"Now," said Mr Hazlit, sitting down on a broken chair in a very shabby little room, and wiping his heated brow, "what is the meaning of all this, Mr Timms?"

"Well, sir," answered Timms, with a deprecatory air, "I'm sorry, sir, it should 'ave 'appened just w'en you was a-goin' to favour me with the unexpected honour of a wisit; but the truth is, sir, I couldn't 'elp it. This 'ere sc—man is my landlord, sir, an' 'e wouldn't wait another day for 'is rent, sir, though I told 'im he was pretty sure o' 'avin it in a week or so, w'en I 'ad time to c'lect my outstandin' little bills—"

"More nor that, sur," burst in the impatient and indignant Rooney, "he would 'ave gone into that there room, sur,—if I may miscall a dark closet by that name—an' 'ave pulled the bed out from under Mrs Timms, who's a-dyin', sur, if I 'adn't chanced to come in, sur, an' kick the spalpeen into the street, as you see'd."

"For w'ich you'll smart yet," growled the landlord, who stood in a dishevelled heap like a bad boy in a corner.

"How much rent does he owe you?" asked Mr Hazlit of the landlord.

"That's no business o' yours," replied the man, sulkily.

"If I were to offer to pay it, perhaps you'd allow that it was my business."

"So I will w'en you offers."

"Well, then, I offer now," said Mr Hazlit, taking out his purse, and pouring a little stream of sovereigns into his hand. "Have you the receipt made out?"

The landlord made no reply, but, with a look of wonder at his interrogator, drew a small piece of dirty paper from his pocket and held it out. Mr Hazlit examined it carefully from beginning to end.

"Is this right, Mr Timms?" he asked.

The green-grocer examined the paper, and said it was—that five pounds was the exact amount.

"You can put the receipt in your pocket," said Mr Hazlit, turning round and counting out five sovereigns on the table, which he pushed towards the landlord. "Now, take yourself off, as quietly as you can, else I'll have you taken up and tried for entering a man's premises forcibly, and endeavouring to obtain money by intimidation. Go!"

This was a bold stroke on the part of the merchant, whose legal knowledge was not extensive, but it succeeded. The landlord pocketed the money and moved towards the door. Rooney Machowl followed him.

"Rooney!" said Mr Hazlit, calling him back.

"Mayn't I show him out, sur?" said Rooney, earnestly.

"By no means."

"Ah, sur, mayn't I give him a farewell kick?"

"Certainly not."

Mr Hazlit then expressed a desire to see Mrs Timms, and the green-grocer, thanking the merchant fervently for his timely aid, lighted a candle and led the way into the dark closet.

Poor Mrs Timms, a delicate-looking woman, not yet forty, who had evidently been pretty once, lay on a miserable bed, apparently at the point of death.

Aileen glided quickly to the bed, sat down on it, and took the woman's hand, while she bent over her and whispered:—

"Don't be distressed. The rent is paid. He will disturb you no more. You shall be quiet now, and I will come to see you sometimes, if you'll let me."

The woman gazed at the girl with surprise, then, as she felt the gentle warm pressure of her hand a sudden rush of faith seemed to fill her soul. She drew Aileen towards her, and looked earnestly into her face.

"Come here, Timms," said Mr Hazlit, abruptly, as he turned round and walked out of the closet, "I want to speak to you. I am no doctor, but depend upon it your wife will not die. There is a very small building—quite a hut I may say—near my house—ahem! Near my cottage close to the sea, which is at present to let. I advise you strongly to take that hut and start a green-grocery there. I'm not aware that there is one in the immediate neighbourhood, and there are many respectable families about whose custom you might doubtless count on; at all events, you would be sure of ours to begin with. The sea-air would do your wife a world of good, and the sea-beach would be an agreeable and extensive playground for your children."

The green-grocer stood almost aghast! The energy with which Mr Hazlit poured out his words, and, as it seemed to Timms, the free and easy magnificence of his ideas were overpowering.

"W'y, sir, I ain't got no money to do sitch a thing with," he said at last, with a broad grin.

"Yes, you have," said Mr Hazlit, again pulling out his purse and emptying its golden contents on the table in a little heap, from which he counted fifteen sovereigns. "My debt to you amounts, I believe, to twenty pounds; five I have just paid to your landlord, here is the balance. You needn't mind a receipt. Send me the discharged account at your leisure, and think over what I have suggested. Aileen, my dear, we will go now."

Aileen said good-night at once to the sick woman and followed her father as he went out, repeating—"Good-evening, Timms, think over my suggestion."

They walked slowly home without speaking. Soon they reached the cottage by the sea. As they stood under the trellis-work porch the merchant turned round and gazed at the sun, which was just dipping into the horizon, flooding sea and sky with golden glory.

"Aileen," he said in a low voice, "I have commenced life at last—life in earnest. I was a poor fool once. Through grace I am a rich man now."



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

SHOWS HOW OUR HERO FORMED PLANS, HOW MISS PRITTY FORMED PLOTS, AND HOW THE SMALL DOMESTIC AMUSED HERSELF.

On a certain cold, raw, bleak, biting, bitter day in November, our hero found himself comfortably situated at the bottom of the sea.

We say 'comfortably' advisedly and comparatively, for, as compared with the men whose duty it was to send air down to him, Edgar Berrington was in a state of decided comfort. Above water nought was to be seen but a bleak, rocky, forbidding coast, a grey sky with sleet driving across it, and an angry indigo sea covered with white wavelets. Nothing was to be felt but a stiff cutting breeze, icy particles in the air, and cold blood in the veins. Below water all was calm and placid; groves of sea-weed delighted the eye; patches of yellow sand invited to a siesta; the curiously-twisted and smashed-up remains of a wreck formed a subject of interesting contemplation, while a few wandering crabs, and an erratic lobster or two, gave life and variety to the scene, while the temperature, if not warm, was at all events considerably milder than that overhead. In short, strange though it may seem, Edgar was in rather an enviable position than otherwise, on that bleak November day.

