We find a fire very pleasant when we return to the house. We gather round it after supper, and, with no other light than the ruddy, flickering blaze, talk until late bedtime. Eric and Charley try each to "top" the other's stories of adventures, and, if they do not succeed in this, they at least interest and amuse their audience, while Rupert sits by drinking in every detail with absorbed attention.

"What a feast is in store for you! says Eric, suddenly laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I luckily encountered an old acquaintance of mine this afternoon, who will be our guide to-morrow. His name is Dan Burnet, and he is one of the most famous hunters of this region. He will tell you bear-stories by the dozen."

"He shall tell them around the campfire to-morrow night," says Mrs. Cardigan. "How delightful and picturesque !"

"Since I have had no adventures with which the present party are not familiar, I shall make a diversion in the order of entertainment, and tell a ghost-story," says Sylvia." Attention, Rupert! I know you are almost as fond of ghosts as of bears."

We can all follow this lead, so half a dozen indifferent ghost-stories are told, and provoke more laughter than terror. Theu we say good-night, and separate. We find the atmosphere of our large, unwarmed chamber very chilly, but Sylvia stoutly declines to stop up a broken window-pane.

"We had better accustom ourselves to

the climate," she says. To-morrow night we shall be much colder, without any window-panes at all."

The house has been given up to our occupation the family retiring to a smaller one across the yard and the lights are scarcely out and things grown quiet, before a strange noise (apparently caused by the shuffling of many feet) is heard on the piazza upon which our door opens.

"What is that?" asks Mrs. Cardigan. "Ghosts, perhaps or bandits," answers Sylvia.

"Bears," I suggest. "This is a bearcountry."

"But I never heard that bears invaded houses-in platoons, too," says Mrs. Cardigan. "Listen! the noise is immediately by our door. Upon my word, I don't like this! If the door was locked it would be a different matter; but to have nothing but a chair between us and-and we don't know what!"

"It is certainly dreadful," says Sylvia, with a laugh in her voice. "It is queer. Somebody, or several somebodies, seem to be pulling something down. I tell you what" -a light spring to the floor-"I can see through the window what is going on. It is moonlight, you know."

Her bare feet trip noiselessly across the room, she pulls the curtain back from the window, looks cautiously out, and then bursts into a laugh.

The window is raised forthwith, and two voices in energetic chorus bid the hounds depart-which they do immediately. Then, having routed the enemy, they are about to return to bed, when I suggest that it will be inconvenient to repeat this performance all night.

"You have repelled one attack," I say; "but those dogs will make another in ten minutes. Don't you think it might be well to bring the provisions in ?"

"Impossible," says Mrs. Cardigan; "it would be an hour's work. Mr. Markham has food for a regiment there."

"We had better bring them in," says Sylvia. "As Alice says, it will never auswer to leave them there, unless we appoint a watchman."

"It was shamefully careless of the boys to leave them," I say-from the force of old habit we still speak of Eric and Charley as "the boys." "They ought to be waked, to take them in."

"But who is to wake them?" asks Mrs. Cardigan.

"They sleep like the seven sleepers," says Sylvia. "We might thump on their door for an hour without rousing them. Come, let us do it ourselves."

So we do it ourselves.

Perhaps the

"Three spectral, white-robed figures."

hounds, if they have any sense of humor, and are not too hungry, enjoy the scene from a distance three spectral, white-robed figures engaged in conveying into safe quarters various baskets and packages of edibles.

"There," says Sylvia, when we bring the last within the door, which is fastened again

with a chair; " now we will let those careful

gentlemen wonder where their provisions are to-morrow morning."

This kindly intention is carried into ef fect. We are wakened early by a thump at our door, and Rupert's voice shouts, "Time to be up!" Then this young gentleman proceeds to the end of the piazza where a tin basin is placed for the use of the public. Hardly a minute elapses before we hear an exclamation. "Thunder!" he says. "Brother Eric, O Brother Eric, where are the provi sions?"

"Where are what?" asks Eric, coming out on the piazza. "Did you ask about the provisions? Why, where are they? Did anybody take them into the house last night ?-Charley, did you?"

