"No, nor you won't," agreed Mrs. Hardy, suddenly recollecting herself. "He've a-rode off to Wimborne-I mind it now. He did get up directly after dinner, and said he mid be back late for tea."

Sheba uttered an impatient exclamation.

"Why, whatever be to do love?" asked Mrs. Hardy in surprise. "Be summat amiss?"

"Everything's amiss," said Sheba. "Dear, dear, that's bad," returned Rebecca, laying aside her work and going towards her. "Couldn't ye tell me about it, maidie-there, it 'ud ease your mind."

"No, no, you can't do nothin'," said Sheba, with a stifled sob. "'Ees, ye mid do one thing though. Ye mid ax Stephen to come over to our place so soon as he do come in."

"Why, that'll be late, my dear, an' he've a-had a long day."

"Oh, I can't help that. I took an oath I'd not let another night go over my head wi'out makin' an end of all between us. If he don't care to hear it from my own lips, if it be too late an' he be too tired to come to me, ye can tell him so from me, Mrs. Hardy."

"Dear heart alive!" gasped Rebecca in deep distress. "I thought you an' Stephen did seem to be gettin' on so well. Whatever have he done to you, my dear?"

"He'll know," rejoined Sheba. "He won't be surprised. Tell him, tell him I've heard summat as I didn't know before, tell him-well, I'll tell him myself if he'll come-an' if he don't want to come, it is enough he should know as him an' me's to part."

Before Rebecca could recover from her amazement the girl had rushed away as impetuously as she had come.

Left alone, Rebecca cogitated for some moments, and then, folding up the pillowslip very neatly, took down her shawl from its accustomed peg and

hastened down the path to the Little Farm.

Without even going through the form of summoning Louisa she thrust her head in at the sitting-room door, and discovered Kitty alone by the fire. Coming cautiously in, and flattening her back against the door, which she had closed behind her as though to prevent any intrusion, she hailed her, breathlessly.

"Where be sister, Miss Kitty?"

Kitty looked up, startled; it was long, very long, since Mrs. Hardy had visited the Little Farm, and now her sudden appearance, coupled with her mysterious air and evident agitation, alarmed the girl.

"Is anything the matter? Bess has got a headache and is lying down upstairs. Do you want her, Mrs. Hardy?"

"No, dear, no. I were looking for a few words wi' you, if you can spare me a minute."

"Certainly," said Kitty anxiously. "Sit down do. I am glad to see you. It's a long time since you have been here."

"It be a long time," agreed Rebecca. "I'd not ha' put myself forward now but-well, it do seem a queer thing to trouble ye about, but there, I be a bit upset, ye see-well not exactly upset, but took aback-I don't seem to make head or tail o' this here business."

"But what is it, Mrs. Hardy?" "Well, 'tis about Sheba and Stephen, Miss Kitty-'twasn't a thing I did ever look for, an' 'twasn't, I mid say, exactly what I did wish for, but there, she was his own choice, what he did pick out for hisself, an' it didn't become me to go a-turning up my nose. I can't forget how kind and respectful Stephen have always showed hisself to I though he mid ha' looked higher for his father."

Kitty was too much astonished and concerned to smile at what might oth

erwise have struck her as a somewhat quaint idea.

"Sheba was his ch'ice," resumed Rebecca, "an' I did think she'd make him so good a wife as another. An' her mother was a nice woman an' belonged to a good family. 'Twas but her father as stood i' the road, an' she'd settled not to get married while he was livin', it did seem to be jist a question of how long the owd gentleman 'ud last. Well, but she comes here to-day in sich a takin' as never was— downright wild she did look, an' she'd a-been huntin' about for Stephen, an' when she couldn't find en, she bid me tell him straight out the minute I see him as all was over between them." "Why, what's the meaning of that?" cried Kitty, much startled.

"I'm sure I can't tell ye," said Mrs. Hardy, shaking her head portentously; then, after a pause, she continued slowly: "I thought maybe you mid be able to throw some light on it."

"I!" exclaimed Kitty.

Rebecca continued to wag her head, but this time as an indication of some arch under-meaning, while a semi-jocular smile played about her lips. After a moment, seeing the girl's evident annoyance, she became more serious, and, bending forward, whispered in her

ear:

"It mayn't be your fault, my dearI'm sure it bain't your fault-but Sheba be terr'ble jealous o' you."

"Oh! Mrs. Hardy!" gasped poor Kitty, crimson.

"Well, I scarce like to say sich a thing, Miss Kitty, an' I do hope ye'll not take it as a insult, but there was one time when Stephen thought the very world o' you."

There was a time-but how long ago! "He doesn't think much of me now," said Kitty, after a pause.

"No, to be sure not, my dear," agreed Rebecca, dubiously. "But there was a time.

Of course I'm not sayin' there

ever could ha' been anything serious in it-ye wouldn't ha' fancied the notion most like, an' I reckon Stephen 'ud never ha' dared to look so high-though a young lady mid do worse nor Stephen, an' he bain't, so to speak, a common man. But I'm not talkin' about that," she added hastily, noting Kitty's increasing discomfiture. "I'm only saying there was a time I used to notice Stephen coloring up when ye came nigh the place, an' listening for your voice, an' lookin' up at your windows, an' a-makin' hisself so smart whenever he were takin' ye out ridin' an' sich-like. And I d' 'low Sheba must ha' noticed summat too, an' it do keep comin' back to her mind like-most onraysonable, for she hasn't no cause not to feel sure o' he."