Some two years or so previous to the day to which we refer, Edgar, with his diving friends, had returned to England. Mr Hazlit had preceded them by a month. But Edgar did not seek him out. He had set a purpose before him, and meant to stick to it. He had made up his mind not to go near Aileen again until he had made for himself a position, and secured a steady income which would enable him to offer her a home at least equal to that in which she now dwelt.

Mr Hazlit rather wondered that the young engineer never made his appearance at the cottage by the sea, but, coming to the conclusion that his passion had cooled, he consoled himself with the thought that, after all, he was nearly penniless, and that it was perhaps as well that he had sheered off.

Aileen also wondered, but she did not for a moment believe that his love had cooled, being well aware that that was an impossibility. Still she was perplexed, for although the terms on which they stood to each other did not allow of correspondence, she thought, sometimes, that he might have written to her father—if only to ask how they were after their adventures in the China seas.

Miss Pritty—to whom Aileen confided her troubles—came nearer the mark than either of them. She conceived, and stoutly maintained, that Edgar had gone abroad to seek his fortune, and meant to return and marry Aileen when he had made it.

Edgar, however, had not gone abroad. He had struck out a line of life for himself, and had prosecuted it during these two years with untiring energy. He had devoted himself to submarine engineering, and, having an independent spirit, he carved his way very much as a freelance. At first he devoted himself to studying the subject, and ere long there was not a method of raising a sunken vessel, of building a difficult breakwater, of repairing a complicated damage to a pier, or a well, or anything else subaqueous, with which he was not thoroughly acquainted, and in regard to which he had not suggested or carried out bold and novel plans and improvements, both in regard to the machinery employed and the modes of action pursued.

After a time he became noted for his success in undertaking difficult works, and at last employed a staff of divers to do the work, while he chiefly superintended. Joe Baldwin became his right-hand man and constant attendant. Rooney and Maxwell, preferring steadier and less adventurous work, got permanent employment on the harbour improvements of their own seaport town.

Thus engaged, Edgar and his man Joe visited nearly all the wild places round the stormy shores of Great Britain and Ireland. They raised many ships from the bottom of the sea that had been pronounced by other engineers to be hopelessly lost. They laid foundations of piers and breakwaters in places where old Ocean had strewn wrecks since the foundation of the world. They cleared passages by blasting and levelling rocks whose stern crests had bid defiance to winds and waves for ages, and they recovered cargoes that had been given up for years to Neptune's custody. In short, wherever a difficult submarine operation had to be undertaken, Edgar Berrington and his man Joe, with, perhaps, a gang of divers under them, were pretty sure to be asked to undertake it.

The risk, we need scarcely say, was often considerable; hence the remuneration was good, and both Edgar and his man speedily acquired a considerable sum of money.

At the end of two years, the former came to the conclusion that he had a sufficient sum at his credit in the bank to warrant a visit to the cottage by the sea; and it was when this idea had grown into a fixed intention that he found himself, as we have mentioned, in rather comfortable circumstances at the bottom of the sea.

The particular part of the bottom lay off the west coast of England. Joe and a gang of men were hard at work on a pier when Edgar went down. He carried a slate and piece of pencil with him. The bottom was not very deep down. There was sufficient light to enable him to find his man easily.

Joe was busy laying a large stone in its bed. When he raised his burly form, after fixing the stone, Edgar stepped forward, and, touching him on the shoulder, held out the slate, whereon was written in a bold running hand:—

"Joe, I'm going off to get engaged, and after that, as soon as possible, to be married."

Through the window of his helmet, Joe looked at his employer with an expression of pleased surprise. Then he took the slate, obliterated the information on it, and printed in an equally bold, but very sprawly hand:—

"Indeed? I wish you joy, sir."

Thereupon Edgar took the slate and wrote:—

"Thank you, Joe. Now, I leave you in charge. Keep a sharp eye on the men—especially on that lazy fellow who has a tendency to sleep and shirk duty. If the rock in the fair-way is got ready before my return, blast it at once, without waiting for me. You will find one of Siebe and Gorman's voltaic batteries in my lodging, also a frictional electrical machine, which you can use if you prefer it. In the store there is a large supply of tin-cases for gunpowder and compressed gun-cotton charges. There also you will find one of Heinke and Davis's magneto-electric exploders. I leave it entirely to your own judgment which apparatus to use. All sorts are admirable in their way; quite fresh, and in good working order. Have you anything to say to me before I go?"

"All right, sir," replied Joe, in his sprawly hand; "I'll attend to orders. When do you start, and when do you expect to be back?"

"I start immediately. The day of my return is uncertain, but I'll write to you."

Rubbing this out, Joe wrote:—

"You'll p'r'aps see my old 'ooman, sir. If you do, just give her my respects, an' say the last pair o' divin' drawers she knitted for me was fust-rate. Tightish, if anything, round the waist, but a bit o' rope-yarn putt that all right—they're warm an' comfortable. Good-bye, I wish you joy again, sir."

"Good-bye," replied Edgar.

It was impossible that our hero could follow his inclination, and nod with his stiff-necked iron head-piece at parting. He therefore made the motion of kissing his hand to his trusty man, and giving the requisite signal, spread his arms like a pair of wings, and flew up to the realms of light!

Joe grinned broadly, and made the motion of kissing his hand to the ponderous soles of his employer's leaden boots as they passed him, then, turning to the granite masonry at his side, he bent down and resumed his work.

Arrived at the region of atmospheric air, Edgar Berrington clambered on board the attending vessel, took off his amphibious clothing, and arrayed himself in the ordinary habiliments of a gentleman, after which he went ashore, gave some instructions to the keeper of his lodgings, ordered his horse, galloped to the nearest railway station, flashed a telegraphic message to Miss Pritty to expect to see him that evening, and soon found himself rushing at forty miles an hour, away from the scene of his recent labours.

Receiving a telegraph envelope half-an-hour later, Miss Pritty turned pale, laid it on the table, sank on the sofa, shut her eyes, and attempted to reduce the violent beating of her heart, by pressing her left side tightly with both hands.