"Not I," answers Charley's voice. "Have they disappeared? No doubt somebody put them away-Harrison, most likely."

"No, sir, I didn't," says Harrison, appearing on the scene; "but there's hounds here, and they may have carried 'em off."

"By Jove!" says another voice-the dismayed voice of Mr. Lanier. But hounds would have devoured the food where they found it."

"It's all gone, anyway," says Rupert. "Harrison, look about. The baskets must be somewhere. I know they were left here, for I saw them just before I went to bed." "And might have thought of bringing them in," says Eric.

"Is

I say "-it is Rupert's voice again-" do you happen to have the provisions in there?" "The provisions!" answers Sylvia, in a

tone of innocent surprise. "Pray, what should we be doing with the provisions?". Well, they have disappeared-" Rupert begins, when I interpose with the truth.

"They are here, Rupert," I say. "We brought them in last night to keep them from the dogs. But you deserve to have had them eaten, for your carelessness."

"They've got 'em!" we hear Rupert report a minute later, "and we owe them a good turn for not saying a word all this time."

There is so much preparation necessary for our departure that it is some time after breakfast before we start. About eight o'clock the guide arrives-a stalwart, broadshouldered man of thirty-six or eight, with a frank, sunburned face, and a suggestion of the soldier as well as the hunter in his appearance.

"What a study for a picture!" says Syl via. "What a thorough type of the mountaineer! If he only wore a Tyrolean hat,

now

Like a brigand in an opera!" says Charley. "What ideas women have, to be sure! Why, if you looked at it from the right point of view, that old felt is as much more picturesque as it is more comfortable"

lish hat, perhaps, but sufficiently so for my taste.-Hallo, Burnet!-which is the packhorse?"

"This one," answers Mr. Burnet. He has brought with him three horses and a mule. One is led up to the piazza and loaded with a number of shawls, several quiltswhich Eric insists upon borrowing from Mrs. Patton-and the provisions, which have been packed pell-mell into an enormous bag. Sideaddles are placed on the others, and loud ire Sylvia's remonstrances when she finds he is not to be allowed to ride Bonnibelle.

"I can't permit you to put your neck in jeopardy by riding a horse not accustomed climbing," says Eric, authoritatively. These animals have been reared on the ountains, and are as sure-footed as goats." "They are quite as ugly," remarks the oung lady, ungratefully. Then she glances om their tall, raw-boned proportions to the mall, round mule which stands by, comosedly switching its tail. "If I can't ride ronnibelle, I will ride that," she says.

"A very good choice," observes Mr. Lani"Mules are not handsome, but they are etter on mountains- because more surePoted-than horses,"

"They are only slightly inclined to prer their own way," says Charley, "and two a trade never agree."

Sylvia does not condescend to notice this mark. She mounts the mule-disregardg the laughter which we cannot restrainid announces that she is ready. Mrs. Cargan and myself are elevated on the tall ountain-steeds; the gentlemen mount the wland horses, on which they do not hesite to risk their necks; the guide, with his e on his shoulder, leads the pack-horse in ont-and so we start.

THE HEIRS OF THE BODLEY ESTATE.

A STORY IN FIVE CHAPTERS.

BY HORACE E. SCUDDER.

CHAPTER IV.

DINNER AND DESSERT.

DINNER was announced shortly, and Mr. Bodley escorted Miss Northumberland, Mr. Tyrel gave his arm to Miss Bodley, Mrs. Byles fell to M. Bodelet's share, while Mr. Byles, Mr. Umbelow, Mr. Pecker, and myself, followed the others. In the arrangement of guests, Miss Northumberland and Miss Bodley were on either side of the host; Mr. Umbelow had a seat next to Miss Northumberland; while my place was between that gentleman and Mr. Pecker. But the table was round, and ten people seated at it were none of them far apart. I could not help observing the new-comer, who sat between Mr. and Mrs. Byles. Mr. Byles pounced upon him as soon as dinner began, and it seemed as if M. Bodelet could scarcely be even civil to Mrs. Byles; but in a few moments he was talking courteously to her, whose face was wreathed in smiles, while Mr. Byles had attacked Mr. Pecker on his left. How was it done? Simply, so to speak, by a single gesture and word, with which he released himself and paid no further attention to the husband. Mr. Pecker, however, was bound hand and foot by his relentless neighbor.

