with careful clearings. I feel quite young again with the incentives to industry that are about me, and happier than ever I was in my life, and the more so that all my family now, in which I include Tom and Susan, have accepted the stupid old doctor's philosophy that everything happens for the best."

For

MAGAR'S precaution with regard to the publication of his confession was in the interest of an accomplice. This was no other than the man who led the attack on the Star printing offices. The woman who visited the criminal in his last hours received Magar's instructions to warn the Middleton Bruiser, in order that the fellow might get out of the country. According to Magar's confession, the villain was concealed at the mill on that fatal 15th of November for the purpose of playing his part in the murder. Magar affirmed that this hired assassin struck the fatal blow. The same hand was employed to get rid of Susan. It was the Middleton Bruiser who made her acquaintance on board ship, and tried to push her overboard. a long time Magar believed that the ruffian had accomplished his mission. In telling his story, Magar dwelt upon the deceitful part which the Bruiser had played. "If," said the late Mayor of Middleton, "he had been true one way or the other I should not have been in this position; if he had told me at the outset that Susan Harley was alive I should have got away from England; I might have found her out in America and married her. But it was not to be: I never was quite satisfied about the Bruiser except as to his doing anything for money. I always repented of what was done, but I had begun to get over the fear and remorse of it when that woman turned up like a ghost, and the terror of that moment was as bad as when I heard him struck down and cry out-that screech which seemed to freeze me where I stood. It has been in my ears many a time, his awful scream, but I'd begun to get over it; I'd begun to leave off slipping in his blood at nights just as I was getting into bed; it had been getting more and more like a bad dream as I prospered and came to be trusted by the town as a magistrate. She brought it all back with her white face and staring eyes. If I'd my time to come over again I'd sooner be the man murdered than one concerned in his death. Julius Jennings was present when Silas was killed, but he struck no blow, and Tom Titsy knew no more of it than the child unborn."

I supplement this extract from Magar's confession with an extract from the second letter of Mr. Horatio Johnson. Here is the sequel to the colonial part of this history :

"The comrade of Jennings who made an effort to reach Montreal, as I have described, was no doubt mixed up in the Middleton tragedy. Mrs. Miriam says that one night soon after the execution of Magar her husband brought him home. This was when they were living in America, and it was chiefly through this man that they determined to try Canada. Her husband did not like him, but there was something between them which made it necessary that they should be friends, and when the fellow was drunk he used to let out incidents of his former career which gave her days of dread and uneasiness, gipsy as she was. He knew a great deal about Middleton, and on dark nights when the wind was high he drank hard and then had strange fits of terror and fury, and cursing and praying, that drove Jennings almost wild. I don't think she knows all, but she has led a dreadful life with those two rascals, though Jennings does not seem to have behaved what may be called unkindly to her. But to proceed: I told you before that the fellow would never reach Montreal, and he did not. The snow came on again about two hours after he left, and the wind seemed as if it blew ice. It is fatal to fall asleep in such storms, but, after great fatigue in the cold, it is seldom that nature is proof against the temptation. Two days after his departure he was found dead in the snow, and on the news reaching us, which it did, because it was thought he might be one of my people, I extemporised a sleigh, and Tom drove Susan over to see the body. This was for my curiosity and satisfaction. It had occurred to me that in this wretch she might discover her acquaintance of the steamer. There is more in 'presentiments' than we are willing to admit. I try to laugh Mrs. J. out of her superstitious feelings about death ticks, ear-burnings, walking-over-your-grave sensations, unlucky birds, and fatal Fridays, but secretly I sympathise with her, and have cause. It came into my mind in the strangest way that this dead man in the snow was Susan's villain of the steamer, and it was so. Susan hesitated at first, but afterwards she had no doubt about it, and I believe him to be the villain known in Middleton as the Bruiser, that same rascal who was at the beck and call of Gripps, and whom Mr. W. Williams had the honour of bruising on the day when Gripps seized poor Mr. Martyn's. premises."

My story is coming to an end. Jacob's literary successes increased and multiplied, but not without much hard work. It was a fortunate thing that he had made a position with his pen, for the failure of a well-known bank, in which a large amount of the Thornton funds was invested, swept away nearly the whole of Lucy's private fortune. This was an incident in their lives which only tended to bind the young people closer together. To Jacob, Lucy's loss was almost a matter of congratulation. His romantic notions of love and independence had often been secretly arrayed against his wife's fortune. Indeed, the subject had more than once formed a topic of conversation between them. For example, one evening, when they were gossiping over a

letter from Mr. Thornton about the investment of some moneys which had just fallen in from a satisfied mortgage (this was before the bank failure), Jacob said

"Lucy, my dear, I wish you had no funds to invest."

"I know you do, Jacob, and that is the only subject about which we are ever likely to differ."

She looked up from a book of poems, and laid her hand upon her husband's shoulder, glancing at the work he was reading; it was a treatise on "Political Economy."

"It had been the dream of my life," said Jacob, laying aside his book, "to win you a home with my single arm-to carve out a way for both of us, to be your champion and protector, and thus to prove to you the strength and quality of my love."