"It must be death!—or accident!" she murmured faintly to herself, for she happened to be alone at the time.

Poor Miss Pritty had no near relations in the world except Edgar, and therefore there was little or no probability that any one would telegraph to her in connection with accident or death, nevertheless she entertained such an unconquerable horror of a telegram, that the mere sight of the well-known envelope, with its large-type title, gave her a little shock; the reception of one was almost too much for her.

After suffering tortures for about as long a time as the telegram had taken to reach her, she at last summoned courage to open the envelope.

The first words, "Edgar Berrington," induced a little scream of alarm. The next, "to Miss Pritty," quieted her a little. When, however, she learned that instead of being visited by news of death and disaster, she was merely to be visited by her nephew that same evening, all anxiety vanished from her speaking countenance, and was replaced by a mixture of surprise and amusement. Then she sat down on the sofa—from which, in her agitation, she had risen—and fell into a state of perplexity.

"Now I do wish," she said, aloud, "that Eddy had had the sense to tell me whether I am to let his friends the Hazlits know of his impending visit. Perhaps he telegraphed to me on purpose to give me time to call and prepare them for his arrival. On the other hand, perhaps he wishes to take them by surprise. It may be that he is not on good terms with Mr Hazlit, and intends to use me as a go-between. What shall I do?"

As her conscience was not appealed to in the matter, it gave no reply to the question; having little or no common sense to speak of, she could scarcely expect much of an answer from that part of her being. At last she made up her mind, and, according to a habit induced by a life of solitude, expressed it to the fireplace.

"Yes, that's what I'll do. I shall wait till near the time of the arrival of the last train, and then go straight off to Sea Cottage to spend the evening, leaving a message that if any one should call in my absence I am to be found there. This will give him an excuse, if he wants one, for calling, and if he does not want an excuse he can remain here till my return. I'll have the fire made up, and tell my domestic to offer tea to any one who should chance to call."

Miss Pritty thought it best, on the whole, to give an ambiguous order about the tea to her small domestic, for she knew that lively creature to be a compound of inquisitiveness and impudence, and did not choose to tell her who it was that she expected to call. She was very emphatic, however, in impressing on the small domestic the importance of being very civil and attentive, and of offering tea, insomuch that the child protested with much fervour that she would be sure to attend to orders.

This resulted in quite an evening's amusement to the small domestic.

After Miss Pritty had gone out, the first person who chanced to call was the spouse of Mr Timms, the green-grocer, who had obviously recovered from her illness.

"Is Miss Pritty at 'ome?" she asked.

"No, ma'am, she ain't, she's hout," answered the small domestic.

"Ah! Well, it don't much matter. I on'y called to leave this 'ere little present of cabbidges an' cawliflowers—with Mr Timms' kind compliments and mine. She's been wery kind to us, 'as Miss Pritty, an' we wishes to acknowledge it."

"Please, ma'am," said the domestic with a broad smile, as she took the basket of vegetables, "would you like a cup of tea?"

"What d'you mean, girl?" asked the green-grocer's wife in surprise.

"Please, ma'am, Miss Pritty told me to be sure to offer you a cup of tea."

"Did she, indeed? That's was wery kind of her, wery kind, though 'ow she come for to know I was a-goin' to call beats my comprehension. 'Owever, tell her I'm greatly obleeged to her, but 'avin 'ad tea just afore comin' out, an' bein' chock-full as I can 'old, I'd rather not. Best thanks, all the same."

Mrs Timms went away deeply impressed with Miss Pritty's thoughtful kindness, and the small domestic, shutting the door, indulged in a fit of that species of suppressed laughter which is usually indicated by a series of spurts through the top of the nose and the compressed lips.

She was suddenly interrupted by a tap at the knocker.

Allowing as many minutes to elapse as she thought would have sufficed for her ascent from the kitchen, she once more opened the door. It was only a beggar—a ragged disreputable man—and she was about to shut the door in his face, with that summary politeness so well understood by servant girls, when a thought struck her.

"Oh, sir," she said, "would you like a cup of tea?"

The man evidently thought he was being made game of, for his face assumed such a threatening aspect that the small domestic incontinently shut the door with a sudden bang. The beggar amused himself by battering it with his stick for five minutes and then went away.

The next visitor was a lady.

"Is Miss Pritty at home, child?" she asked, regarding the domestic with a half-patronising, half-pitying air.

"No, ma'am, she's hout."

"Oh! That's a pity," said the lady, taking a book out of her pocket. "Will you tell her that I called for her subscription to the new hospital that is about to be built in the town? Your mistress does not know me personally, but she knows all about the hospital, and this book, which I shall call for to-morrow, will speak for itself. Be sure you give it to her, child."

"Yes, ma'am. And, please, ma'am, would you like a cup of tea?"

The lady, who happened to possess a majestic pair of eyes, looked so astonished that the small domestic could scarcely contain herself.

"Are you deranged, child?" asked the lady.

"No, ma'am, if you please; but Miss Pritty told me to be sure to offer you a cup."

"To offer me a cup, child!"

"Yes, ma'am. At least to offer a cup to any one who should call."

It need scarcely be added that the lady declined the tea, and went away, observing to herself in an undertone, that "she must be deranged."

The small domestic again shut the door and spurted.

It was in her estimation quite a rare, delicious, and novel species of fun. To one whose monotonous life was spent underground, with a prospect of bricks at two feet from her window, and in company with pots, pans, potato-peelings, and black-beetles, it was as good as a scene in a play.

The next visitor was the butcher's boy, who came round to take "orders" for the following day. This boy had a tendency to chaff.

"Well, my lady, has your ladyship any orders?"

"Nothink to-day," answered the domestic, curtly.

"What! Nothink at all? Goin' to fast to-morrow, eh? Or to live on stooed hatmospheric hair with your own sauce for gravey—hey?"

"No, we doesn't want nothink," repeated the domestic, stoutly. "Missus said so, an' she bid me ask you if you'd like a cup of tea?"