"Bodley Hall," said Mr. Byles, "will unquestionably be the place for my convention. The claims of, humanity in council are paramount. All minor considerations must give way."

But, my dear sir," said Mr. Pecker, politely interrupting him, " my own collections are not to be despised, not at all. They represent the result of years of toil, and will prove of great value to the man of science of very great value. Now, when I was in Canton-"

"Bring your collection, Mr. Pecker, if you want to," said Mr. Byles, loftily," reptiles and all. There will be room for you. Man as a scientific investigator shall have a place in the convention, but not the highest place. He will be graded according to the object of his research, but mind will dominate mere matter."

"Mere matter!" exclaimed Mr. Pecker, getting excited, and laying down his knife and fork. "Did you ever see a cobra? Say, did you ever find a cobra in your shoe?" I interposed hurriedly.

"Mr. Pecker," said I, and he turned sharply on me, but with an odd, apologetic expression, "I understood you to say you had been in Canton. Now, I suppose the English and American colonies are not very considerable there. Did you ever happen to meet with a Mr. Townshend, a young American, there, in the house of Cumberland & Co. ?" I caught Miss Bodley's eye at this moment, and found her looking with amusement

at me.

"Townshend ! said Mr. Pecker. "Why, bless my soul, do you know Townshend ?".

I was triumphant. My first shot had brought Mr. Pecker down.

"Indeed I do," said I, "he was an old schoolmate of mine."

"I know Townshend," said the grave voice of Mr. Umbelow, at my side. "He spent a few weeks at the islands while his vessel was undergoing repairs."

Miss Bodley burst into a laugh.

"Mr. Penhallow, you have drawn a prize at the first turn of the wheel. I think you will establish your theory."

Theory? What theory?

demanded

Mr. Byles, while the whole table now stopped its talk to listen. I was a little confused by this concentration of interest on me, but answered his question, though my eyes rather fell on his neighbor, M. Bodelet.

"I ventured the assertion to Miss Bodley that, given an accidental company like this, of persons who are in the main introduced to each other for the first time, if only the right questions are asked and the right clew followed, it will turn out that they all have some mutual acquaintance, some personal connection-have something in common, in fact, of a personal nature; that there is an invisible thread connecting each which a sudden pull will sometimes discover."

"I deny it," said Mr. Byles, loudly. "Well," said I, as an illustration, it turns out that Mrs. Byles and I have already discovered that we met one another a dozen years ago. Mr. Umbelow, here, and I, have found that I knew his brother-in-law; and now it seems that he knew my old schoolmate, Jack Townshend, whom Mr. Pecker also knew. My theory has so far worked well, and, if I fail to substantiate it in every case, I shall think the fault lies in my method of investigation. I don't ask the right questions."

Now, look here," began Mr. Byles; but M. Bodelet laid his hand on his arm.

"Pardon me, Mr. Byles. I am a little curious to test Mr. Penhallow's theory myself. Did I not meet you at the cave in Mission Hill, near Neu-Braunfels, in Texas, two or three years since? My memory of faces is not always so true as my memory of voices, and yours I recall."

"Near enough!" said I, delighted. "Pray tell me, did I have two boys with me?"

"Yes, two lads, to whom you told me you were tutor."

"Well, Miss Bodley," said I, "I am well content to find a gentleman here who met my brother Winthrop, who was traveling as tutor to two lads in Texas, and spent several weeks in Neu-Braunfels."

"I am completely convinced," said she, "and have no doubt that we met before last night in some stage of existence."

"Yes," said I, triumphantly, "in the print-room of the British Museum.'

