lief to you to see me," added he, with gentle pleading.

"You are very, very good," said Kitty. “I am not fit to see any one just now.'

If he had hoped for any other answer, he did not show it. His behavior was the perfection of patience and devotion. Kitty would have felt really sorry for him-as her mother had done-if she had not been so wretched on her own account. It was impossible to doubt that the man loved her; and to be loved without return is almost as bad (to a kind heart) as to love under the like circumstances.

"Did you walk?" inquired she, mustering some show of interest in him, as he took his leave.

"No, I rode; my horse is at the corner of the street. I left it there because Mr. Derwent told me that your sister was so ill, and I feared the noise would disturb her."

This was thoughtful of him in one way, but he was foolish to have mentioned Jeff; it somehow stopped her thanks.

Good-by," he said, "my dear Miss Dalton; or rather I should say, au revoir."

He came the next day and the next, but had no speech with Kitty. Her place was by her sister's pillow, and she could not leave it. Thus once more it happened that by a caprice of Fate she was saved by one species of misery from the endurance of another. Weeks went by without much alteration in the condition of the sick girl; and then the spring came, and with it a little renewed vigor. In the mean time her story had appeared in the Smellfungus Magazine, and achieved what in the periodical world is held to be a success. A second edition of that serial-the first had not been a very large one-had been called for in consequence. Mr. Sanders had written to Jeff a cautiously-expressed letter of congratulation, bespeaking a more sustained work" from the same "gifted pen, combining fiction with antiquarian details."

"The beggar takes me for Walter Scott," was Jeff's observation. Yet he could hardly smile at this new proof of the editor's misplaced confidence, for he knew that many a month must pass away before she, whose representative he was, could resume her pen, even if she could ever do so.

He wrote to say that indisposition would incapacitate him for the present from writing for the Smellfungus; and the next day Mr. Sanders met him at luncheon-time in a city oyster-shop eating like Dando and drinking stout.

"You are writing for something else, you know you are," exclaimed the editor, with a burst of irritation. "I should have thought the author of 'The Monk of Monkwearmouth' [Jenny's successful tale] had been more of a gentleman."

"He is nothing of the kind, and never made any pretensions to it," said Jeff, coolly.

Mr. Sanders thought him more like Chatterton than ever.

One morning Mr. Holt received a telegram, which, as was usual with him, he opened in Jeff's presence. His table was covered with letters every morning, yet he received more telegrams than letters; and none of these various communications ever seemed to move him. But on this occasion he leaned back in his chair and turned deadly pale.

"Are you ill, sir?" said Jeff, with interest. "I feel a little faint; it is the spring weather. Get me a draught of water."

When Jeff brought the glass, the telegram had disappeared, and his employer was consulting Brad

shaw.

"I shall have to go away from office to-day," said he, speaking more thickly than his wont. "I have

been summoned to-Plymouth. There will be no business of any importance to transact, I believe."

Very good, sir. In case any one wishes to see you, when shall I say you will be back?"

Mr. Holt did not answer; he seemed to be in difficulties with his Bradshaw, a work which he had generally at his fingers' ends.

"Tell the boy to fetch me a cab-a hansom," said he, presently. "There is not a minute to lose," added he, as if to himself. Then, before Jeff could leave the room, his employer uttered so terrible an execration, that the young fellow turned to look at him in astonishment. He had never heard him swear before, and it really seemed as though he were making up for past omissions in that respect. Mr. Holt's usually calm face had become a sea of passion.

"I said a cab!" exclaimed he, imperiously. Jeff himself flew for a hansom, and as he caught one passing the archway out of the court, Mr. Holt was at his heels. He did not seem to notice him, and perhaps took him for the boy, as he leaped into the vehicle.

"King's Cross-and drive like the devil!" was his direction to the cabman. And the man drove off at the pace supposed to be affected by his satanic majesty.

In his hurry and passion, had his employer given the wrong address? thought Jeff. Or had his statement that he was going to Plymouth been an untruth? Certainly, King's Cross was not the station for that town.

He had left his letters behind him unopened; even those from Liverpool, where he had a small branch establishment, and which generally claimed his first attention. Something serious had certainly occurred.