The butcher's boy opened his mouth and eyes in amazement. To have his own weapons thus turned, as he thought, against him by one who was usually rather soft and somewhat shy of him, took him quite aback. He recovered, however, quickly, and made a rush at the girl, who, as before, attempted to shut the door with a bang, but the boy was too sharp for her. His foot prevented her succeeding, and there is no doubt that in another moment he would have forcibly entered the house, if he had not been seized from behind by the collar in the powerful grasp of Edgar Berrington, who sent him staggering into the street. The boy did not wait for more. With a wild-Indian war-whoop he turned and fled.

Excited, and, to some extent, exasperated by this last visit, the small domestic received Edgar with a one-third timid, one-third gleeful, and one-third reckless spirit.

"What did the boy mean?" asked Edgar, as he turned towards her.

"Please, sir, 'e wouldn't 'ave a cup of tea, sir," she replied meekly, then, with a gleam of hope in her eyes—"Will you 'ave one, sir?"

"You're a curious creature," answered Edgar, with a smile. "Is Miss Pritty at home?"

"No, sir, she ain't."

This answer appeared to surprise and annoy him.

"Very odd," he said, with a little frown. "Did she not expect me?"

"No, sir, I think she didn't. Leastways she didn't say as she did, but she was very partikler in tellin' me to be sure to hoffer you a cup of tea."

Edgar looked at the small domestic, and, as he looked, his mouth expanded. Her mouth followed suit, and they both burst into a fit of laughter. After a moment or two the former recovered.

"This is all very pleasant, no doubt," he said, "but it is uncommonly awkward. Did she say when she would be home?"

"No, sir, she didn't, but she bid me say if any one wanted her, that they'd find her at Sea Cottage."

"At Sea Cottage—who lives there?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Where is it?"

"On the sea-shore, sir."

"Which way—this way or that way?" asked Edgar, pointing right and left.

"That way," answered the girl, pointing left.

The impatient youth turned hastily to leave.

"Please, sir—" said the domestic.

"Well," said Edgar, stopping.

"You're sure, sir—" she stopped.

"Well?—go on."

"That you wouldn't like to 'ave a cup of tea?"

"Child," said Edgar, as he turned finally away, "you're mad—as mad as a March hare."

"Thank you, sir."

The small domestic shut the door and retired to the regions below, where, taking the pots and pans and black-beetles into her confidence, she shrieked with delight for full ten minutes, and hugged herself.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A CLIMAX IS REACHED.

When Edgar Berrington discovered the cottage by the sea, and ascertained that Miss Pritty was within, he gave his name, and was ushered into the snug little room under the name of Mr Briggington. Aileen gave a particularly minute, but irrepressible and quite inaudible scream; Mr Hazlit sat bolt up in his chair, as if he had seen a ghost; and Miss Pritty—feeling, somehow, that her diplomacy had not become a brilliant success—shrank within herself, and wished it were to-morrow.

Their various expressions, however, were as nothing compared with Edgar's blazing surprise.

"Mr Hazlit," he stammered, "pray pardon my sudden intrusion at so unseasonable an hour; but, really, I was not aware that—did you not get my telegram, aunt?"

He turned abruptly to Miss Pritty.

"Why ye-es, but I thought that you—in fact—I could not imagine that—"

"Never mind explanations just now," said Mr Hazlit, recovering himself, and rising with a bland smile, "you are welcome, Mr Berrington; no hour is unseasonable for one to whom we owe so much."

They shook hands and laughed; then Edgar shook hands with Aileen and blushed, no doubt because she blushed, then he saluted his aunt, and took refuge in being very particular about her receipt of the telegram. This threw Miss Pritty into a state of unutterable confusion, because of her efforts to tell the truth and conceal the truth at one and the same time. After this they spent a very happy evening together, during the course of which Mr Hazlit took occasion to ask Edgar to accompany him into a little pigeon-hole of a room which, in deference to a few books that dwelt there, was styled the library.

"Mr Berrington," he said, sitting down and pointing to a chair, "be seated. I wish to have a little private conversation with you. We are both practical men, and know the importance of thoroughly understanding each other. When I saw you last—now about two years ago—you indicated some disposition to—to regard—in fact to pay your addresses to my daughter. At that time I objected to you on the ground that you were penniless. Whether right or wrong in that objection is now a matter of no importance, because it turns out that I was right on other grounds, as I now find that you did not know your own feelings, and did not care for her—"

"Did not care for her?" interrupted Edgar, in sudden amazement, not unmingled with indignation.

"Of course," continued Mr Hazlit, with undisturbed calmness, "I mean that you did not care for her sufficiently; that you did not regard her with that unconquerable affection which is usually styled 'love', and without which no union can be a happy one. The proof to me that your feeling towards her was evanescent, lies in the fact that you have taken no notice either of her or of me for two years. Had you gained my daughter's affections, this might have caused me deep regret, but as she has seldom mentioned your name since we last saw you, save when I happened to refer to you, I perceive that her heart has been untouched— for which I feel exceedingly thankful, knowing as I do, only too well, that we cannot command our affections."

Mr Hazlit paused a moment, and Edgar was so thunderstruck by the unexpected nature of his host's discourse, that he could only stare at him in mute surprise and unbelief in the evidence of his own ears.

"Now," resumed Mr Hazlit, "as things stand, I shall be very happy indeed that we should return to our old intimacy. I can never forget the debt of obligation we owe to you as our rescuer from worse than death—from slavery among brutalised men, and I shall be very happy indeed that you should make my little cottage by the sea—as Aileen loves to style it—your abode whenever business or pleasure call you to this part of the country."

The merchant extended his hand with a smile of genuine urbanity. The youth took it, mechanically shook it, let it fall, and continued to stare in a manner that made Mr Hazlit feel quite uneasy. Suddenly he recovered, and, looking the latter earnestly in the face, said:—

"Mr Hazlit, did you not, two years ago, forbid me to enter your dwelling?"

"True, true," replied the other somewhat disconcerted; "but the events which have occurred since that time warranted your considering that order as cancelled."