"The meeting was on one side, then," said she, and returned to a conversation with Tyrel. I was aware at this point of a movement on my left, and, turning, found that Mr. Umbelow was cautiously making notes under the table, meanwhile looking as blank as a tombstone. He was deep in conversation with Miss Northumberland, who sat primly between him and Mr. Bodley, and seemed

"Miss Northumberland has been giving me some account," he said to Mr. Bodley, "of the mode of life in English countryhouses. I am of the opinion that, to an American, there is no life so seductive as that which falls to the share of the owner of an English manor-house. If I were now occupying Bodley Hall, I fancy I should find a certain mental contentment which is not to be despised."

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Bodley, with a gentle impatience, " and, as I said before, I shall be glad to extend an invitation to you when I am fairly settled there."

No," said Mr. Umbelow, calmly, "possession is essential. A mere guest, I should fail to find what I wish. I must go as the lineal descendant and rightful heir.-You are acquainted with the family pedigree, I believe, Mr. Tyrel?"

"Yes, sir, I am. Mr. Bodley here is the only heir in direct line."

"I should be glad to look at the papers to-morrow," said Mr. Umbelow, with the same stolid composure.

"An American never can inherit the estate," said Miss Northumberland, severely. "Never! They have lost their rights by their unfilial conduct; " and she sat erect, as if she were Britannia herself rebuking her disobedient colonies. "Besides, it is a howling wilderness," she added, somewhat illogically, but with equal tartness.

"I don't know about that, ma'am," twanged forth Mr. Byles. "I rather think Americans have a right to come back and pick up a few things they left when they went off two centuries ago. John Paul Jones thought so, and, if the cause of the science of humanity demands it, there is a way to bring about a good many things. A good deal has to give way before that, ma'am."

"Well," said Mr. Pecker, good-naturedly, man wants but little here below, very little, and I only ask a place to arrange my collections in. I must say I had rather set my heart on Bodley Hall."

"Ladies and gentlemen," said M. Bodelet, rising, "I give you a toast: Long life and health to our honored host, Paul Bodley, of Bodley Hall."

We all rose to our feet, Mr. Byles last of all.

Mr. Bodley looked over the little group before him, and waved us to our places again. He moved the articles before him nervously back and forth, but his voice presently found itself, and he said, as nearly as I can remember:

My friends and kinsfolk, you honor me much by your presence here. This poor table is a very faint sign of the hospitality which in my heart I would offer you all. I look forward to the day, not far distant”— and he bowed to Tyrel-" when I may hope to gather you and others under the ancestral roof of Bodley Hall. I am but a poor representative of the family, but I hold that the first duty of an English squire is to set an abundant table, and make his house the true hospitium for all who may call him neighbor. I do not look to this inheritance to which I

but I feel the honor of bearing the standard of a true English name, of making one more centre of English domestic life, of carrying forward my country's glory in the old, true, honorable way. I am a poor man, my friends, but I am a good Englishman, and I am proud of the Bodley family, because it is a good old English family, with an honorable bearing. There is an end to each one of us, separately, but there ought never to be an end to our country, our church, and our family. I give you a toast, 'The Bodleys, wherever found,' and I will call upon M. Bodelet to respond."

We all clapped, and M. Bodelet rose and bowed, and said a very few words.

"I am, indeed, a stranger," said he. "Another nationality divides me in part from you, but I have noticed that, the world over, like finds like, and there are common hopes and common endeavors which join us quickly and make us know one another. I am not my self over-quick at making friends, but, when I find one whose face is luminous with honesty and honor, I would sacrifice much to know and be permitted to venerate him."

Good, good!" said Mr. Pecker, jumping up. "I will offer my toast: The ladies, God bless 'em! Their faces always make us at home."

Mr. Tyrel rose with most suave manner. "Permit me to respond," said he, "to this very worthy toast. We lawyers have to make our way through a great many tortuous channels. The course of true love, as the poet says, does not always run smooth, but the longest lane has a turning; and, when there's a lady at the other end, any lane seems short. I find myself in an embarrassing position-a bachelor, on the sunny side, though-ladies about me, fair and—and attractive. We are all like moths, and we keep coming back to the candle, nevertheless."

He sat down, but his gallantry somehow had a depressing effect upon the company. It was not long before the ladies rose, and Tyrel with many bows opened the door for them.