At eleven o'clock arrived Mr. Dawkins, a pretty frequent visitor in Abdell Court. He appeared greatly excited; his neckcloth, always tight for his large throat, seemed almost to suffocate him, making his face to swell and his eyes to project in a very alarming manner. "Where is your master?" inquired he, hurriedly.

"Do you mean Mr. Holt?" replied Jeff, with stiffness. "He is gone away. A telegram arrived for him this morning which took him out of town." "Ay; to Liverpool, of course," said Mr. Dawkins. "Then the news is true, I suppose?"

"What news?"

"Look here, my young fellow," said Mr. Dawkins, persuasively, "everybody must know it by this evening, and before your employer comes back; it is a question of hours. You cannot possibly do any harm by telling me just 'yes or no' about the Flamborough Head. I can make it well worth your while;" and he tapped his breast-pocket, which was always bulging with bank-notes.

Jeff looked at him severely.

"No!" roared he. He was very angry, but he knew that words-as a vehicle for moral sentiments at least-would be wasted upon Mr. Dawkins.

"Do you mean that the news isn't true, or that you won't take the money?" asked Mr. Dawkins. "I don't know the news, and I don't want your money," answered Jeff, contemptuously.

"This is ridiculous," said Mr. Dawkins, regarding him attentively. "Look here, young man: if anything should happen to your employer-I don't say it will, mind, but if it should-you may hear of something to your advantage by calling at this address." He pulled out a card and threw it on the table. "What luck Holt has!" he murmured as he left the room. "But where on earth could he have ever met with such a boy?" Just before one o'clock, Jeff the Incorruptible had

When Jeff looked up, the messenger had vanished.

This young gentleman was not of a romantic turn of mind. "I believe it's Sanders, who wishes to keep me under lock and key till I shall have produced a three-volume novel," mused he. In that case I shall be a prisoner for life. Or perhaps it's a dodge to get into the office." This last idea seemed probable enough; and before Jeff left he gave the policeman a hint to look after the premises in his absence, since the boy in charge was but an inefficient guard. It was his own time for dinner; so he had no compunctions about spending some portion of his usual hour in answering the mysterious summons, which considerably excited his curiosity. There was a teetotal smack about the Good Templar's Coffee-house; but none of Jeff's acquaintance were teetotalers, having most of them the power of imbibing spirituous, or at least malt liquors, without getting hopelessly intoxicated. Perhaps, after all, the whole thing was a hoax, to which species of humor the young gentlemen of the Stock Exchange are almost as much given as their seniors. At all events, Jeff was resolved to see it out. As he passed by Lloyd's, two men pushed by him talking eagerly, and he thought he heard one of them mention the Flamborough Head. Was it humanly possible that that vessel had come safe to port, after so many weeks and months? His reason told him it was not; yet still the incident, taken into connection with Holt's summons to Liverpool, and Mr. Dawkins's hint about great news, was curious. The Good Templar's Coffee-house was a third-rate establishment, situated, not in the main thoroughfare of Ludgate Hill, but in one of the small streets to the south of it. So unpromising, indeed, was its appearance, that, had it been evening instead of noonday, Jeff might have hesitated to enter it on such an invitation as he had received. But, as it was, he walked in unconcernedly enough, and inquired of a very dirty waiter, who was lounging in the passage with a napkin under his arm that matched his linen, for Mr. Phelps.

The man nodded, and led the way through a swing-door into a low-roofed and dingy coffee-room, arranged in compartments like tall, old-fashioned pews.

"Gent for Mr. Phelps," said the waiter, sharply; and immediately from the farthest corner there emerged a stranger, and came forward to meet the visitor.

A stranger, as I have written, he was to Geoffrey Derwent, and yet there was something about the man not wholly unfamiliar to him. His face was dark and wrinkled, and his hair was gray; but his eyes were bright and piercing. He had never seen so old a face with eyes so young before, save once.

"It was good of you to come so soon, Mr. Derwent, and on so unceremonious a summons," said

he, in grave tones. "Oblige me by sitting down for a few minutes and hearing what I have to say."

He pointed to a seat in the compartment next to that from which he had risen, and lighted better than most by a dusty window.

Then Jeff could see that the man was curiously clothed, like one who has just come from travel in foreign lands, and to whom either time or means has been wanting to equip himself like other people. The latter was probably the case in this instance, for even such clothes as he had were worn and threadbare, as well as being of too slight a texture for the season.