"No, indeed."

"No, indeed," repeated Mrs. Hardy, sucking in her breath. "An' to-day when she came burstin' in, she talked o' having heard summat which she never knowed before."

"But it couldn't-it couldn't have been anything about Farmer Hardy and me," stammered Kitty.

"Well, I don't know I'm sure. Folks about here d' seem to have sharp eyes an' long tongues. Nay now, miss, dear, I don't want to frighten ye, nor to offend ye neither-I only say maybe somebody put some sich notion in Sheba's head, an' it'll be a pity if she goes an' picks a quarrel wi' Stephen along o' that. Stephen, he bain't a man what'll stand no nonsense, an' if she did tell en to his face she wanted to break wi' en, so like as not he'd take her at her word."

Kitty returned her puzzled look with one still more perturbed-with even a kind of terror.

"But what can I do, Mrs. Hardy?" she faltered at length; then, dropping her eyes, "why do you come to me?"

"Well, my dear," said Rebecca slowly, "I hope ye'll not think it terr'

ble impudent o' me-but the thought did cross my mind that mayhap ye'd be willin' to say a word to Sheba as 'ud put things to rights. If ye was to say to her straight out summat o' this kind-'I know ye've got some notion in your head about Stephen Hardy an' me, but I do assure 'ee it is all stuff an' nonsense'-she couldn't but believe the word of a young lady like you, an' the thing would blow over.”

"Very well," said Kitty, in a low voice, "I'll go to her now."

"It's not so very dark," said Mrs. Hardy, with an anxious glance through the window which belied her words. "If ye was to run straight there an' back, Miss Leslie dear, ye'd get home afore 'twas real late. I'd go wi' ye an' welcome, only, if she was to see me, she'd think I'd put ye up to it, an' that wouldn't do no good. An' I'd tell you to wait till to-morrow only ye see she bid me send Stephen to her the minute he comed whoam, an' if he don't go she'll be back here arter him, an' then all the fat 'ud be in the fire-otherways I'd never ax ye to be out so late."

"I'll go now," rejoined Kitty, rising quickly.

Her hat and jacket lay on the sofa where she had thrown them down halfan-hour previously on coming in from the garden. Mrs. Hardy now helped her to put them on so eagerly that the girl was infected by her haste, and started off almost at a run. As she sped through the shadowy hedges and across the dim fields she kept repeating to herself:

"I must stop it, I must stop it!" She must, if possible, avert the mischief which no doubt she had unwittingly caused. She should have left the neighborhood before; she must tell Sheba that she really would go now. The door was ajar when she reached the cottage, and, to her horror, she caught sight of old Baverstock standing by the table. She hesitated for

a moment and then knocked. Richard made a staggering step towards the door, uttering some inarticulate remark in a very husky voice; he was evidently drunk. Rallying all her courage, however, the girl stepped in, looking anxiously round the room, which was lit only by the glow of the wood fire, though from a strong smell of paraffin Kitty inferred that Baverstock had been endeavoring to light the lamp.

"Sheba!" she called timidly, then raising her voice in her alarm, “Sheba !" "Sheba!" echoed Baverstock raucously.

The door at the top of the ladderstairs opened and Sheba looked down at them.

"Who wants me?" she cried. "Is it you, Stephen?"

"It's I-Kitty Leslie, I only want to see you for one moment-can I come up?"

Kitty was indeed already halfway up the ladder.

"I'm busy," returned Sheba, "I've all my packing up to do. I haven't time for talk. We're going to trant out o' this to-morrow."

"I only want to say a few words," persisted Kitty.

She had reached the top of the crazy stairs by this time, and now, with unusual boldness, pushed past Sheba into the tiny bedroom.

"Be quick, then," said the other, closing the door.

Richard stared after them.

"Well I'm dalled," he muttered. "She be reg'lar set on't! "Trant out o' this to-morrow,' will we? There's two words to that."

His indignation seemed partially to sober him. After a long pause, during which he remained staring vengefully at the door of Sheba's room, his countenance cleared. The key was still sticking on the outside of the lock! Baverstock kicked off his heavy boots, and, going to the ladder, dragged himself up

it. The excited voices within Sheba's room drowned the grinding of the key in the lock. In another moment it was withdrawn and dropped into the old man's pocket. He slid down the ladder, and sat for a moment on the floor, to recover himself. A plan of action shaped itself dimly in his mind. His redoubtable daughter was safe out of the way; now he would dispose of the old cart-but how-how? It would take a long time to chop it up, and his arms were none of the strongest. His eyes wandered stupidly from the axe in the corner to the blazing logs, and thence to the oil can from which he had been endeavoring to fill the lamp; and all at once his face cleared.

"Dally! If I don't burn the old thing an' make an' end on't for good an' all. It be so dry as tinder-the job 'ull be done in next to no time."

