."

The compressed lips and fierce scowl gave expression to the anger within, and showed that when once aroused Stephen Verne was "a foeman worthy of his steel."

He deliberated long upon his young friend's magnanimity.

"Lawson is a man of ten thousand, else he would have had the satisfaction of seeing the whole gang reap their reward. Aye, lynching is too good for them, the scoundrels. But the time will come when they'll be found out, for they'll not stop at that," and in clear distinct tones Mr. Verne repeated the following lines:—

"Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all."

Mrs. Montgomery was not satisfied with Mr. Verne's evasiveness. Like most women she had a fair share of curiosity, and now she was doubly curious.

"It's no earthly use to try to sift Stephen, for he's as firm as a granite bowlder; but one thing is certain, there's something in the wind just now—something in which Mr. Lawson and Moses Spriggins are both concerned, though either or both may be unaware of it. Let me see," continued Mrs. Montgomery, elevating her eyebrows, and looking very much like a lawyer when he has his client's opponent in the witness stand. "Mr. Lawson was here last night and left early. Moses Spriggins was here also, and left later. Now, as to what took Moses to the office that's where the mystery is, and that there is one I am as certain as the head is on my body."

One good trait in Mrs. Montgomery's character was that she never lost confidence in a friend until she had the most positive proof of his guilt, her honest nature was slow to believe in the worst side of humanity.

"Whatever it is," murmured she, "it is the doings of some other parties, for both are above suspicion."

The entrance of Mr. Verne put an end to the soliloquy, but did not drive away the subject, and when the latter was safely out of hearing, Mrs. Montgomery exclaimed to herself "I see plainly that Stephen is deeply agitated. He seldom carries that look. It is something of an uncommon nature that has aroused him. He thinks he hides his secret whatever it be, but poor Stephen is not schooled in the ways of deception, and in the end it is better so." And repeating the words, "'tis better so," the whole-hearted woman was soon occupied over the ways and means of domestic economy.



CHAPTER XXVI.

DESPONDENCY.

Much as we would like to follow other friends we cannot yet leave Phillip Lawson. He is now in great trouble having met with a loss that is great.

"I might have known that it was too much good fortune for me," cried the young man in sad and pathetic voice. "Fool that I was to carry it about when I was so lucky for once in my life."

Phillip Lawson was the picture of despondency. A heavy cloud had settled down just as all had promised fair and now all was darkness and gloom, not a ray of hope pierced the grim portals which had closed so suddenly upon him.

He thought of the Tuscan poet and wondered if it were possible that his bitter experience had called forth that direful inscription—

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here."

"Ah, my life is Hades! I look for none other!" cried Phillip, his mind now in an unsettled state and ready almost to doubt truth and revelation.

"I have tried hard to lead a good moral life, to live according to the teachings of the Golden Rule and to live with God's help in accordance with the teachings of His holy doctrine, and why is it that I am thus hardly dealt with?"

We cannot blame our young friend if he be somewhat rebellious. His faith is sorely tried and he is at first found wanting; but unlike many others who have gone down under the weight of the angry billows, stems the torrent and with his eye straight for the beacon light reaches the haven in safety.

"I believe that some good may yet spring from it. Hubert Tracy will not have the power to injure my reputation. He may succeed for a time, but there is a Nemesis cruel as death."

Phillip repeated these words as if he were the avenging Deity himself and the hoarseness of his voice made them sound doubly prophetic.

"If they could only have passed into Mr. Verne's hands instead of mine it would have been better for all parties; but what's the use of talking."

Phillip looked sad and careworn, aye, ten years older than on the previous night, and had Mrs. Montgomery looked in upon him then she would surely have been more perplexed than ever.

"It will never do for me to be hunting around the doors at 'Sunnybank.' For the life of me I cannot see how such a thing could have happened."

For the sake of explanation we must admit that our legal friend had a failing which often turned out disastrously for himself and at times for others—he was simply speaking—absent-minded, but bear in mind it was only outside of business matters. As a clear thinker Mr. Lawson had no superior, he was equal to any question, running over with brilliant repartee and thoughtful speech.

It was only when the office door was closed and business suspended that he was guilty of this weakness, and as it on this occasion, caused him to suffer much from the consequence we hope to prove that he had overcome it. The fact was the paper had slipped between the folds of his handkerchief when he had taken it to brush off some dust that persistently adhered to his coat sleeve. There was another view of the matter from a more jubliant source, Mr. Moses Spriggins.

The latter toiled away in the ten acre lot at Mill Crossing in the happy thought of some day being "as big a gun as the rest of 'em," and with the kindness received from Mr. Verne the happy climax was almost reached.

"Would'nt it be great," mused Moses as he followed the plough in the field above referred to, "if when Melindy and myself go to town that we would put up at them 'ere Verneses. Golly it would make the Wiggleses eyes stick out furder than ever. They're a jealous lot at the best o' times, and its sich a silly idear for Melindy to be a-naggin' at me for goin' there when I never go nearer than the rickety old gate."

Mr. Spriggins was evidently taking on a few airs for he seemed quite exasperated and ready to battle against such aspersions. Instantly his face became radiant as the noonday sun, and he burst forth in rapturous strains—

"What a man I would be and what sights I would see If I had but ten thousand a year,"

until the hills and dales in the vicinity of Mill Crossing caught up the refrain and all nature seemed to rejoice.

