you give him time. Now that the pen has gone through Beauchamp's name, there's nothing but you in the race, that I can see."

But he did not seem disposed to dwell upon the subject, nor indeed upon any other that was connected with the present or the future. It was about old Eton days that he wanted to talk, and very soon Jim and he were chuckling over the memory of many a bygone escapade, as if they had been schoolboys together once more. At last Bracknell glanced at his watch and pitched away the end of his cigar.

"Ah, well!" he said, "it has been very jolly seeing you fellows again; but my time's up now and I must go and say good-bye to the governor and Mildred. I shall have to get back to London this evening, so as to make an early start to-morrow. You might walk up with me, Jim. Oh, no, by the way, you can't, though. But come down to the station at five o'clock and see the last of me, like a good chap, will you?"

Jim promised that he would be there, and presently Bracknell took my arm and walked me off towards Staines-court. I accompanied him very willingly, because I was rather curious, I confess, to see what would happen if he encountered Hilda; and, as luck would have it, when we were within a few yards of the house that ill-used lady, in a neat walking costume, came tripping down the steps.

She nodded to Bracknell, without any manifestation of surprise. "Oh," said she, 'you have turned up at last. Have you come down to stay?"

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"No," answered Bracknell shortly, "I have come down to say good-bye to my father. I'm leaving for the Soudan to-morrow."

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will

Really? How spirited of you! When you be back, do you suppose?" "I'm sure I don't know; never, perhaps. Don't let me keep you standing in the cold."

Hilda smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I am not much accustomed to being left out in the cold," she remarked. "Nobody has ever yet succeeded in treating me in that way, and I doubt whether you will succeed. I shall stay at Staines-court until you return."

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"Shall you?" said Bracknell; "I should think you would find that rather dull work. However, you know best what suits you. Good-bye."

ing my companion, whose face was grave enough when he rang the bell and asked for Lord Staines. I waited for him in the drawing-room while he went to bid farewell to his father and sister, and a long time I had to wait before he reappeared, looking a little flushed and agitated.

"Come on," he said hurriedly, " we haven't much more than time to catch the train." And when we were out in the park he drew a long breath. "Well, I'm glad that's over!" he exclaimed. "Poor, dear old boy! I shall never see him again, you know; and, dash it all! I wish I had been a better son to him. Not much use saying that now, eh? But I do wish it, all the same."

I made some stupid conventional speech, to which Bracknell replied, "Oh, he's breaking up fast, anybody can see that, and he knows it himself. Besides, it's rather more likely than not that I shall leave my bones in Egypt; and between you and me, Maynard, I sha'n't much mind if I do. I've been pretty well sick of life for some time past, and if I could make a fresh start- However, I can't make a fresh start; and as for living with my wife again, I'd sooner go into penal servitude. Upon my word, I think she's the most infernally wicked woman I ever came across !-and I've seen a fairish number of women who are commonly called wicked."

It was neither my business nor my inclination to take up the cudgels on Hilda's behalf, but I said, "You won't make her any better by deserting her, will you?”

"Nor any worse," returned Bracknell. "She'll be glad enough to get rid of me, you may be sure, and she won't have much to complain of; for when I come into the property, if I ever do come into it, she shall have the lion's share of my income. I must pay off Beauchamp too, somehow or other. I say, Maynard, do you believe in Providence? Of course you do, though; you're the sort of respectable fellow who would; and your mother brought you up well. I sometimes think Providence may have taken poor little Sunning away for very good reasons. He wouldn't have had your advantages, you see."

Then he suddenly changed the subject and talked about the Egyptian campaign until we reached the station, where we found Jim waiting for us.

The train dashed in immediately afterwards, so that our leave-taking was a brief one. I remember that Bracknell's last words were: "Good-bye, old Jim; don't forget me if I get knocked on the head out there."

CHAPTER XVIII.