Propped on his crutch he staggered across the room, seized the can, and went stumbling out of the door and along the house wall till he reached the shed which sheltered the cart. A whinny from the horse attracted his

The Times.

attention, and after a swaying pause, balanced on his crutch, Richard set down the can, and hobbled to the crazy door of the tumbledown stable.

"Come out wi' ye," he whispered. "Us don't want to make a bonfire o' you."

He drove out the old beast with a clap on its lean flank, and it went shambling across the little yard to nibble at the bare hedge over the way.

Richard, however, dallied a moment longer in the stable, emerging presently with a bundle of straw destined for the animal's fodder, and catching up the can again entered the shed.

Soon certain crackling and hissing sounds announced that he had put his project into execution; he waited a moment to make sure that the dry body of the old cart was satisfactorily ignited, and then limped noiselessly away. He paused, chuckling to himself, as he remembered the two girls imprisoned in the upper room

"They'll be safe out o' the way till all's over. They'll be company for each other."

SCENES FROM THE If the siege of Tabriz cannot lay claim to being one of the most terrible in history, it was certainly one of the oddest. I suspect that in this one town in these long-drawn hours of trouble one may see, as in a mirror, the baf-, fling problem of modern Persia. The Persians are blest with the happiest and most delightful sense of humor. It is fortunate that there is always laughter in Persia, for if the laughter stopped there is room for tears.

The population of Tabriz is always estimated by Persians at 300,000. There is no census, but there is said to be a register showing 60,000 inhabited houses; and, if this be so, the

SIEGE OF TABRIZ. average rough European conjecture of 200,000 is certainly under the mark. Its garrison numbered some 2,000, while the three besieging forces totalled possibly 6000. The Royalist camps were originally at Basminch, twelve miles south-east of Tabriz, on the road to Teheran; at Sardarut, six miles on the southern road to Maraga; and at Alvar, eight miles from Tabriz, on the Julfa or Russian road. Prince Ain-ed-Dowlah remained at Basminch throughout the siege, but in the first week of March the bulk of the Basminch force took up a new position at Barinch, on the outskirts of Tabriz. At the same time Samad Khan moved

No prep

in from Sardarut to Karamelik, a southern suburb of Tabriz. arations had been made to defend either of these positions, and the besiegers were allowed to occupy them without a blow being struck. Of the three Royalist generals, Samad Khan, former Governor of Maraga, was the bravest and most energetic. Only once, and as late as April, did Rahim Khan attack the town. His ordinary occupation was brigandage on the Julfa road. Even when the officials of the Russian Consulate-General passed under escort, this worthy Mussulman general levied toll from them in the shape of bottles of cognac and wine, while to the French nurse of one of the Russian ladies who caught his fancy he held out the dazzling promise that he would cover her with jewels if she would remain and share his fortunes. Since the coming of the Russian army he has fled to Karadagh, his native stronghold, with 300 camel loads of loot. The Russians might easily have arrested him, and had plenty of justification for doing so. His name is held in especial loathing by the whole European colony.

Prince Ain-ed-Dowlah took up his position at Basminch in the autumn, but remained absolutely inactive till March, when the advance was made to Barinch. From that time desultory bombardments were frequent, but the damage done was insignificant. A new gun, whose approach had been advertised for weeks, arrived from Teheran in April. With this the besiegers succeeded in dropping shells in the centre of the town, and I remember one occasion when, on a peaceful afternoon out of a clear sky, shells suddenly began to fall right in the middle of the parade-ground where 350 men were drilling. It was the only occasion when I saw any approach to smart range-finding, the distance being more than three miles and the position of the parade

ground probably judged by a neighboring turret which caught the sun. But this piece of work had the kind of sequel which is common in Persia, for most of the shells did not burst. The new gun did, however, on other occasions destroy some houses, and wounded, amongst others, Bakir Khan. Twice only, on February 25th and March 5th, was Tabriz attacked on two sides. These were two of the heaviest engagements; in both the main attack came from Samad Khan, whose losses were severe. The fight on March 5th, when the Kurds got into the Hookmabad quarter and looted it, was the last of a series of what must be called, if we consider the nature of Persian warfare, very determined attacks. The rest of the fighting originated with the defence. Its chief incidents were Satar Khan's attack on Alvar on February 21st; a night sortie on March 21st, the Persian New Year; an attack in force upon Barinch on March 24th; upon Karamelik on March 28th and 29th; and the final attack upon Karamelik on April 20th. Sniping at the barricades was, of course, a daily incident throughout the siege.

It will be sufficient to cite two instances of fighting, in different directions, to illustrate the different natures of the ground and the small number of serious combatants in each case. Northwest, beyond the bridge over the Aji Chai which guards the entrance to the town, the Julfa road runs through flat and open country, a wide valley at the foot of the low red hills which flank Tabriz upon the North. Eight miles out lie the two villages of Alvar, east and west, the former full upon the road, the latter half a mile away from it. With some 500 horsemen Satar Khan rode out on February 21st, his men disposed neither right nor left but all along the narrow road. The Karadaghlis on his approach promptly began to leave East Alvar and to head