Miss Bodley hesitated-I could almost fancy she would stay-then in a constrained way she said to Tyrel in a low tone:

"You will not stay long."

"I cannot," he replied, impressively. "I was thinking of my father," said she, simply, and passed out.

Tyrel returned to his place, and we took our seats again. He began to pass the wine, emptying his own glass with a swagger and an offensive air of familiarity toward Mr. Bodley.

I saw that M. Bodelet, disengaged from the groups of talkers, sat quietly observing the rest of us. Tyrel had thrown himself back in his chair, and was lording it over the gentle Mr. Bodley. Byles and Mr. Pecker were engaged in a conversation growing more and more animated, Mr. Byles spreading his great hand upon the table with emphasis, while poor Mr. Pecker was energetically nodding and interrupting him with thrusts of his forefinger. Mr. Umbelow turned to me.

"It is hardly the place," I replied, in a low tone, to take up the cudgels for our host, but I prefer to call this the act of a thorough, true-hearted, noble man.'

"Mere eccentricity-mere eccentricity, harmless, irrational," said Umbelow, serenely, jotting down the words, apparently, in his note-book beneath the table.

"I say, Mr. Bodley," at this point sounded Mr. Byles's strident voice, "this is a good time for hearing all about the estate. I move Mr. Tyrel give us a succinct account of the condition of things, a sort of budget you call it here in England," and he settled back in his chair expectantly.

"It's nobody's business," said Tyrel, sharply, "but Mr. Bodley's and mine. Dinner's dinner. We're not in chancery here anyway."

"I don't know about that," retorted Mr. Byles. "I'm mighty curious to know if you are the same Mr. Tyrel who came over to America several years ago and set all the Bodleys there agog, promising 'em the estate and I don't know what else."

"No! said Mr. Tyrel, with an oath. "My wife says you look amazingly like that man."

"When a gentleman makes an assertion," said Tyrel, with a snarl, "he intends to be believed," and he turned again to Mr. Bodley.

"I'm glad he wasn't you," said Mr. Byles. "That Tyrel-the one that came to America -ran away with somebody's daughter, and when he went back to England forgot to take her with him. She was a Bodley, too, I heard; hunted up some of my wife's folksCynthia was her name, I remember. Ha!"

We all started up in sudden horror. Mr. Bodley was on his feet, and suddenly transformed into the image of King Lear. The picture which I saw the night before was reproduced here to the life-the face was on fire with a tremendous anger, the hands were uplifted, and he looked as if he were about to bring down some terrible blow of a curse upon the head of Tyrel, who stood near him, perfectly quiet apparently, but with a quick breathing and a nervous grip of his hand upon the chair in which he had been seated. In a moment, as we all stood stunned, M. Bodelet walked quickly forward, and with a gesture turned Tyrel aside, stood between him and Mr. Bodley, and took the old man's hand, which was falling in a helpless way to bis side. I was starting to call Miss Bodley, but he arrested me with a shake of his head

we were standing dumb and uncomfortable, that the door opened and Miss Bodley reappeared. There had been no noise. It was, I am persuaded, a kind of filial instinct which had brought her back. She saw her father in M. Bodelet's arms, she saw his quiet, firm, and gentle demeanor, and to my surprise she burst into tears. Tyrel stepped forward. She recoiled from him quickly. M. Bodelet spoke.

"Have no fears, Miss Bodley. It was only a momentary agitation. If these gentlemen will join the ladies, I think Mr. Bodley will soon recover."

We all started for the door, glad, I am sure, of any chance at getting away from so uncomfortable a scene. We found Miss Northumberland fanning herself in a stately way, while Mrs. Byles was eying her curiously as if she were some strange domestic animal that she would like to touch just for once. In a few minutes M. Bodelet joined us. He turned to Miss Northumberland and said:

"Miss Northumberland, Miss Bodley begs to send her profound regrets. Mr. Bodley has been taken ill and requires her close attention. She fears that she may not be able to return to the company."

