"Lydia, my girl, you'll"-holding the glass Mrs. Heathcote had used upside down -"get-red-in the-face-like your mother was, if you don't take care." At last, he got to Lawyer Battiscombe's seat. "Ah! I thought so. Trust a lawyer. Not a drop, if you squeezed the glass for a week." Then he sat down by the fire, took a lump or two of coal off, and put his feet on the fender. He sat in his easy chair, in thought. Wondering what they would have thought if they had seen him pouring the wine back into the decanters;-thinking he should not have cared a rush if they had. Wondering whether Lydia Heathcote counted on his death;-thinking she was not quite sure of his money yet. Wondering why his sister Susan could not have left him all her money; -thinking he would do his best to defeat her intentions, and secure the odd hundreds he had neither a legal nor moral right to. Wondering why he felt so drowsy;-thinking He was fast asleep. He slept an hour, and the candle burnt down two inches and a half before he was awakened. His sister's maid had brought in the tea tray at the usual hour, and her entrance roused her master. He woke with a start: counted the biscuits on the dish, and questioned the girl in a breath. "Was I asleep? Ah!-four-I didn't take-six-my nap-eight-to-day: that's it. Never get into-I'm sure, I thought I made nine of 'em before-bad habits, Mary." He never touched his tea, but sat musing till he dozed off again. When he woke, his fire was out, his legs were cramped, and it was a quarter to nine by his watch. He pulled the bell. "What a thing habit is! Because I don't happen to have twenty minutes' sleep in the afternoon, I waste the whole of a precious evening." "Shall I lay the cloth here, sir?" "No. Certainly not. I shall take my supper in the kitchen when you're gone to bed. Tell Hester and the cook to come to me." Dressed in black gowns, and with their aprons ready for their eyes, the servants waited his commands. They found him sitting with a little housekeeping book of his sister's in his hands. They thought Mr. Mortiboy was about to improve the occasion. But they had misjudged him. He was going to discharge them. "Habit is a curious thing," he began, pouring out a cup of the cold tea, and sipping it appreciatively. "I missed my usual little nap on the stairs to-day, and I have wasted a precious evening-a pr-e-ci-ous evening through it." The corners of the white aprons dropped. The three domestics waited for him while he took another sip of his tea. "I ought to have done this earlier; but thoughts of her who is gone"-he looked upwards-" kept me from it." The aprons up again, ready for use. Hester, a very old retainer, in real tears. "You've heard me called eccentric ?" "Oh! no, sir!”—mumbled. "You've heard 'em call me old Readymoney?" "Oh! no, sir!"—very loud. "Yes, you have. You were-Susan'sservants, not mine. You've heard me called rich, now?" "Yes, sir." you, Mr. Mortiboy; but my mistress, as I lived with four year and three-quarters come Michaelmas was five years would do that for me any day. And I've only been here four months, which—" "I have given you notice," Mr. Mortiboy interposed. "I shall not keep you your month. I shall pay your wages instead." He was getting angry. The moon shone brightly on it and him; and he saw, in chalk characters, "OLD REDDY-MUNNY IS A MIZER" scrawled on it. "Now, this is too bad-to-day," he exclaimed, producing from his inner coat pocket the sad-coloured handkerchief, full of holes. "I must wipe it off. What is the good of a policeman? I'd give I'd give—a "Thank you, sir. Which is the law, and rich and pore must both abide by it "-drop--a shilling to know who does it, and hang ping a most irritating curtsey. "I'll pay you now!" cried Mr. Mortiboy. "If you please, sir; and I'll pack up my boxes this very night, and go. For I couldn't abear-" Poor little Mary, frightened out of her wits, tugged at cook's gown. "Don't pull me, Mary. Mr. Mortiboy never was my master-and never shall be." "I'll take your black dress away from you if you say another word." No, sir-'xcuse me, that'll go with me to my next place; and I shan't trouble you for a character. And I have heard you called old Ready-money, and called you so my sel-" Before she could finish her sentence, the ruler of the roast was dragged out of the room by Hester and Mary. An hour and a-half later, Mr. Mortiboy had recovered from his discomfiture, paid the cook, and seen her and her baggage off the premises, and sent Mary and Hester to bed. the little devils for it too." He rubbed the writing off his door, and went on his way. His house opened on the street. Across the street was a paddock. The field belonged to him. He had the key, and let himself in. This close was a little gold mine to him. It was the arena on which all flower