"But you did not say it was cancelled. Moreover your first objection still remained, for I was nearly penniless then, although, in the good providence of God, I am comparatively rich now. I therefore resolved to obey your injunctions, sir, and keep away from your house and from your daughter's distracting influence, until I could return with a few of those pence, which you appear to consider so vitally important."

"Mr Berrington," exclaimed the old gentleman, who was roused by this hit, "you mistake me. My opinions in regard to wealth have been considerably changed of late. But my daughter does not love you, and if you were as rich as Croesus, sir, you should not have her hand without her heart."

Mr Hazlit said this stoutly, and, just as stoutly, Edgar replied:—

"If I were as rich as Croesus, sir, I would not accept her hand without her heart; but, Mr Hazlit, I am richer than Croesus!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that I am rich in the possession of that which a world's wealth could not purchase—your daughter's affections."

"Impossible! Mr Berrington, your passion urges you to deceive yourself."

"You will believe what she herself says, I suppose?" asked Edgar, plunging his hand into a breast-pocket.

"Of course I will."

"Well then, listen," said the youth, drawing out a small three-cornered note. "A good many months ago, when I found my business to be in a somewhat flourishing condition, I ventured to write to Aileen, telling her of my circumstances, of my unalterable love, and expressing a wish that she would write me at least one letter to give me hope that the love, which she, allowed me to understand was in her breast before you forbade our intercourse, still continued. This," he added, handing the three-cornered note to the old gentleman, "is her reply."

Mr Hazlit took the note, and, with a troubled countenance, read:—

"Dear Mr Berrington,—I am not sure that I am right in replying to you without my father's knowledge, and only prevail on myself to do so because I intend that our correspondence shall go no further, and what I shall say will, I know, be in accordance with his sentiments. My feelings towards you remain unchanged. We cannot command feelings, but I consider the duty I owe to my dear father to be superior to my feelings, and I am resolved to be guided by his expressed wishes as long as I remain under his roof. He has forbidden me to have any intercourse with you: I will therefore obey until he sanctions a change of conduct. Even this brief note should not have been written were it not that it would be worse than rude to take no notice of a letter from one who has rendered us such signal service, and whom I shall never forget.—Yours sincerely, Aileen Hazlit."

The last sentence—"and whom I shall never forget"—had been carefully scribbled out, but Edgar had set himself to work, with the care and earnest application of an engineer and a lover, to decipher the words.

"Dear child!" exclaimed Mr Hazlit, in a fit of abstraction, kissing the note; "this accounts for her never mentioning him;" then, recovering himself, and turning abruptly and sternly to Edgar, he said:—"How did you dare, sir, to write to her after my express prohibition?"

"Well," replied Edgar, "some allowance ought to be made for a lover's anxiety to know how matters stood, and I fully intended to follow up my letter to her with one to you; but I confess that I did wrong—"

"No, sir, no," cried Mr Hazlit, abruptly starting up and grasping Edgar's hand, which he shook violently, "you did not do wrong. You did quite right, sir. I would have done the same myself in similar circumstances."

So saying, Mr Hazlit, feeling that he was compromising his dignity, shook Edgar's hand again, and hastened from the room. He met Aileen descending the staircase. Brushing past her, he went into his bed-room, and shut and locked the door.

Much alarmed by such an unwonted display of haste and feeling, Aileen ran into the library.

"Oh! Mr Berrington, what is the matter with papa?"

"If you will sit down beside me, Aileen," said Edgar, earnestly, tenderly, and firmly, taking her hand, "I will tell you."

Aileen blushed, stammered, attempted to draw back, but was constrained to comply. Edgar, on the contrary, was as cool as a cucumber. He had evidently availed himself of his engineering knowledge, and fitted extra weights of at least seven thousand tons to the various safety-valves of his feelings.

"Your father," he began, looking earnestly into the girl's down-cast face, "is—"

But hold! Reader; we must not go on. If you are a boy, you won't mind what followed; if a girl, you have no right to pry into such matters. We therefore beg leave at this point to shut the lids of our dexter eye, and drop the curtain.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE LAST.

One day Joe Baldwin, assisted by his old friend, Rooney Machowl, was busily engaged down at the bottom of the sea, off the Irish coast, slinging a box of gold specie. He had given the signal to haul up, and Rooney had moved away to put slings round another box, when the chain to which the gold was suspended snapt, and the box descended on Joe. If it had hit him on the back in its descent it would certainly have killed him, but it only hit his collar-bone and broke it.

Joe had just time to give four pulls on his lines, and then fainted. He was instantly hauled up, carefully unrobed, and put to bed.

This was a turning-point in our diver's career. The collar-bone was all right in the course of a month or two, but Mrs Baldwin positively refused to allow her goodman to go under water again.

"The little fortin' you made out in Chiny," she said one evening while seated with her husband at supper in company with Rooney and his wife, "pays for our rent, an' somethin' over. You're a handy man, and can do a-many things to earn a penny, and I can wash enough myself to keep us both. You've bin a 'ard workin' man, Joe, for many a year. You've bin long enough under water. You'll git rheumatiz, or somethin' o' that sort, if you go on longer, so I'm resolved that you shan't do it— there!"

"Molly, cushla!" said Machowl, in a modest tone, "I hope you won't clap a stopper on my goin' under water for some time yit—plaze."

Molly laughed.

"Oh! It's all very well for you to poke fun at me, Mister Machowl," said Mrs Baldwin, "but you're young yet, an' my Joe's past his prime. When you've done as much work as he's done—there now, you've done it at last. I told you so."

This last remark had reference to the fact that young Teddy Machowl, having been over-fed by his father, had gone into a stiff blue-in-the-face condition that was alarming to say the least of it. Mrs Machowl dashed at her offspring, and, giving him an unmerciful thump on the back, effected the ejection of a mass of beef which had been the cause of the phenomena.

"What a bu'ster it is—the spalpeen," observed Rooney, with a smile, as he resumed the feeding process, much to Teddy's delight; "you'll niver do for a diver if you give way to appleplectic tendencies o' that sort. Here—open your mouth wide and shut your eyes."