"Then I will send my sincere respects to Miss Bodley," said the lady, folding her fan, and rising, "and trust that her honored father may recover speedily. I will send my maid in the morning to inquire concerning his health," and she courtesied gravely and left the room. The rest turned to M. Bode

let as to the host. "Oh, is he very ill ?" asked Mrs. Byles, plaintively.

"It is impossible to tell now," said he. Come, Maria," said Mr. Byles. "We won't stand talking here. Get your things on. I've got a meetin' I want to attend," and he went out with her.

“I've seen just such strokes, just such strokes," said Mr. Pecker, impressively. "I think I heard once of a remedy," and he plunged his fingers into his pockets as if he hoped, by some hocus-pocus, to produce it. Well," he added, cheerfully, "good - by; you'll bring him round, quite round," and he toowed himself out. Mr. Umbelow had been tanding, in a sort of dazed way, but now aid:

"I should like to inquire into the characer of these attacks. They might solve some roblems."

"You forget," said M. Bodelet, "that I m quite as much a stranger to Mr. Bodley It's yourself. Mr. Tyrel probably can answer Four question better."

"He has them twice a day on the averge," said Tyrel. "I never saw him quite so violent before, and he seems to have selected he to show himself off on this time."

"How long do these attacks last?" asked Ir. Umbelow, who seemed to be fumbling or his note-book.

"He won't get over this before you go," aid Tyrel, snappishly.

"Then I'll go," said he, buttoning his oat slowly, and backing out of the room. "Mr. Tyrel," said M. Bodelet, "do you now of a good surgeon in the neighbor

Tyrel hesitated a moment; but a certain resolution in the Texan's eye and manner got the better of him, and he rose and went out with me, leaving M. Bodelet in the room alone.

"Well, of all the pieces of cool impudence," said the lawyer, angrily, as we stepped into the court, "this is the coolest. Look here, young man, you're all a pack of adventurers setting on the old gentleman. A nice mess you've made of it. Do you know your way about here? There's a surgeon in Adams Street off the Strand-Rossiter. Look him up; but you'd better not tell him what a poor fool he'll find. He's like the rest of you will want all the old man's money. But he won't find any. It will come out of my pocket in the end, of course."

With that he turned on his heel,

I made my way to Adams Street, found Mr. Rossiter, and walked back with him to Mr. Bodley's house; but I would not go in. I waited outside. It was an hour before the surgeon reappeared.

"How is Mr. Bodley?" I asked.

"He has had a shock of paralysis which has affected one side. It is impossible yet to tell what the result will be. But he is well attended. There is a young man there who seems to understand himself."

I went to my solitary rooms in Fountain Court.. How hard I found it to people them with their former occupants! The living who had entered into my life crowded those out.

"Ah!" said I, "I am very glad to meet you. I was just going to inquire concerning Mr. Bodley this morning. Perhaps you can tell me. I do not want to disturb the family." "I have just come from the house," he said. "Mr. Bodley remains the same as when I left him last night, I am told. Beyond a doubt, he is paralyzed; and it is impossible to say what the immediate result will be." We had turned, and were walking slowly toward the city. "Tell me about your brother," said he, suddenly, taking my arm in a friendly fashion. "I had a slight acquaintance with him in Texas, as I told you. In fact, I am so much of a stranger here in London that I am almost ready to

believe I knew him very well, for the sake of claiming you as an acquaintance by one remove." He laughed lightly.

"Well," said I, use my brother as an 'instrument of association,' as the political economists say. He was in Texas just after he left college. Now he has been admitted to the bar, and has be gun practice in Boston. I wish he were here now. I should like to set him to looking into the Bodley estate business."

"I am quite willing to

"Do you, then, regard the matter as a serious one?" and my companion looked at me attentively with his clear, gray eyes.

"I know nothing about the estate," said. "It was an old family joke with us, and I suppose at one time there must have been some foundation for all the noise made about it. What I should like to know," I continued, with some hesitation, "is just what part Mr. Tyrel is playing."

