He bent down his head into his hands and wept bitter, bitter tears.

How should he ever face the congregation again—if they knew of these things.

The curate was a good man. He had intended no wrong-no varnishing over of evil things. Somehow he had not only seen for the moment the things the world generally sees in a successful man, but he had also seen them under the kind of halo that sorrow will at times cast round such persons-and that fact at once excused and condemned him in his own eyes.

After hours of sadness he went home, and spent the entire night wakefully in his bed, comparing the Doctor's speech with his own sermon, and with all the fine things he had said in it; striving piteously to see if they could in any way be reconciled, by the aid of a little Christian charity, in the interpretation of both.

CHAPTER IV.

PEKIN

AFTER SO painfully and so unconsciously enlightening the curate as to the value of his eulogy on the deceased Mr. Jehoshaphat, Israel and the Doctor separated, on reaching the plank bridge that crosses the stream.

From thence to Pekin may seem a long distance, but Israel did not find it so, as he and his lad plodded their way thither through the village and entered a picturesque winding lane. This soon began to ascend towards an exceedingly long row of colliers' houses, that stood on a conspicuous height far above all the other rows, and above all the single houses scattered on the mountain slope; and commanded attention from every passing traveller by the grandeur of the position, and the bare homeliness of the dwellings.

The row had been built by Jehoshaphat Williams many years before, and named by him in one of his more grotesque moods-when, possibly, he thought he was playing the poet or the artist in associating his row of cottages, rented at a shilling or so a week, with the beauty and splendour of the great Chinese capital.

As they reached the ground in front of the cottages, and passed along the row of dimly-lighted windows, Israel stopped to speak with a collier, who was sitting on a doorstep, smoking, and looked-so David thought as if he had been on the watch for the Overman. He rose to meet Israel, and they stood a little apart, speaking in low tones; but presently Israel spoke loud enough to let the boy know they spoke of Mr. Barrett, the manager of the mine under Mr. Jehoshaphat, and who was therefore Israel's immediate superior.

'I can tell ye, he has seen old Mrs. Jehoshaphat; and what's more, that he has been hanging about the farm, trying to see Mr. Griffith Williams,' said the collier, with a mysterious air.

6

Ay, ay!' replied Israel, with a sardonic smile, whichever on 'em gets the mine, he'll be right, he thinks.'

But to be trying it on so soon, the old man just dead!' added the collier.

'Barrett takes time by the forelock.

He doesn't mean to lose a comfortable berth, not if he can help it,' said Israel. All right! I should do the same were I in his place.'

6

'And that's where you ought to be, master Israel, if everybody had their rights. You ought to be in his place.'

6

Ah, thou always wast a dreamer, Lewis; I ain't time for such intellectual recreations.'

Obeying a hint, however, from Lewis, Israel moved nearer to him, and away from David, and then they again conversed in undertones, while Lewis looked more than once curiously at the boy.

A sudden sense of alarm ran through David's breast. This man Lewis was in the habit of making extra earnings

by teaching raw lads to cut coal, and had the character of being a cruel taskmaster.

David never stopped to think that he was not yet old enough for that kind of work. He thought only he was going to be put under Lewis-that they were arranging it now-and thus to all his former horror of the mine there was now a deeper tinge added.

Israel, happening to look round, noticed the lad's stricken look, for the light of a candle, stuck just inside a window, fell full upon him; but he did not trouble himself to inquire into the cause.

6

Go home,' he said to David; I will follow presently.' He then went with Lewis into the latter's place.

David rushed on-right into his own home, and to his mother, who had long waited for him, and yearned to see and speak to him alone, and now found her opportunity as she thought.

But David gave her no time. His face was wild with excitement and affright.

'Mother, he is talking to Lewis-it is about me-I am sure of it. He will bind me to him-and he will kill me!'

'Oh mother, mother, don't let me go down. Don't! don't! Let me do anything, anything in the world, but that!'

But David, dear! Now listen-calm yourself; do, my darling boy, my child-will you not listen to me?'

