high and low, and now I've found you, you don't go without answering to me for her ruin. You may be a gentleman, but you haven't acted like one; and I'll have my revenge on you, or die for it!'

A crowd has collected round them now, and things begin to look rather unpleasant.

'We're going to have a row,' says Stratford gleefully, as he prepares to take off his coat.

Nonsense, Stratford! The fellow's drunk, or mad. I cannot have you mixed up with a crew like this. If you don't move out of my way and stop your infernal insolence,' he continues to Joel Cray, I'll hand you over to a policeman.'

'I am not insolent-I only tell you the truth, and the whole world may know it. Your name's "Amilton." You ruined a poor girl, under a promise of marriage, and left her and her child to perish of grief and hunger! And, as sure as there's a God in heaven, I'll make you answer for your

wickedness towards 'em!'

"Ugh!' groans the surrounding crowd of navvies, always ready, at the least excuse, to take part against the 'bloated hairestocracy.'

'I don't know what you're talking about. You must have mistaken me for some one else,' replies Muiraven, who cannot resist refuting such an accusation.

'Surely you are not going to parley with the man!' interposes Stratford.

'You don't know of such a place as Hoxford, may be?' shouts Joel, with an inflamed countenance, and a clenched fist, this time brought well to the front- nor of such a village as Fretterley ?-nor you've never heard tell of such a girl as Myra Cray? Ah! I thought I'd make you remember!' as Muiraven, turning deadly white, takes a step backward. Let go, mates

-let me have at him, the d-d thief, who took the gal from me first and ruined her afterwards!'

But they hold him back, three or four of them at a time, fearing the consequences of anything like personal violence.

'Muiraven, speak to him! What is the matter?' says his cousin impatiently, as he perceives his consternation.

'I cannot,' he replies at first; and then, as though fighting with himself, he stands upright and confronts Joel boldly.

'What have you to tell me of Myra Cray? Where is she? What does she want of me? Why has she kept her hiding-place a secret for so long?'

'Why did you never take the trouble to look after her?' retorts Joel. 'Why did you leave her to die of a broken heart? Answer me that!'

Is she dead?' he says

'To die! in a low voice.

And how do you propose to take it? Do you wish to fight me?' demands Muiraven, calmly.

6

Better not, mate!' says one of his comrades in a whisper. 'Bleed him!' suggests another, in the same tone.

As for Joel, the quiet question takes him at a disadvantage. He doesn't know what to make of it. 'When a feller's bin wronged,' he begins, awkwardly

'He demands satisfaction,' continues Muiraven. 'I quite agree with you. That idea holds good

in my class as much as in yours. But you seem to know very little more than the facts of this case. Suppose I can prove to you that

the poor girl you speak of was not wronged by me-what then?' 'You've bin a deal too 'asty,' whispers one of his friends.

'But your name's "'Amilton" ain't it?' says Joel, mistily.

But

'It is one of my names. that is nothing to the purpose. Far from shirking inquiry, I am very anxious to hear all you can tell me about Myra Cray. When can you come home with me? Now?'

'Muiraven! in Heaven's nameis this one of your infernal little scrapes?' says Stratford.

'In Heaven's name, hold your tongue for the present, and you shall know all. Is there any reason why this man should not accompany me to my place of residence?' continues Muiraven, addressing one of the bystanders.

'He can go well enough, if he likes to. He's only here by the job.'

'Will you come, then?' to Joel. 'I'm sure I don't know what to say,' returns Joel, sheepishly. "Tain't what I call satisfaction to be going 'ome with a gentleman.'

Come with me first, and then, if I don't give you entire satisfaction with respect to this business, we will fight it out your own way afterwards.'

five years; but it is time I should be true at last.'

'True at last! What humbug, Muiraven! As if all the world didn't know——'

'Hush, Hal!--you pain me. The world knows as much about me as it does of every one else.'

Saville Moxon-now a barrister, who has distinguished himself on more than one occasion-lives in the Temple. Fifteen minutes bring them to his chambers, where they find him hard at work amongst his papers.

'I feel beastly awkward,' says Muiraven, with a conscious laugh, as Moxon is eager to learn the reason of their appearance in such strange company; but I've got a confession to make, Moxon, and the sooner it's over the better. Now, my good fellow, pass on.'

This last request is addressed to Joel, who, half doubting whether he shall make his cause good after all, recapitulates, in his rough manner, the whole history of Myra's return to Priestley-the birth of her child-her aimless searches after her betrayer-and, lastly, her unexpected death.

Muiraven starts slightly, and changes colour as the child is mentioned; but otherwise, he hears the sad story through unmoved. The other two men sit by in silence, waiting his leave to express their astonishment at the intelligence.

'Poor Myra!' says Muiraven thoughtfully, as Joel, whose voice has been rather shaky towards the end, brings his tale to a conclusion. 'I don't wonder you thought badly of me, my friend; but there is something to be said on both sides. I never wronged your cousin'

'You say that to my face!' commences Joel, his wrath all ready to boil over again at such a supposition.

'Stay! Yes-I repeat it. The