"Mr. Penhallow," said he, "I am frank to say that I share your distrust; but, in my judgment, a clear understanding would not be reached by a simple knowledge of the present condition of this case, if there is any case in court. That is one thing, and it might throw some light; but I am confident that Mr. Tyrel must be, in this matter, something else than a mere legal adviser. Perhaps it is none of our business to speculate about this thing. We are not likely, either of us, to put in any claims-"

"But I think," said I, interrupting him with the words which I was sure he would use, and in which I wanted to anticipate him, "that we have both a right and duty to prevent, if we can, any thing like fraud or evil design."

'I would not set up my instinct alone," said I; "but it is very plain to me that Miss Bodley has an antipathy to him."

"Yet she allows him to manage matters," said M. Bodelet, thoughtfully. "If he were an evil man, she has both the intuition to perceive it, and quite complete power with her father."

"I do not know enough of their history," said I, 66 to explain it, but I think there is an explanation. Tyrel himself intimated very plainly to me that there was no case at all, and that he was simply leading Mr. Bodley along to save him from the disaster of a disappointment," and I repeated the conversation we had held the night before Christmas.

"I am not quite so sure of that," said M. Bodelet. "I am not prepared to believe Tyrel's explanation of his own conduct. At all events, and with all Mr. Bodley's hallucination on the subject, I am disposed to think that both he and his daughter would have the courage to face the truth. But it cannot be very difficult to ascertain if there actually is a case. Come and dine with me to-night. I am at the Tavistock; and, meanwhile, I will see if I can find out this single fact."

M. Bodelet was right. As we sat at dinner that evening he gave me an account of his investigations, with the result. There was a

case involving the inheritance. It had been in chancery for several years, and might last. several years longer. It was one of those interminable disputes which the law seems to relegate to the region of abstract reasoning, with the concomitant effect of abstracting all the property involved, and devoting it to lawyers' fees. Tyrel was engaged in the case, but beyond that M. Bodelet could learn nothing.

"In fine," said he, "there is a case, as I supposed. Precisely what Mr. Tyrel's interest in it is, we do not know."

We remained silent, each thinking his own thoughts. I know what mine were. They accounted for Tyrel's interest by the supposition that he was in love with Fear Bodley. It was not hard for me thus to reason. It seemed sufficient ground for his action. I cannot say that it disturbed me much. I myself was young, and I was confident that he was, if not repulsive to her, yet certainly not attractive. My companion smoked in silence, but with a certain energy which seemed to indicate that he was driving thoughts with the same vehemence.

"( Come," said he, at last, "I think we are in duty bound to see if we can serve Mr. Bodley in any way. Shall we go to Northumberland Court?"

“Yes,” said I; "I will go with you.” There was something about the man which made me already feel as if he were my leader. He scarcely spoke as we walked; only once, when he had suddenly pressed my arm.

"What was it?" said I.

"It was Tyrel," said he, presently. "There is no good in that man. He is corrupt. No man can be the companion of harridans and be a man of honor. He is not playing his part with Mr. Bodley from any honorable motive."

When we reached Mr. Bodley's house we were shown into the room where I had taken my tea the first evening, and we found Miss Bodley seated at a table, with her drawingmaterials by her side. She greeted us quietly.

"It is kind in you to come," she said, "but I can give you no further news. My father lies helpless still." I must have glanced at her work. "I should be with him now," she added, "but Mr. Rossiter forbids it."

May I see your drawing, Miss Bodley ?" asked my companion.

She gave it to him, and we all three looked at it together.

"Blake again!" I exclaimed; "but I do not know from what book it is."

"It is not Blake's," said she, coloring a little. "Or, rather, it is; for the suggestion came from him, and I presume that constant working among his books has made me instinctively catch something from him."

"Who is Blake?" asked M. Bodelet. "I have not had many opportunities for seeing pictures, and I look at them only as a child. But I do not need to be told the interpretation of this picture."

"Tell it to us," said I.

The design was of a gate-way, half of the portal open, and disclosing within, whence came dazzling light, a radiant figure clad in

"It is redemption," said he, reverently. "I see through the open gate the figure of the Son of God; he enters the dark world as an infant springing to its deliverance; he returns by the way of the tree, the tree which covered him in Gethsemane and bore him on Calvary."