I HAD dinner up stairs with my mother that evening. She does not, as a rule, approve of this arrangement, which, she says, gets the servants into slovenly habits; but she will countenance and even encourage it when she is anxious to obtain some information from me, because she knows that I am never so amiable and garrulous as when I am seated before a comfortable fire, with a glass of very fair claret at my elbow, and the digestive process going on satisfactorily. She wanted, of course, to hear all about Bracknell's visit, and was immensely interested in my account of it more especially in that speech of his which seemed to imply belief in an overruling Providence. Upon this somewhat shaky foundation she soon built up a theory to the effect that Bracknell was a man of deep, albeit unobtrusive, religious convictions, and, warming with her theme. (for indeed there is nothing that she delights in more than in trying to make people out better than they are), had just propounded an amazing and, as I believe, utterly unorthodox application of the dogma of justification by faith, when our aged factotum came in to say that Mr. Leigh was at the door in his dog cart, and wished to speak

to me.

I ran down stairs, feeling sure that some misfortune had happened, and my fears were confirmed when I stepped out into the windy night and Jim, stooping down over the gleaming lamps of the dog cart, said: "I want you to come up to the station with me, Harry, there's been an accident to the express."

He had heard no particulars, only that a collision had occurred down the line and that a great many lives were believed to have been lost. "I couldn't go to sleep, not knowing whether Bracknell was alive or dead," he said. "Besides, he may be badly hurt, and there's nobody with him."

I agreed that anything was better than suspense, and having sent a message to my mother to the effect that I was going home with Mr. Leigh and might not be back before morning, got into the dog cart; though I had some doubt as to whether we should be able to proceed to the scene of the catastrophe.

However, when we reached the railway, it seemed that there would be no difficulty on that score. Lord Staines was a great man in our part of the world, and Jim himself enjoys a certain consideration; so that

the station-master, on hearing our errand, at once placed an engine at our disposition. It had been a very bad accident, he told us; but he had heard that there was but four killed outright, and didn't see no reason to fear as his lordship was one of them.

I hardly know why both Jim and I should have formed an opposite opinion. We did not communicate it to each other-indeed we scarcely spoke a word during the halfhour or so that we spent rushing through the darkness in the teeth of the southeasterly gale which had risen since nightfall -but afterwards we compared notes and found that neither of us had had any hope from the first. Perhaps, so far as one of us was concerned, hope would not have been quite the right word to use. A little sooner or a little later death must come to us all; and the future, as poor Bracknell himself had said a few hours before, had had but few bright possibilities to offer him. Yet, when among those four silent, stiffened bodies we recognised the one of which we were in search, I own that my philosophy broke down, and that I was just as sorry as if there had been no mitigating circumstances connected with this swift blotting out of a life which was still young and vigorous. One thinks of the mitigating circumstances afterwards at the time, a sudden death always seems something strange and horrible, like a murder; although probably most of us, if we could choose, would rather be killed at a blow than die by inches.

Jim took the loss of his friend terribly to heart. He had always loved the man, always admired him and wanted to believe in him, even when faith must have been a little difficult, and it was long before he recovered from the shock of that fatal night. To the present day he cannot bear any allusion to it; nor, I must confess, is it a subject upon which I myself care to dwell. Our first duty, of course, was to break the news at Staines-court; and how we accomplished this I can scarcely remember. The one thing that stands out clearly in my recollection is Hilda's look of horror when she was told in what manner her husband had met his death.

"I can't see him!" she cried. "Are they bringing him here? I won't look at anything shocking!"

It seemed to me amazing that at such a moment the woman's first thought should have been to spare herself; but perhaps, after all, it would have been more amazing if her first thought had been anything else.

Lord Staines was in bed when we reached

the house. It was thought best that I should at once tell him what could not long be concealed, and he listened to me with very little apparent emotion. He asked me whether I thought Bracknell's death had been a painful one; and when I replied-as, happily, I was able to do that it must have been instantaneous, he muttered, "Well, well!" and lay back on his pillows, looking straight before him with sunken, weary

eyes.

"So there is an end and a finish of us," he said presently; "maybe it's best so. It seems odd that Bracknell and Sunning should both go before me; but I don't suppose I shall have much longer to wait now. When my poor boy and I parted this afternoon, we knew that it was for the last time, and I'm glad he came to see me-I'm very glad he came to see me. He was in great glee at the prospect of a fight-he has always been like that from a boy. We Henleys may have our faults, but I don't think we have ever been accused of wanting pluck. Bracknell will make himself heard of out there, you'll I was a little vexed with him at first for going off and leaving me, but he gave me reasons, and I believe he was right. I wish he didn't hate writing letters so much! The newspapers will tell us all about him, though."

see.