Jeff gazed at him long and earnestly; while his new acquaintance, as though to give the opportunity of doing so, drew out a note-book and cut a pencil.

"We have met before, I believe, Mr. Derwent?" said he, presently, as if in reply to this examina

tion.

"Never. But you bear a strong resemblance to one very dear to me, though you are an older man.” "You mean John Dalton?"

"Yes."

"I am his half-brother, Philip Astor," returned the other, still more gravely than before; "and it is of John Dalton that I wish to speak with you."

"Have you any news of him, sir?" inquired Jeff, eagerly. "Your tone gives me little hope; and yet there is a report or at least some sort of talk-in the city that the Flamborough Head has come into port."

"Indeed?" returned the other, with some surprise. "I am sorry to say, however, the news is false. You are acquainted, I believe, not only with my half-brother, but with his family. Be so kind as to speak out, as I am a little deaf."

"I am well acquainted with them," answered Jeff, in distinct tones; "they are the dearest friends I have in the world."

"And yet they are in bad circumstances, I understand?

I

"The object of my inquiries is a friendly one, do assure you," observed the other, reading his thoughts. "I wish to be assured of our friends' welfare, that is all." He paused; then, with a slight tremor in his voice, continued: "Are they all well?” "Kitty is well.”

"And still Miss Kitty, I suppose?" put in the other, quickly.

"Certainly," returned Jeff, with heightened color. "And she is not engaged to any one that you are aware of?-Well, well, I only asked, meaning no offense. And how are the rest of them?"

"Jenny has been very ill, but she is getting somewhat better. She was always delicate, as you are probably aware; and her poor mother's death-"

"I know, I know," interrupted the other, hastily; "that sad news has already reached me."

A heavy sigh broke forth from somewhere in the darkness of the room.

"What is that? We are not alone," said Jeff, angrily. "I do not choose to speak thus of the affairs of others in the presence of strangers."

"It is a friend of mine in the next box." "I don't care who it is. I won't-" Here Jeff stopped short, transfixed with awe.

A face was looking down upon him over the next partition which he had never thought to see again. It was a worn and weary face, older by ten years than when he had seen it last-as old as that of his

present companion, senior (as Jeff knew) to him by many, many years—but it was that of John Dalton. "Jeff, do you know me?" said a weak and halfchoked voice, very different from those musical tones that had once won every ear.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Dalton. God be thanked! What joy, what happiness, you will have brought with you!"

"Do you think so?" inquired the other, eagerly, as they pressed each other's hands. "Have they forgiven me, and yet not forgotten me-my dear ones ?"

"Sir, they think of you, and pray for you-I❘ know Kitty prays for your return even yet-every day and night."

66

My Kitty, my own bright Kitty! Jenny, you say, is better. And the boy-dear Tony?"

"He is as blithe as June, sir, and as gentle. To see him watching by his little brother, amusing

him-"

"Ay, there is another," said Dalton, gloomily. "Her baby boy."

"And as jolly a little baby as one would wish to see," interposed Jeff, cheerfully. "He is the plaything of the whole house, though Kitty and he are inseparables. They are all well, Mr. Dalton, and need only to see their father's face again to be all happy.'

"God bless you, Jeff, for' saying so! I did not dare to ask about them myself, but got Philip here to be my spokesman. Where are they all?"

"At Mrs. Haywood's, in Brown Street. The old dame is delighted to have them, and they feel quite at home."

Perhaps there is not much temptation to leave it," observed Dalton, significantly. "Are their friends kind?"

"Oh, yes. There is Dr. Curzon-he came up expressly to see Jenny; and, and Why, who could help being kind to them!"

"I see one who could not help it; but I should like to hear of others. Tell me the truth, Jeff. Are my children quite deserted? Do none of all my old acquaintances visit the motherless and the poor in their affliction, for my sake or their own?"

"Well, you see, Jenny has been ill of late-" "Was it infectious, then?" inquired the other, apprehensively.

"No; it was not infectious; but when there is illness, it is well to keep a house quiet; and, besides, Kitty made up her mind, when she found herself in charge of the family, and there was a necessity for great economy, to seclude herself as much as possible."