We were silent a moment. "Mr. Penhallow," said Miss Bodley, "will recall the lines by Blake:

'He doth give his joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.'

But I

They suggested to me the design. could find no other type for a design so perfect as what M. Bodelet has just given." She put the drawing away, and would say nothing more of it, but, though our talk passed to indifferent matters, being mainly carried on between her and myself, I could not fail to see her glance stealing shyly toward M. Bodelet, and a strange light in her eye which suffused it as with tears. Indeed, I had reason enough to see it. My own eyes were tortured with light. Many years have passed, yet I keep still the sense of pain which smote me that evening, as I looked from the girl to the strangely-powerful man, whose power was in a word, a look, a gesture, and back to the girl, whose self-reliance, that had so impressed me at the first, seemed to give way at his presence. I am telling a simple story, with no wish to mislead the reader, and I should not tell it at all if I were not willing to confess my own weakness and disappointment.

We walked away together and toward my lodging, with only broken and desultory conversation, but as we stopped under the light of the lantern that hung over the entrance to Fountain Court to say Good-night," my companion suddenly seized my hand and looked me straight in the eye. It was a loving, a pitying, a searching look.

"I am glad to know you," he said; "you are an honest man-I am glad to know you. I have made few friends in my life, and I shall be honored if I may keep you." I was a little confused by what I suppose I may call his "declaration" of friendship. A sudden pang also shot through me. Why would he not leave me alone, or let me even count him as an enemy? I could not reply. I turned from him and went to my dismal

rooms.

The friendly foothold which I had gained in Northumberland Court I kept, though tormented and tempted by the devil to cast it off. I made pretense of inquiring for Mr. Bodley, but was satisfied with the society of his daughter. He remained unchanged. I sometimes ventured to carry her flowers. I showed her treasures of books or prints which I found in London or out-of-the-way shops.

Tyrel I met once more-may I never meet him again! It was several weeks after the visit of which I have spoken that, going to the bouse, I found M. Bodelet there reading to Fear, as she sat at her work. I knew now that her work was not pastime, but partial support of herself and her father. The book was laid aside, and we were talking of I know not what, when Tyrel entered. He greeted Fear with elaborate politeness, but acknowledged our presence with scarcely a nod apiece, and began at once to talk with Fear, as if we were not in the room at all. I saw M. Bodelet change color when Tyrel entered, and that he put himself under restraint as the conversation went on. But presently Miss Bodley turned to him and said:

"M. Bodelet, Mr. Tyrel tells me that he has been to see Mr. Rossiter, who speaks more favorably to him of my father's condi tion than he does to me." M. Bodelet bowed. "You have a good opinion of Mr. Rossiter's ability, have you not ? "

"I have, Miss Fear," said Tyrel, to whom the question was not addressed. "I bave known him a long time, and consider him every way competent."

"He seems to me," said M. Bodelet, "to understand your father. He gives it as his opinion that the attack from which he suf fered arose from some sudden, excessive emotion."

"You and I know," said Tyrel, addressing himself to Fear, "how liable your father has been to sudden transitions, I may call them. They have given us great uneasiness, but by constant watching I think we have lessened their frequency." At this moment, Fear was called out of the room. Scarcely had she gone before Bodelet, who I saw was clinching his chair, turned and said:

"You, Tyrel, did you ever observe the special occasions when Mr. Bodley was thus affected? did you ever connect them with any event in his life? did you ever think that your presence had any thing to do with it! did you ever mention to him the name of Mary Hewson, of Cynthia Bodley, of Cynthis Bodley Tyrel?" He spoke rapidly and with vehemence, and at the last sprang to his feet.

I never saw such fiery indignation compressed into tone and look and gesture. Tyrel was speechless, speechless with rage.

"You, Tyrel!" he went on; "you dare to come to this place and defile it! I know you. Miss Bodley has not yet returned. Go out into the blackness of darkness!" Tyrel hesitated for a moment, but he could not face the blazing eye of this self-appointed, or, I say rather, God - appointed, minister of justice, and, affecting a swagger as soon