'Oh yes, mother; but do say you will not let me go down to-morrow morning. Mother, you must speak now. I can't go into the mine. I won't. It would kill me. I can't sleep at nights for it. And when I do, I jump up all at once out of the most horrid dreams. Last night I saw that boy who was lost only a few months ago in our mine for eight days, and found dead. He came to me, and whispered such things to me of how it had happened, and what he had seen. And when I awoke I do believe I heard my own voice screaming in fright.'

She noticed his hand was trembling, his eyes dilated and wild, his voice strange, unreal.

To quiet him, rather than with the faith that she could do any good, or even fulfil her promise, she said

David, dear, I will—I will indeed! But be patient. I have found that always best with him.'

'Mother, I can't be patient if he makes me go there!' He seemed to thrill and shudder as he uttered the word 'there.' It included for him all that man could devise of things most cruel and most disgusting.

But did you not say you would? Did you not promise him you would go down?"

David turned his head, and laid it against her breast, moaning with pain. He had utterly forgotten in his new fright the promise that had been exacted.

The door opened, and Israel came in.

David and his mother hastily separated, the former sitting down on a low stool, while the latter got ready the supper. "You have heard the news of Mr. Jehoshaphat's death?' Israel said to his wife, after a pause.

Yes,' Mrs. Mort replied. How will it affect you?' 'Fools can put questions that it takes wise men to answer, and are sometimes too much even for them. But, wife, I'll tell you. I've been pondering over that same question ever since I heard last night how bad he was. And it's on account of that I've been to church.'

'To church!' interrupted Mrs. Mort, caught for once in an expression of surprise.

To church,' he repeated doggedly.

thing to say to that?"

'No, Israel; except that I am glad.'

Have you any

'What do you mean by that? Do you mean to insinuate- but there, if you did, it wouldn't matter. Only don't interrupt me again. I think slow. You put me out.'

'I am sorry,' again interposed unlucky Mrs. Mort.

Israel's brow coloured with ire. He no longer cared to go further with his wife into the new hopes that had been excited in him. And as he had long lost the relish of the one bit of occasional pleasure his married life at first gave him, the power of obtaining a patient and respectful listener whenever he wanted for his own ease of mind to talk himself out-he merely remarked

'Come David, lad, eat! Get on wi' thy supper.' But the lad pushed his plate away, and said he wasn't hungry-he couldn't eat.

Eat

That's nonsense,' said Israel. I've told thee before that those who do work, or mean to work, must eat. thy victuals, and make no more ado.'

The lad's face flushed, and he seemed as if he were about again to refuse; but he caught the pleading look of his mother's face, and did eat enough to satisfy the stern, inquisitive eye, so long as it thought it necessary to remain fixed on him.

And now, wife, about David. Have you made the lad understand about to-morrow? That I don't want to take a snivelling girl in boy's clothes with me; nor an idiotic. coward, who sees a ghost lurking behind ev. ry corner. You know, and he knows, that my mind is made up. Is he man enough to keep his promise, and do his duty?'

"Give him time, he's——'

'Oh, I'll give him till to-morrow morning, half-past five o'clock, certainly. That'll do, David?'

And is he to go under Lewis?' asked Mrs. Mort, tremblingly, but struggling to seem calm and self-possessed.

'Lewis! Is the woman mad? Lewis! Certainly not!' said the Overman, with a touch of scorn.

'Israel-husband-we have had but three children; two are gone, and this one alone remains. If not for my sake, or for his, then for your own, be patient with him, listen to him and what he wants. He says he can work; he will work. Sometimes, husband, the poor silly lad talks of how he will yet grow to be a great man if only--'

That's just what I want to put him in the way of. Do you suppose I mean to remain Overman all my life long, or that I mean my only son-heir to all I haven't got, but mean to get-to remain where I shall first put him? No. And since I am in the mood to speak, you shall hear my mind, and think of it afterwards, when you see how things shall be shaped.'

'I want David to earn money because we are so