only yesterday. He walked all night swiftly, with perplexed and wandering thoughts; and when the dawn came, he inquired of the first person he met where the nearest station was, and there he took the earliest train for London.

CHAPTER VII.

BESIDE HIMSELF.

A LITTLE after six o'clock on Sunday evening Hester entered the porch of Carl's chapel. Already the fashionably-dressed congregation were beginning to arrive, and she heard his praises spoken as she waited to be put into a seat. She was at last conducted to an obscure place in one of the galleries, where, though she could see the pulpit well, it was not probable that Carl could recognise her face amidst the number surrounding him. Hester was content, however; she would hear him again, and when the service was over she would go to speak to him in the vestry about the little Hester.

Carl appeared at the appointed minute, and she trembled nervously as he glanced round the crowded chapel. Then followed an hour of intense happiness, that of a woman whose most devout worship is led by the being she loves the most. Hester's whole soul was in that brief fleeting season of worship; an in

terval so short, that when the mass of people rose to go away, she looked about her in amazement. Carl seemed to have caught her eye then, for he stood a moment before leaving the pulpit, gazing towards her. It was some time before she could get down the crowded staircase, and when she did so the chapel-keeper told her the best way to get to the minister's vestry was to go round on the outside of the building. She passed on with the throng, but just as she was about to turn to the corner of the chapel, she felt her hand suddenly seized, and herself drawn rapidly down towards the street. It was her father, who had taken hold of her, and was hurrying her towards a cab which was waiting at a little distance. But what could bring her father there? What terrible calamity could have driven him so far adrift from his fixed habits? Had Rose persisted in discovering herself to him; and had some catastrophe been the result? He did not speak to her, and when she spoke he appeared deaf to her voice. He sank down into a corner of the cab, covering his face with his hands. Once he looked up, and there was a gleam of light, not quite sane, in his sunken eyes.

"What is the matter, father?" she ventured to ask.

"Nat yet!" he cried, shrinking back again; "not yet, Hester! I am not quite ready yet." They drove rapidly to some station, and he sent her on to the platform while he bought the tickets. A train was on the on the point of starting, and he hurried her into a carriage. It never occurred to her to suppose that they were going anywhere but back to Little Aston; and by the speed at which they travelled, she judged that they would soon be half-way there. This was as they passed somewhat slowly through a station (for they stopped at none), and she saw by the clock there that it was after eleven. She wondered how little Hester would bear the disappointment of not seeing her again; and the tears she could not keep back, and which she would not wipe away lest her father should see them, stole down her cheeks. Presently the train slackened speed, and in a few minutes came to a stand-still. There was no station near; and it was as dark as it ever is during the early nights of June.

"What can be the matter?" she exclaimed VOL. III.

F

to herself, involuntarily. Their fellow-passengers were collecting together their cloaks and parcels, and preparing to leave the carriage. The gentleman who was next to her caught her half-audible exclamation.

"There is nothing the matter," he answered, pleasantly; "the train runs alongside the vessels, and we have nothing to do but embark immediately. Your luggage will be quite safe."

"This young lady is my daughter," said John Morley, hurriedly; "and I will take care of her."

A

Hester looked out, and saw an utterly inexplicable and unfamiliar scene. There lay just before her the black outlines of a steamer, and beyond them a dark tossing plain, with a faint suggestion of light upon it, as if it had not yet quite lost the lustre of the sunset. confusion of strange cries and voices surrounded her, amidst which she heard her father whisper, "For God's sake be silent, and follow me." Almost before she could recover from her amazement, she found herself on the deck of one of the steamers, which soon began to move slowly away from the pier.