"Well, well, it'll only be brought in manslaughter, so he won't swing for it," remarked Mrs Baldwin, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Now, Joe," she continued, turning to her husband, "you'll begin at once to look out for a situation above water. David Maxwell can finish the job you had in hand,—speakin' of that, does any one know where David is just now?"

"He's down at the bottom of a gasometer," answered Joe; "leastwise he was there this afternoon—an' a dirty place it is."

"A bad-smellin' job that, I should think," observed Rooney.

"Well, it ain't a sweet-smellin' one," returned Joe. "He's an adventurous man is David. I don't believe there's any hole of dirty water or mud on the face o' this earth that he wouldn't go down to the bottom of if he was dared to it. He's fond of speculatin' too, ever since that trip to the China seas. You must know, Mrs Rooney, if your husband hasn't told you already, that we divers, many of us, have our pet schemes for makin' fortunes, and some of us have tried to come across the Spanish dubloons that are said to lie on the sea-bottom off many parts of our coast where the Armada was lost."

"It's jokin' ye are," said Mrs Machowl, looking at Joe with a sly twinkle in her pretty eyes.

"Jokin'! No, indeed, I ain't," rejoined the diver. "Did Rooney never tell ye about the Spanish Armada?"

"Och! He's bin sayin' somethin' about it now an' again, but he's such a man for blarney that I never belave more nor half he says."

"Sure ain't that the very raison I tell ye always at laste twice as much as I know?" said Rooney, lighting his pipe.

"Well, my dear," continued Joe, "the short an' the long of it is, that about the year 1588, the Spaniards sent off a huge fleet of big ships to take Great Britain and Ireland by storm—once for all—and have done with it, but Providence had work for Britain to do, and sent a series o' storms that wrecked nearly the whole Spanish fleet on our shores. Many of these vessels had plenty of gold dubloons on board, so when divin' bells and dresses were invented, men began to try their hands at fishin' it up, and, sure enough, some of it was actually found and brought up— especially off the shores of the island of Mull, in Scotland. They even went the length of forming companies in this country, and in Holland, for the purpose of recovering treasure from wrecks. Well, ever since then, up to the present time, there have been speculative men among divers, who have kept on tryin' their hands at it. Some have succeeded; others have failed. David Maxwell is one of the lucky ones for the most part, and even when luck fails, he never comes by any loss, for he's a hard-workin' man, an' keeps a tight hold of whatever he makes, whether by luck or by labour."

"But what about the bad-smellin' job he's got on hand just now?" asked Rooney.

"Why, he's repairin' the bottom of a gas tank. He got the job through recoverin' some gold watches that were thrown into the Thames by some thieves, as they were bein' chased over London Bridge. David found ten of 'em—one bein' worth fifty pounds. Well, just at that time an experienced and hardy fellow was wanted for the gas-work business, so David was recommended. You know a gas tank, as to look an' smell, is horrible enough to frighten a hippopotamus, but David went up to the edge of this tank by a ladder, and jumped in as cool as if he'd bin jumpin' into a bed with clean sheets. He stopped down five hours. Of course, in such filthy water, a light would have been useless. He had to do it all by feelin', nevertheless, they say, he made a splendid job of it,—the bed of clay and puddle, at the bottom, bein' smoothed as flat a'most as a billiard table,—besides fixin' sixteen iron-plates for the gas-holder to rest on. He was to finish the job this afternoon, I believe." [See Note 1.]

"Ah, he's a cute feller is David," observed Rooney, reflectively, as he watched a ring of smoke that rose from his pipe towards the ceiling. "What d'ee intind to turn your hand to if you give up divin', Joe?"

"If!" said Mrs Baldwin, with a peculiar intonation.

"Well, when you give it up," said Rooney, with a bland smile.

"I'm not rightly sure," replied Joe. "In the first place, I'll watch for the leadings of Providence, for without that, I cannot expect success. Then I'll go and see Mr Berrington, who has just returned, they say, from his wedding trip. My own wish is to become a sort of missionary among the poor people hereabouts."

"Why, Joe," said his friend, "you've bin that, more or less, for years past."

"Ay, at odd times," returned Joe, "but I should like to devote all my time to it now."

In pursuance of his plan the ex-diver went the following morning to the sea-shore, and walked in the direction of Sea Cottage, following the road that bordered the sands.

Near to that cottage, about two hundred yards from it, stood a small but very pretty villa. Joe knew its name to be Sea-beach Villa, and understood that it was the abode of his former master and friend, Edgar Berrington. There was a lovely garden in front, full to overflowing with flowers of every name and hue, and trellis-work bowers here and there, covered with jessamine and honeysuckle. A sea-shell walk led to the front door. Up this walk the diver sauntered, and applied the knocker.

The door was promptly opened by a very small, sharp-eyed domestic.

"Is your master at home, my dear?" asked Joe, kindly.

"I ain't got no master," replied the girl.

"No!" returned Joe, in some surprise. "Your missus then?"

"My missus don't live 'ere. I'm on'y loaned to this 'ouse," said the small domestic; "loaned by Miss Pritty for two days, till they find a servant gal for themselves."

"Oh!" said Joe, with a smile, "is the gentleman who borrowed you within?"

"No, 'e ain't," replied the small domestic.

At that moment Mr Hazlit walked up the path, and accosted Joe.

"Ah, you want to see my son-in-law? He had not yet returned. I expect him, however, to-day. Perhaps, if you call in the afternoon, or to-morrow morning, you may—"

He was interrupted by the sound of wheels. Next moment a carriage dashed round the corner of the garden wall, and drew up in front of the house. Before the old gentleman had clearly realised the fact, he found himself being smothered by one of the prettiest girls in all England, and Joe felt his hand seized in a grasp worthy of a diver.

