"But Ermyn fancied this wicked little Thyra, and I never noticed it. I am truthful. If my husband gives me the charge of his honour, from him I expect the same. I was disappointed. Once-how shall I tell the story?—I found him -with Thyra. Well! a dagger lay on the table. I struck it where it ought to strike. I now strike it through this story of what I have done.

"It has been revealed to me in a dream that he who finds this writing will always be successful."

"Which of us found it?" said the Squire to Willie.

"The woman who wrote it was stark mad," said the Doctor. "It's quite in the style of a

modern romance.'

"Well," said the Squire, "I can show you a picture up in one of the bedrooms, of a lady running a dagger into somebody. That may indicate the incident."

"It was hardly worth while to kill such a

wretched fellow," said Louisa. "People of that kind should be publicly flogged.”

"How amiable!" said Silvester. "I rather sympathize with Sir Ermyn. He ran away with the girl he liked. It was ungrateful of her to murder him because he happened to kiss the still-room maid."

Louisa said nothing, but looked as if she would like to put in a pestle and mortar all the pretty still-room maids in Europe.

"Now," said the Doctor, producing a manuscript much dustier than the other, "what say you to hearing the narrative of the White Rose of Silchester?"

I am afraid Silvia laughed. The fact is the Doctor had managed to get a hint of the contents of the other manuscript; perhaps little Silvia was his accomplice; and had manufactured a complementary one, with many lacunæ and all the venerable dust that could be found in the parish.

"I am the White Rose of Silchester. People

say I am pretty, and the law of libel has not yet been invented. If it were, Papa says he should certainly prosecute them and get damages.

"However, Sir Hildebrand Odfysshe declared that he would marry me or die in the attempt. Sir Hildebrand was a poet, and a companion of the wicked Earl of Rochester. He told, I have since learnt, his troubles to the Earl. That dreadful rascal made a suggestion.

“You see (whoever the you may be that reads this), I had no particular objection to Sir Hildebrand, never having seen him. Papa had. Papa is a tremendous Protestant; Sir Hildebrand is an outrageous Catholic. Papa is six feet five; my Baronet is about five feet six. Papa is all hair; Sir Hildebrand couldn't grow a beard, even if Rowland's Macassar were invented, which as yet it is not.

"I happened to want a lady's maid. I

intended advertising for one in The Times, but the first number of that highly respectable periodical had not appeared. I therefore let it be known in the vicinity, and received applications from several candidates. The one I chose, thinking she could do any quantity of work, turned out to be a man in disguise-it was Sir Hildebrand Odfysshe. He had shaved off what he called his beard and moustachea simple suspicion of hair. He looked quite a nice little party in petticoats.

"I found my new lady's maid very useful; but by-and-by she grew troublesome. There were disturbances in the servants' rooms. The housekeeper could not keep order at night, when the servants were in bed. She said to me she thought it was all the new lady's maid, who was such a dreadful romp and teaze. I suggested that the new lady's maid might sleep in my dressing-room, to be out of the way of the others.

"I am now Dame Matilda Odfysshe, and -the White Rose of Silchester."

Still,

"I am quite of opinion," said the Squire, "that you have beaten us, Doctor. The White Rose surpasses the Red Rose. on the other hand, it is otherwise. Sir Erwyn, who rode into church to capture a wife, is of a better sort than Sir Hildebrand, who for that purpose wore petticoats."

Even the ladies agreed.