shows, agricultural and horse shows, wild beast shows, and riders' circuses were held. A few sheep started as he crossed the wet grass at the side by the church. In the churchyard, the clouds hid the moon-and hid the ponderous figure that had dogged him there: from his house door -over the paddock wall-into the graveyard. The old man went on. "The moon gone in? But I'm not superstitious. I'd as soon sleep in a church as anywhere else," he said to himself as be groped his way round the south wall of the church. "Ha! light again!" The man behind him dropped three or four paces back. Not a sound was heard in the deep, wet grass. He sat before the kitchen fire, eating a slice of cold boiled beef laid on a crust of bread. He dispensed with a plate and "Now, we shall see what we are at. There fork, but had a very sharp knife in his hand. is a smaller window than this though, I know He cut his mouthfuls into equal paral--and this is not a big one. I should have lelograms, with mathematical precision, and made a first-rate window-peeper in the old slowly got through his frugal supper. tax days. He rose from his chair, unfastened the door, and looked out into his garden. The moon was up, but heavy clouds obscured it every moment, drifting swiftly past. An idea had for half an hour held possession of his mind. He was going out. To pay a visit to the churchyard. To find out for himself which really was the smallest window. The will said nothing about the size. He found his great-coat hanging in the passage, without a light. He fumbled at the latch and bolts of the front door, and let himself out. "Ha! this is the window I had in my eye. Now, could it cost ten pounds to put in a beau-u-tiful window there?" The moon was clouded again, and his attendant gained on him. There was a corner between them. That was all. "Be whipped if I think it could cost ten pounds. Eight ought to do it." The man came nearer. His arm was raised. "No mention of which window you meant to have, Susan, my poor dear sister. Ha! ha! Ghrimes was taken into your confidence, not your own flesh and blood." Nearer still the arm came. It almost touched him. "Well, now, I've been all round the church, I think. I'll go back, or I shall go and catch cold in this grass. It's like a little river. D-n! What's this?" He had stumbled stance in his path. over some hard sub The moon shone out brightly, and showed him the footstone of his wife's grave. He had not been near it for years. He read the inscription on the headstone in the bright moonlight. "Wants doing up a bit," he muttered. The man who was dogging him was close at his back. "There's room for Dick's name now, if we had heard about him. But no, poor fellow --no!—I think I'll go in again now. I_" As he spoke, a hand like a blacksmith's fell on his shoulder, and held him in a vice! I GRACE SELWODE. AN OLD-FASHIONED STORY. BY JULIA GODDARD. CHAPTER LIV. THE MEETING IN HYDE PARK. LISTENED again. Sure it was Jack's door opening very softly. I had not bolted mine, and now I had but to move the latch, and 'twas unclosed; and I was listening at the chink I had made to hear what further would take place. There was no doubt on my mind as to what Jack was about to do; and in another moment his stealthy footstep-that none but those listening as I had listened would hear -passed by my door. I waited until I knew he must have turned at the angle of the staircase, and then I slipped after him. I kept behind a statue that stood there, for fear he might turn back and discover me. I held my breath; but I could hear the beating of my heart like the ticking of a great clock. As I expected, Jack was at the hall door which, to my astonishment, he opened with out drawing any of the bolts, which usually made so much noise. He must have slipped them back overnight, in anticipation of his movements. In another instant he had closed the door after him, and ere I knew what I was doing I had followed, and found myself in the street with a dark shadow in front of me, which I pursued noiselessly, creeping close to the wall when I feared he was likely to look behind. I need not have done this, for the figure moved on swiftly towards the west. 'Twas a dark, gloomy twilight. The gray clouds were close packed over the heavens, obscuring the struggles of the rising sun to show its light. 'Twas a chill morning, and an April mist was falling, scarce to be called rain, and yet that made one's garments dank and heavy. I moved quickly onward, for my feet had wings, and scarce seemed to touch the earth. I felt no fear for myself, for Jack was not far off, and I knew too well that he had a trusty weapon with him. On, on-two noiseless, stealthy figures, with the city asleep behind them, making for the waste of ground where blood had been spilled, and where 'twas like soon to be spilled again. A strange courage had taken possession of me. I stole in and out among the trees, ever keeping the object of my pursuit in sight. At length, Jack paused anigh a stagnant brook; and there he leaned against the trunk of a tree, and looked sharply round to see if any one was coming. 