While Aileen dragged her father into the villa, in order to enable him to boast ever after that he had received the first kiss she ever gave under her own roof, Edgar led Joe to a trellis-work arbour, and, sitting down beside him there, said:—

"Come, Joe, I know you want to see me about something. While these two are having it out indoors, you and I can talk here."

"First, Mister Eddy," said Joe, holding out his big horny hand, "let me congratulate you on comin' home. May the Lord dwell in your house, and write His name in your two hearts."

"Amen!" returned Edgar, again grasping the diver's hand. "My dear wife and I expect to have that prayer answered in our new home, for we put up a similar one before entering it. And now, Joe, what is it that you want?"

"Well, sir, the fact is, that my old woman thinks since I smashed my shoulder, that it's high time for me to give up divin', and take to lighter work; but I didn't know you were comin' home to-day, sir. I thought you'd been home some days already, else I wouldn't have come to you, but—"

"Never mind, Joe. There's no time like the present—go on."

Thus encouraged, Joe explained his circumstances and desires. When he had ended, Edgar remained silent for some minutes.

"Joe," he said at length, "you used to be fond of gardening. Have you forgotten all about it?"

"Why, not quite, sir, but—"

"Stay—I'll come back in a few minutes," said Edgar, rising hastily, and going into the house.

In a few minutes he returned with his wife.

"Joe," said he, "Mrs Berrington has something to say to you."

"Mr Baldwin," said Aileen, with a peculiar smile, "I am greatly in want of a gardener. Can you tell me where I am likely to find one, or can you recommend one?"

Joe, who was a quick-witted fellow, replied with much gravity:—

"No Miss—ma'am, I mean—I can't."

"That's a pity," returned Aileen, with a little frown of perplexity; "I am also much in want of a cook—do you know of one?"

"No, ma'am," said Joe, "I don't."

"What a stupid, unobservant fellow you must be, Joe," said Edgar, "not to be able to recommend a cook or a gardener, and you living, as I may say, in the very midst of such useful personages. Now, Aileen, I can recommend both a cook and a gardener to you."

"You see, ma'am," interrupted Joe, with profound gravity, and an earnestness of manner that quite threw his questioners off their guard, "this is an occasion when you may learn a valuable lesson at the outset of wedded life, so to speak—namely, that it is much safer an' wiser, when you chance to be in a difficulty, to apply to your husband for information than to the likes of me; you see, he's ready with what you want at a moment's notice."

Aileen and Edgar were upset by this; they both laughed heartily, and then the former said:—

"Now, Mr Baldwin, we won't beat any longer about the bush. We have not succeeded in getting a cook, being in the meantime obliged to content ourselves with a temporary loan of the green-grocer's wife, and of Miss Pritty's small domestic; therefore I want to engage your wife, who is at present, I believe, open to an engagement. We are also unprovided with a man to tend our garden, look after our pony, and help me in the missionary work, in which I hope immediately to be engaged in this town. Do you accept that situation?"

Aileen said this with such an earnest irresistible air, that Joe Baldwin struck his colours on the spot, and said, "I do!" with nearly as much fervour as Edgar had said these words six weeks before.

The thing was settled then and there, for Joe felt well assured that his amiable Susan would have no objection to such an arrangement.

Now, while this was going on in the bower, Mr Hazlit, observing that his children were occupied with something important, sauntered down the sea-shell road in the direction of his own cottage. Here he met Miss Pritty.

The sight of her mild innocent face called up a thought. Dozens of other thoughts immediately seized hold of the first thought, and followed it. Mr Hazlit was sometimes, though not often, impulsive. He took Miss Pritty's hand without saying a word, drew her arm within his own, and led her into the cottage.

"Miss Pritty," he said, sitting down and pointing to a chair, "you have always been very kind to my daughter."

"She has always been very kind—very kind—to me," answered Miss Pritty, with a slight look of surprise.

"True—there is no doubt whatever about that," returned Mr Hazlit, "but just now I wish to refer to your kindness to her. You came, unselfishly, at great personal inconvenience, to China, at my selfish request, and for her sake you endured horrors in connection with the sea, of which I had no conception until I witnessed your sufferings. I am grateful for your self-sacrificing kindness, and am now about to take a somewhat doubtful mode of showing my gratitude, namely, by asking you to give up your residence in town, and come to be my housekeeper—my companion and friend."

Mr Hazlit paused, and Miss Pritty, looking at him with her mild eyes excessively wide open, gave no audible expression to her feelings or sentiments, being, for the moment, bereft of the power of utterance.

"You see," continued Mr Hazlit, in a sad voice, looking slowly round the snug parlour, "I shall be a very lonely man now that my darling has left my roof. And you must not suppose, Miss Pritty, that I ask you to make any engagement that would tie you, even for a year, to a life that you might not relish. I only ask you to come and try it. If you find that you prefer a life of solitude, unhampered in any way, you will only have to say so at any time—a month, a week, after coming here—and I will cheerfully, and without remonstrance, reinstate you in your old home—or a similar one—exactly as I found you, even to your small domestic, who may come here and be your private maid if you choose."

Miss Pritty could not find it in her heart to refuse an offer so kindly made. The matter was therefore settled then and there, just as that of the diver and his wife had been arranged next door.

Is it necessary to say that both arrangements were found, in course of time, to answer admirably? Miss Pritty discovered that housekeeping was her forte, and that she possessed powers of comprehension, in regard to financial matters connected with the payment of debts and dividends, such as she had all her previous life believed to be unattainable anywhere, save in the Bank of England or on the Stock Exchange.

Mrs Baldwin discovered that cooking was her calling—the end for which she had been born—although discovered rather late in life. Joe made the discovery that gardening and stable-work were very easy employments in the Berrington household, and that his young mistress kept him uncommonly busy amongst the poor of the town, encouraging him to attend chiefly to their spiritual wants, though by no means neglectful of their physical. In these matters he became also agent and assistant to Mr Hazlit—so that the gardening and stable-tending ultimately became a mere sham, and it was found necessary to provide a juvenile assistant, in the person of the green-grocer's eldest boy, to fill these responsible posts.