In this way the old man wandered on, until Lady Mildred came softly into the room and made me a sign to leave him. I doubt whether he ever fully realised what Bracknell's fate had been. During the next few days he talked a great deal about his son, sometimes speaking of him as still alive, sometimes as having been killed in Egypt; but he did not seem able to fix his mind upon any subject for more than a few minutes at a time and often failed to recognise those about him. One duty, fortunately, recurred to his memory, and his performance of it was, I believe, an immense comfort to two simple-minded and conscientious people.

"My poor boy," he said, when he had caused Jim Leigh to be summoned and had made him take Lady Mildred's hand, “told me that I might consent to your marriage without loss of honour. I had thought differently, but Bracknell assured me that some one--the other man

"Mr. Beauchamp?" suggested Lady Mildred gently, when her father came to a long pause.

"Beauchamp, yes-Beauchamp, it seems, withdraws. There is money owing to Beauchamp, and I can't attend to business now; but you will see that he is repaid. Bracknell

explained it all to me, but I have forgotten. He promised that the money should be paid, though."

"It shall be paid, papa," said Lady Mildred.

"Thank you, my dear. You have been a good daughter and you will be a good wife. I wish you all happiness."

These were the last intelligible words that he said. He lingered on for some days after this, but soon sank into a state of semiconsciousness, in which at last he passed quietly away. My mother says that he did his duty according to his lights and will be judged by that standard; and perhaps it may be allowed that in this instance she does not push charity beyond all reasonable limits.

His titles died with him, except that of the barony of Bracknell, which is of ancient creation and which has passed to his daughter. By her also have been inherited his estates, which, although still heavily encumbered, will doubtless recover themselves in time under their present judicious management.

Jim's marriage was a very quiet affair, the bride being in deep mourning at the time for her father and brother; but Lady Petworth, who came down to take charge of the orphan after Lord Staines's death, considered it undesirable that the ceremony should be too long postponed; so good Mr. Turner tied the knot, and the young couple have been living at Elmhurst ever since in a seclusion which I dare say is agreeable to both of them, but of which the county does not altogether approve. Jim tells me that the debt of honour bequeathed to his wife has already been paid off and that he hopes in the course of a few years to be able to move to Staines-court, which is at present shut up. In the meantime he is very well satisfied with his own less pretentious abode; and indeed, if a man were to be condemned to live in the country from year's end to year's end, I don't know that he could find any pleasanter place to live in than Elmhurst, while I am persuaded that he would search in vain for a fellow-exile more amiable and charming than Lady Bracknell.

The other Lady Bracknell-the countess of that name has quite recently decided to put an end to all confusion of identity between her sister-in-law and herself by changing her condition. During the first few months of her widowhood she resided with her father

a touching spectacle to the neighbourhood, as she drove about, with lowered eyelids, in her weeds. Whether after a time she became bored with the respectful sympathy of

the neighbourhood or whether she found herself better off than she had anticipated I do not know; but she moved somewhat suddenly to London, set up house there, discarded crape in favour of pale grey and began to dispense a hospitality of which many people were found ready to avail themselves. Rumour has it that, on recovering her freedom, she made a desperate bid for the Beauchamp property and that the fortunate owner thereof met her advances by requesting her in so many words to omit him from the list of her acquaintances; but I do not believe this story. Hilda has experience enough to be aware that flirting

with a married woman and espousing her after she has become a widow are two very different things, and it is not likely that so clear-sighted an observer would have wasted time and energy upon a forlorn hope. As a matter of fact, she has done far better for herself than she would have done by marrying Beauchamp; for she is about to be led to the altar by the eldest son of a duke, and I hear that the bridegroom's relatives have received her with marked cordiality. Her career, so far as it has gone, may serve as a warning to impulsive young men and as an encouragement to the daughters of the clergy. W. E. NORRIS.