"You don't like the Thornton sovereigns, poor dear Jacob,” said Lucy, sitting on a cushion at his feet and laying her head upon his knees. "Suppose we give them away, dear, or throw them into the river."

"You always laugh at me," said Jacob.

'No, dear, I do not; but it is curious that one so wise and clever as you are should take such an odd view of your riches."

"Your riches, dear," said Jacob.

"Yours, you unkind, tyrannical fellow," said Lucy.

Jacob patted her brown silky hair, and stooped to kiss her forehead.

"You will never look at the point earnestly, Lucy," said Jacob. How was it that Jacob was reading "Political Economy" and Lucy a book of poems ?

"Then I will, dear, for once," said Lucy, taking his hand, and looking, not at her husband this time, but straight into the fire, that glowed lovingly upon her sweet, tender face. "You make money by your books and your writings, but you work hard, Jacob; you know, dear, you are often up in your room writing when you ought to be in bed; I have stood at the door and heard your pen racing over the paper."

"My dear love!" said Jacob.

"You are not to interrupt me. I have heard of cases where an author from ill health has not been able to continue his labours ; and then, instead of being free, he has been borne down by a wife and children. Now, you are to hear me to the end, dear; don't fidget so with your feet. Knowing the uncertainties of literary work, would it not be some consolation to you, were you a wife, loving your husband with all your heart and soul, to feel that

there was no possibility of your being a burthen, and a care, and a drawback to the man whom you adored and loved?"

"My dear Lucy, there is good sense in what you say, and I have not the heart to oppose it. You are a very practical little woman; you always were much more so than I could have imagined; where do you get your worldly wisdom, love?"

"I don't know, dear; one of my lady tutors was the widow of an author, a learned doctor of Oxford-a great philosopher; and do I not see how many heartrending letters you receive from authors ?" "Yes, dear, they are not all as fortunate as I am."

"No, dear, as fortunate; the public is a fickle patron, but once it. takes to a writer, it is his own fault if he is not always a favourite." "But how long it is before the public makes up its mind!" said Lucy. "Here is a poet who is charming, full of new thoughts, and as musical as Moore; yet you say his books do not sell, and he has not yet had a five-pound note from his publishers."

"The public will discover his merits when he is dead, poor fellow. He goes in for fame; I write for the present."

It was soon after some such conjugal gossip as this that the ill news of the bank came to Mortimer House. For a moment Jacob felt a weight lifted off his mind; but before the day was over he regretted the loss deeply. He did not want Lucy's money, and yet he was angry at the loss of it; while, on the contrary, Lucy received the news with the greatest equanimity.

"My dear Jacob, don't trouble about it; there is still a little left. Besides, dear, you never cared for it."

"I do now."

"Only for my sake-only because you think the loss of it grieves me."

"No, dear, for my own. If we had given it away, or thrown it into the river, as you once suggested," said Jacob; "but to be done out of it in this way!"

"There, dear! See-look in my face-I believe I am happier now that it is gone. We shall love each other all the more, if that were possible. Think of those poor people who have no other resources, now that the bank has broken-widows and orphans perhaps !"

“You are an angel," said Jacob, kissing his wife.

"A poor one, bless her heart," said old Thornton, who had entered the room unperceived; "a poor angel, my dear," said the old man, as Lucy flung her arms round his neck and kissed him.

"Richer even now than many of the people who ride in the Row,

and try to mask their empty purses and mortgaged estates in hollow smiles and badinage," said Lucy.

"Now, by my soul, it does me good to see you two in this spirit," exclaimed Uncle Thornton. "I have been in a furious rage for hours, and in despair, too-a miserable, broken-hearted dog! If it had been my own money that had gone-but Lucy's, my dead nephew's money, hoarded by my brother to do justice with at last! Good Lord! it makes me sick to think of it. Give me some sherry, Jacob Martyn."

Sherry was brought. The old man helped himself liberally.

"Don't be downhearted, Uncle Thornton. We are well off. I am making a good income. A short time since I should have liked nothing better than this loss. That money has been the only little shadow between my wife and I. But I have become proud and ambitious lately. I had been thinking of buying an estate in the county of Dinsley; and I suppose I am being punished a little for my ingratitude. But it is all for the best. I shall set to work now in deeper earnest than heretofore."

"There! now that is all we are going to say about it. We shall take a pleasant house somewhere near Richmond, and live quietly. There-no more to-night," said Lucy.

"But, Lucy, my child," began Uncle Thornton.

"No more about money to-night; we will have some music." "That is right," said Jacob. "She is right, uncle, we will defer the subject."

Lucy sat down to her harp and conjured from the glowing strings our dreamy story of the happy land; and when the melody had taken full possession of Jacob's memory she sang the simple words with the sympathetic tenderness of the old days; while Uncle Thornton nodded his white head to the music and sipped his sherry in silence.

CHAPTER L.

MR. BONSALL AS A CABINET MINISTER

SEEKS RE-ELECTION FOR MIDDLETON; AND IS OPPOSED.

UNCLE THORNTON had often urged Jacob Martyn to go into Parliament. It was the fear of being compelled to abandon this ambitious project that made the bank failure seem more serious than it was. Within a few days of the stoppage of the establishment it was announced that there would be a dividend of ten shillings in the