"What's the use of wishin'? it won't bring the ten thousand any more than I could turn that old millstream yonder tother way. But what's the odds so long as yer happy?" and once more there floated on the breeze—

"If I had but one thousand a year."

"Yes sir, I'd be content," exclaimed Mr. Spriggins, as he finished the last stanza and took a vigorous pull at his pipe as means of reconciliation with his present circumstances.

"And, by-the-bye, I must go up to Ned Joneses to-night and talk him into that business. It aint any sense for Ned and me to be a keepin' up spite 'cause the old folks want ter. No sir, not this child, anyhow."

Between eulogizing and soliloquizing Moses' morning wore into evening and having hitched up the old mare he set off for the post office—a spot doubly endeared to him since Melindy Jane Thrasher went to service, since which time there regularly arrived every Monday evening a suspicious letter addressed:—

MR. MOSES SPRIGGINS, Mill Crossin', Kings County, N. B. In haste.

Imagine the surprise of our friend on being presented with three whole letters—nothing more, nothing less—and one was addressed "Moses Spriggins, Esq."

"I wouldn't take that as a joke, nohow, Mose," said a lugubrious looking individual, whose face looked as if it had been playing "I spy" with a tallow candle and got the worst of the battle.

"Bet your life on it it's no joke; you're jest right Zeb, it's real down airnest; the fellow that rit that ain't one of your jokin' consarns."

Mr. Spriggins glanced over Melindy's letter to see if she was in good "speerits," and being more than satisfied, broke open the seal of the second one, which was from Mr. Verne.

It was written in a large and legible hand, and was couched in the most simple language, and ended with a request that the finding of the paper should be kept secret until such time as he (Mr. Verne) should see fit to acknowledge it. "I do not doubt you, Mr. Spriggins, only you might carelessly let it be made known among your friends."

When Moses read these lines he was more than delighted. They expressed such confidence in him that he felt so proud, to quote his own expression, "that he wouldn't claim relationship with the Attorney Gin'ral."

The third letter which drew our friend's attention, was a notice from the Dominion Safety Fund Company, which almost gave as much pleasure as the other, for in it lay, as Moses expressed it, "a big bonanzer one of these days."

But Moses was not destined to live many days in a perpetual ray of sunshine.

Mrs. Spriggins was a motherly and kind woman, careful, industrious and economical, but she had one bad habit—that of scolding.

"Mother could no more live without scoldin' than dad could live without his tobaccer," was Moses' frequent comment when beyond the old lady's hearing.

The happy first-born was dear to Mrs. Spriggins as "the apple of her eye," but he always came in for a decent share of the scolding.

"Now, what that critter is a galavantin' to town and gettin' so many letters is mor'n I can tell. Seems to me he must be neglectin' sumthin', for I tell ye things won't git along without puttin' your shoulder to the wheel." (Mrs. Spriggins had evidently heard of the fable of Sisyphus, and gave it an original translation.)

"That's all right Jerushy, but I don't think there is any danger of our Moses. He's as stiddy as a rock."

"Don't let him hear you say so, Simon, for its the worst thing in the world to be a-praisin' your own children, and a-tellin' them they're so smart, and good lookin', it makes them so ever-lastin' conseity."

Mr. Spriggins, Sr., was going to remark that there was no danger of her children getting spoilt, but he knew what was best for himself, and kept a quiet tongue in his head.

The next evening after Moses had been to the post office, he became aware of the startling fact that his mother had been peeking into his trousers pocket while she rearranged his neat little room, and made it look more spicy by the addition of a set of snow-white curtains.

"'Pears to me Moses you have a lot of business agoin' on. Hope you ain't writin' to any girls but Melindy. You know anything I despise is a young man a-flirtin' with every girl he sees, and besides its not what any honest man would do. It's well enough for them 'ere city chaps that thinks no more of their word than eating their supper, to be runnin' arter every piece of calicer they see, but I tell you none of the Spriggins is agoin' to do it."

Mrs. Spriggins evidently meant what she said if one could judge from her vehemence, her snapping eyes and sharp tongue.

"Don't be skeered of me a flirtin' mother, I'll stick to Melindy while there's a button to my coat," said Moses trying hard to look very dignified.

"Well, what is all of 'em letters about?"

"What letters mother?" queried Moses, with the evident delight of extorting a confession.

"Why as I was a-hangin' up your Sunday trousers some of 'em fell out and I couldn't help a-lookin' at the writin' on the back.

"From as fine a gentleman as ever walked the streets of St. John," cried Moses quite emphatically.

"What's comin' next! You, Moses Spriggins of Mill Crossin', a ritin' letters to a gentleman. Let's hear all about it.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you jest now mother, I'm sorry to say, but it's all right."

"Am I in my sober senses or am I in a nightmare? (No, there's Mose as nateral as life.)" Then pointing her finger at the supposed culprit Mrs. Spriggins exclaimed: "I tell you what it is Moses Spriggins it's nothin' very good that you're ahidin' from your own mother. Got into them lawyer's clutches at last? Ye used ter say ye liked law and if I'm as good a prophet as I think I ort to be you'll get enough of it. Like as not the farm and the stock and all the utensils will go afore long. Oh dear me!"