The green-grocer himself, and his wife, discovered that Christian influence, good example, and kind words, were so attractive and powerful as to induce them, insensibly, to begin a process of imitation, which ended, quite naturally, in a flourishing business and a happy home.

The small domestic also made a discovery or two. She found that a kitchen with a view of the open sea from its window, and a reasonable as well as motherly companion to talk to, was, on the whole, superior to a kitchen with a window opening up a near prospect of bricks, and the companionship of black pots and beetles.

At first, Aileen travelled a good deal with her husband in his various business expeditions, and thus visited many wild, romantic, and out-o'-the-way parts of our shores; but the advent of a juvenile Berrington put a sudden stop to that, and the flow of juvenile Berringtons that followed induced her to remain very much at home. This influx of "little strangers" induced the building of so many wings to Sea-beach Villa, that its body at last became lost in its wings, and gave rise to a prophecy that it would one day rise into the air and fly away: up to the present time, however, this remains a portion of unfulfilled prophecy.

Mr Hazlit became rich again, not indeed so rich as at first, but comfortably rich. Nevertheless, he determined to remain comparatively poor, in order that he might pay his debts to the uttermost farthing. His cottage by the sea had comforts in it, but nothing that could fairly be styled a luxury, except, of course, a luxurious army of well-trained grandchildren, who invaded his premises every morning with terrific noise, and kept possession until fairly driven out by force of arms.

Rooney Machowl and David Maxwell stuck to their colours manfully. They went into partnership, and continued for years struggling together at the bottom of the sea. Mrs Machowl tended the amiable Teddy during the early, or chokable period of infancy, but when he had safely passed that season, his father took him in hand, and taught him to dive. He began by tumbling him into a washing-tub at odd times, in order to accustom him to water. Then, when a little older, he amused himself by occasionally throwing him off the end of the pier, and jumping in to save him. Afterwards he initiated him into the mysteries of the dress, the helmet, the life-line, the air-pipe, etcetera, and, finally, took him down bodily to the bottom of the sea. At last, Teddy became as good and fearless a diver as his father. He was also the pride of his mother.

One afternoon—a bright glowing afternoon—in the autumn of the year, Mr Hazlit sat in a favourite bower in the garden of his cottage, with Aileen on one side of him, and Edgar on the other. At the foot of the garden a miscellaneous group of boys, girls, and babies, of all ages, romped and rolled upon the turf. In front lay the yellow sands, and, beyond, the glorious glittering sea rolled away to the horizon.

Mr Hazlit had just been commenting on their happy condition as compared with the time when they "knew not God." The children having just romped themselves into a state of exhaustion, were reasonably quiet, and the sun was setting in floods of amber and gold.

"What a peaceful evening!" remarked Aileen.

"How different," said Edgar, "from that of which it is the anniversary! Don't you remember that this is the evening of the day in which we attacked the Malay pirates long ago?"

"So it is. I had forgotten," said Mr Hazlit.

"Dinner, sir," said a boy in buttons, who bore a marked resemblance to the green-grocer's wife.

As he spoke a stout gentleman opened the garden gate and walked up the path leading to the bower. At the same moment Miss Pritty issued from the house and echoed the green-grocer's boy's announcement.

They were all silent as the stout gentleman approached.

"What! can it be?" cried Edgar, starting up in excitement.

"The captain!" exclaimed Mr Hazlit.

"Impossible!" murmured Aileen.

"Pirates!" cried Miss Pritty, turning deadly white, and preparing to fall into Edgar's arms, but curiosity prevented her.

There could be no mistake. The bright glittering eyes, the black beard and moustache, the prominent nose, the kindly smile, the broad chest and shoulders, revealed unquestionably the captain of the Rajah's gun-boat.

"Miraculous!" cried Edgar, as he wrung the captain's right hand. "We were just talking of the great fight of which this is the anniversary."

"Amazing coincidence!" exclaimed Mr Hazlit, seizing the other hand.

"Not so much of a coincidence as it seems, however," said the captain with a laugh, as he shook hands with the ladies, "for I made arrangements on purpose to be here on the anniversary day, thinking that it might add to the interest of my visit."

"And to come just at dinner-time too," said Miss Pritty, who had recovered.

"Another coincidence," observed Aileen, with an arch look.

"Come—come in—here, this way, captain," cried Mr Hazlit, dragging his friend by the hand. "Welcome—heartily welcome to Sea Cottage."

The captain submitted to be dragged; to be placed by the side of Aileen; to be overwhelmed with kindness by the elder members of the family, and with questions by the younger members, who regarded him as a hero of romance quite equal, if not superior, to Jack the Giant-killer.

But how can we describe what followed? It is impossible. We can only say that the evening was one of a thousand. All the battles were fought over again. The captain came out strong for the benefit of the youngsters, and described innumerable scenes of wild adventure in which he had been personally engaged. And to cap it all, after dinner, when they went out into the garden, and were seated in floods of moonlight in the bower, two men opened the garden gate and made for the back kitchen, with the evident intention of calling on the cook. These were discovered to be Rooney Machowl and David Maxwell.

Of course they were made to come and shake hands with their old commander, the captain, and gradually got into a talk, and laughed a good deal at the recollection of old times, insomuch that the noise they made drew Joe Baldwin to the scene, and, as a natural result, this led the conversation into divers channels—among others to life and adventure at the bottom of the sea, and there is no saying how long they might have talked there if a cloud had not obliterated the moon, and admonished them that the night was at hand.

And now, good reader, with regret we find that our tale has reached its close. We may not have added much to your knowledge, but if we have, in any degree, interested you in the characters we have summoned to our little stage, or in the incidents that have been enacted thereon, we shall not have wrought in vain, for the subject into which you have consented to dive with us is not only an interesting, but a dangerous one—involving as it does the constant risking of manly lives, the well-being of large communities, the progress of important industries, and the salvation of much valuable property to the world at large.

THE END.

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Note 1. Something similar to the "job" above mentioned was accomplished by G. Smith, a diver on the staff of Messrs. Heinke and Davis, of London.