'Twas lighter now; the sun would soon be up; the clouds were beginning to disperse; the chill mist was disappearing; there was a streak of red on the horizon, prophetic-so in my shuddering soul I thought-of what was to come. And still my brother watched and waited. I, in my concealment, watched and waited "I would be of no avail to appear until the combatants should be ready. A hasty step made me look out. 'Twas Harry Fanshawe. "I came as quick as I could," said he. "They're late," said Jack. too. And And as he spoke two other persons came in sight, their hats slouched over their faces, their cloaks muffled round them. In agonized apprehension I watched their approach. They came nearer and nearer; but even when there was no danger of being seen by any but those they had come to meet, they seemed unwilling to throw off their disguise, and kept their faces well hidden. I felt my brain swimming, my heart sinking. Nearer and nearer they moved. The time had come for me to make myself seen and heard-for me to prevent the murder of one or both of them. So, gathering up my ebbing courage, I sprang from my hidingplace, and darting between them, I shrieked— "Sir Everard! Jack!-oh, Jack!" d I know not which were most affrighted at my sudden presence-Jack and Harry Fanshawe, or the new-comers. My mantle fell from me in the energy of the movement, and I stood there, with outstretched arms, in a supplicating attitude. "Grace!" ejaculated Harry and Jack, in one breath. "Grace!" said another voice, but not Sir Everard Tylney's. "This is tragedy indeed, as good as 'Hamlet.'" And throwing aside the cloak that had enveloped him, Uncle Oliver stood before me; and in another moment I was sobbing in his arms. The sun was coming up red and glorious now, sending deep crimson lights over the sky and into the woods, and quivering on the faces of the five so strangely met together. "Grace," said Jack, coldly, "this is a bad jest." "What do you mean, sir?" says Uncle Oliver. "To put an end to murder is surely a good one." "To put a stain on one's honour not easily to be wiped out is no light matter," answers Jack, loftily. "Tush, tush, boy!-hast not had fighting enough already, but must come home to try thy sword on her Majesty's peaceable subjects against their inclination?" "Good morning, sir," says Jack, in a majestic manner, moving away. "Stop, sir!" says Uncle Oliver, putting his hand upon his shoulder, "and don't make a fool of yourself. How came you here, Grace?" "I followed Jack," I sobbed. "After putting you on the scent, sir," added Jack. "Mistress Selwode was a spectator the last time I saw her," said a good-natured voice. "She is an actor in a drama now. Ah," said he, "nature is the highest art. That 'Jack, oh, Jack!' of yours would have made the fortune of any actress. But I do wrong to jest, Mistress Selwode; nor would I do so, but that this tragic matter is like to have so happy an ending." I looked from him to Uncle Oliver for an explanation for I could not speak to ask for one. And Mr. Steele, gathering up my mantle, which the others had not heeded, wrapped it carefully around me. "Tis cold in the early morn," said he, "and you are shivering." So I was; and Uncle Oliver bade me take his arm, and said he "Grace, child, here is thy father's letter. You may thank Mr. Steele for his help, for without it I should scarce have succeeded." "No thanks to me," said Mr. Steele. "I fought a duel once, and if ever I have had power to prevent one since, or to throw my weight into the scale against duelling, I have held it to be my duty to do so. No thanks, young lady. 'Tis for my principles, not for praise, that I have helped your uncle." And then my uncle explained how that he and Mr. Steele had had more than a suspicion of Sir Everard's dealings with the foreign court; but that 'twas thought unwise to agitate in the affair, as so many were unsteady in their principles, and there was no knowing who might be implicated in a matter that had more danger to its partizans themselves than to those intrigued against. "Besides," said Uncle Oliver, "my hands were tied when I found that Sir Everard was my nephew-presumptive." And then he went on to say that when he discovered the true state of things he at once went to Mr. Steele, and they consulted to "That she didn't," said Uncle Oliver, quickly. "How did she know where you were going? No; 'twas a better authority that let me know where I should find you-gether; and that my fears of a duel had 'twas Sir Everard Tylney himself." "Sir Everard Tylney!" cried Jack, aghast. "I said he was a coward. He shall answer for this." "You'll have to go to France for satisfaction, then," said Uncle Oliver, coolly; "for he's on his way to St. Germains at the present moment. May his patent of nobility be ready for him." 