"In spite of invitations and hospitalities," said Dalton, bitterly. "I see. The Riverside people, however, have surely not forsaken them?" "There was a misunderstanding with Mrs. Campden, sir; Jenny returned some money that she had sent them or lent them, and there has been

a breach."

"And Uncle George,' he took his wife's part?" Upon my life, sir," said Jeff, earnestly, "I don't think he could help it."

'He must have some good in him, since you stick by him, Jeff," answered Dalton, with a faint smile." You see how it is, Philip. There are just three-Dr. Curzon, Mrs. Haywood, and this one here. Just three. Think of it!"

"And a very good average," returned Astor, curtly. "I have got one friend, just one. And perhaps I shall not have him long," added he, moodily. "As long as he lives, Philip," returned Dalton, quietly taking the other's hand.-"Jeff, you have stood by me and mine. Take my brother also into

your wide and loving heart. It is through him, next to God, that I am now alive. It is through him that those who, I have just heard you say—and bless you for it-were dearest to you, are about to be made happy. I cannot see them to-day-at least not yet. I have something to do first; something"-here his voice grew very harsh and stern-"that has nothing to do with happiness, but with woe, and wrath, and retribution. You are in Richard Holt's employment, it seems, as good men have been before you. Where is he?"

"He left his office this morning, he said for Plymouth, but, as I have reason to believe, for Liverpool."

Dalton and Astor exchanged significant glances. "Ill news flies apace," said the latter. "What matters it? He cannot escape us."

"That is true," answered Dalton, in a slow tone of satisfaction. "He would have to take my life ere he could do that."

"And mine, John," observed Philip, in a tone of reproach.

"I know it," returned Dalton, with tender gravity; "but you and I are one, brother."

CHAPTER XLIV.

RETROSPECTIVE.

WHEN Dalton arrived at Liverpool upon the day of his leaving Riverside, it was too late to go on board the Flamborough Head, and therefore, notwithstanding his desire to be economical, he was compelled to sleep at an hotel. The next morning was a wet one; yet, for the sake of a few shillings, he sent his luggage by a porter's truck, and went down through the rain to the docks on foot. It was just such an arrangement of the "penny-wise and pound-foolish sort as those unaccustomed to frugality are wont to make; and grievously did he afterward repent of it. He found everything on board in confusion; there was a difficulty, or seemed one, about getting at the contents of his portmanteau ; his cabin, indeed, was infinitely better than he had expected, thanks to his wife's kind extravagance, and not a moment was to be lost in acknowledging that. One thing and the other, in short, combined to make him careless of so small a matter as damp raiment, and the end of it all was rheumatism in the knees. This is a malady-let those who enjoy the acquaintance of sciatica boast as they please-not easily matched for habitual discomfort, and it crippled Dalton. It was some time before he could leave his cabin and so much as crawl about the saloon, and even then he was subject to severe relapses. On one of his "better days" he managed to make a grand tour of the vessel; he was on that part of the deck appropriated to second-class passengers, when suddenly his pains came on, and he fell rather than sat down upon a coil of rope.

"You are ill, Mr. Dalton: shall I give you an arm?" said some one, in cold but courteous tones; and, looking up, he saw his half-brother.

The phrase" More familiar than welcome," which would have suited with the sight of Astor's face a few days back, had now no meaning for Dalton. Any face that he had known of old, and which, therefore, reminded him of home, was welcome to him.

"What! you here, Philip?" said he, with genuine emotion.

A pleased expression flitted across the other's grave, gray features; for hitherto his half-brother had been scrupulous to call him "Mr. Astor."

"It is not well to believe what Richard Holt tells you about anything," answered the other, bitterly. I should have thought you had found out that for yourself by this time. If otherwise, I am surprised you speak to me, after what he must needs have told you about me."

the thanks, if they turn out to be owed to any one, are due to Kitty."

"To my daughter Kitty?"

"Dissatisfied?" echoed Astor, contemptuously. "Yes, he has cause to be dissatisfied with me: he took me into his employment upon speculation-in the hope that, after all, I should make good my claim of legitimacy against yourself. He didn't tell you that, I'll warrant?"

"No, indeed," said Dalton. "On the contrary, he gave me to understand-though he never actually said so that he retained you out of his regard for me."

46

Regard for you!" exclaimed Astor, with a bitter laugh. "Why, he would have put all your money into my pocket-minus what he claimed as his own share-if the thing could have been done. I would have gained from you what I considered my own, Mr. Dalton-as I still consider it—but I would never have played you false, as he did."

"But you have quarreled with him, you confess, yourself?" remarked the other, cautiously. He had his own suspicions of his late business friend, but he felt that that was no reason for believing all that a personal enemy might say against him.

"Yes, we have quarreled," answered Astor, frankly; "and, legally, it is I who have been in the wrong. He led me to imagine that I was his partner. The whole plot is plain to me now; but I was deceived as easily as a child by a trick at cards. John, tell me the truth. Did that villain ever hint to you that I had forged his name?"

"Never, upon my honor, Philip: he would not have dared to do it."

"I thank you, brother, for that word," answered Astor, gravely. "Well, he might have done it, and, in a sort of way, yet spoken what was true. He knew that I had meant no wrong, but it might have been hard to persuade others so. He gained a hold on me, at all events; and when I got to know more of his affairs than was agreeable to him, he used his hold. I am no felon, John, believe me; and yet, thanks to Richard Holt, I am transported. He has compelled me to leave England as he has compelled you."

"He has not compelled me," answered Dalton, haughtily. “In fact, I am doing so contrary to his advice."

"I understand," said Astor, quietly. "He wanted you to part with your shares; but your motto was, 'Stick to the Lara.'

“Good Heavens! how do you know that? Why, Philip, it was you who wrote that warning letter?" exclaimed Dalton, in astonishment.

"If four words can be said to be a letter, yes, I did. You are bound for Brazil, to discover if the advice be good for yourself. Time will show; yet, I think you have acted wisely."

"But, Philip, why should you have done so? Why should you have taken the trouble to do so good a turn to one whose interests—and, unhappily,

have behaved, if I had permitted you to do so, with what you doubtless considered-and, indeed, what was so from your point of view-with generosity. Well, we need not talk of that now. You refused to acknowledge me as your brother. As I left your house-full of wrath and bitterness-a little maiden, beautiful as a fairy, ran up to me in the hall, and, with eager eyes, exclaimed, Why, you are Uncle Philip! I snatched her up in my arms and kissed her. It was very illogical in me, no doubt, for, if the little lady had known the circumstances of the case, she would probably have been the last to give me such a title; but I loved her for acknowledging the relationship that you denied. She has forgotten me, no doubt; but I never forgot her; and when years afterward I discovered-no matter how-that my employer, Holt, was bent on making her his wife-"

44

Ah, you know that too, do you? I have sometimes suspected it," said Dalton, gloomily. "Go on." "Well, I say, when I found that that false hound had dared to lift his eyes to Kitty, I swear I hated him for that worse than for all the rest. I had no means of foiling him, of course; but I felt that his opportunity could only lie in your necessity, and therefore strove to avert your ruin. What losses he has caused you, I know not; my belief is he made a cat's-paw of you from the first, and has robbed you right and left; but with the Lara he has still connection, that is certain. I heard from Brand (himself dismissed, like me, for knowing too much) that Holt was pressing you to sell your shares. And so I wrote to you to stick to them. That's the whole story."

"

Much of this was of course news to Dalton, though somehow it only tended to confirm his own suspicions. Yet, after all, like them, it was but vague. He had a greater distrust of Holt than ever, yet he had no more tangible ground than before for entertaining it. Had the opportunity, for example, been at once afforded him of returning to England and taxing his late business friend with malpractices, he would scarcely have taken advantage of it. No proof of any kind was to his hand. As time went on, however, and he got to know more of his halfbrother, his confidence in him increased, and in proportion his suspicions of the man he had got by that time to consider their common enemy. The little episode of Kitty's reception of her uncle touched her father's heart, and out of it there flowed a tenderness not only toward Kitty herself, but toward him who had thus recalled her, and spoken of her so fondly; while the anger Astor felt against Holt for daring to wish to win Kitty's favor, combining with his own suspicions of that intention, made somehow a still stronger bond between them.

The intimacy between the saloon-passenger and the second-class man, as well as the unmistakable family likeness between them, excited considerable curiosity and some comment; and here, again, Dalton endeared himself to Philip by at once owning