'Twas my turn to be astonished now. Was Uncle Oliver sane, and who was the man with him? And I looked round quickly. been taken up warmly by Mr. Steele "And I believe," continued Uncle Oliver, "they moved him more than any qualms at a Jacobite plot. Well, as we had good proof against the man, I went to him, and privately warned him of his danger, making the condition of my keeping silence until he was in safety dependent upon his giving up Ralph's letter. He hesitated a little, but I was firm; and, feeling his danger, he finally yielded. "Twenty-four hours clear?' said he. "So I formed my own plan of communicating with you, and brought Mr. Steele with me to preach you a sermon against duelling; and here we are. But Grace, child! —" I heard no more. A great flash of light seemed to dart across my brain, and then a peal of thunder, crashing, crashing, till I was beaten down, and could neither hear nor see; and when I awoke after it, I was very weak, and at first I did not know where I was. It was a soft spring morning, and the sun was shining into my room, and my mother was sitting at my bedside, gazing anxiously upon me, whilst Clarinda-looking as if she had not slept for weeks-was standing at the foot of the bed; and when I recognized her and spoke to her, she burst into tears, and left the room. I had had a brain fever, and had been ill for many days, hovering betwixt life and death. Every one knew about everything now. Perhaps Uncle Oliver knew the most; for Mr. Lydgate had inquired all about me, and Uncle Oliver had learned something, and had guessed more. But he kept it to himself, only whispering to me, the first time he was able to see me- "Philip Lydgate is mending apace. He will be right glad to see thee." "Then he has forgiven?" I said, involuntarily. "Pooh!" said Uncle Oliver, somewhat contemptuously. The golden time was coming again; and yet, in the midst of it, I felt a sort of pity for Sir Everard. "And Sir Everard?" I asked. "Is safe in France, and will deem it wise to stay there." I laid my head back upon my pillow, and fell into a dream that had scarce any shadows in it, and the light was very fair. The web was being spun in a golden sunshine now: its warp and woof were silken and silvern, and it sparkled with shining jewels. It was almost too glittering to look at; and so I closed my eyes. CHAPTER LV. LASTLY. FOR many days I was too weak to do more than lie in a sort of passive state both of mind and body. I had as well as I can remember-no wishes for the future, being perfectly content that matters should be just as they were, without any further advance; indeed, any change or effort would have been irksome to me. I did not even inquire for Mr. Lydgate. I knew that all was peace between us, and that when I was stronger I should see him again, and tell him of all that had happened-not but that he knew it all well enough now, without any explanation on my part. 'Twas a curious state that I was in, and one that might have been mistaken for indifference; though 'twas not, but was rather that I had come to one of the halting-places of my life, and had made a pause. Faith and Hope had met me, and were holding converse with me that could not be interrupted by the world in general. And as they pointed to the chart which showed how my course had been steered past this mountain and that rock, through these treacherous shoals or nigh that eddying whirlpool, they told me of a wind from Heaven that had swelled my sails, and had carried me on my way in safety. "But 'tis so gentle a breeze, and so hushed by earth-tempests," quoth Faith, "that 't is unperceived; and few know its force until the ending of the voyage is at hand." "Ah," said I-for Hope was smiling full upon me, and whispering something too low for me to hear, and yet which had an inspiring sound-"'tis well to have met it half-way; so can I depend upon it for the rest of the journey." But Faith answered somewhat sadly-"The best meet with many falls: 'twill be lost sight of again in trouble." "Never," said I, with energy-"never." And I spoke with such vehemence that I awoke from my dream. "Never!" And as I opened my eyes, I started, for with my mother, who ever watched beside me, there stood another, who looked anxiously and tenderly upon me, saying"Grace, sweetheart, what does thy 'never' mean?" But it had no meaning; for all the words. that Hope had been whispering into my deaf ears sounded out clear, as though they had at last reached my heart, and I stretched out my hands, saying |