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Burls made a great mistake in his man. Frank was not going to tell lies for him. Besides, he knew the customer. The old gentleman turned round, and saw him before he could escape. He fell back a step or two, shaded his eyes with his hand, looked very hard at Frank, then exclaimed, cordially holding out his hand

"God bless me! Young Mr. Melliship!
"Dr. Perkins!

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stammered Frank.

My dear young gentleman, who ever would have thought of seeing you here ?"

He'll tell

Frank was interrupted in a rambling apology by Mr. Burls. "Very clever young man-invaluable to me. you"-here he winked again at Frank-" all about the place we fetched them from."

"Well, I shall have some other things to talk about with him of more importance; but perhaps he will excuse me if, to settle this, I ask where possibly at Compton Green there could be pictures without me knowing it?" "Ah!" said Burls, "he can tell f houses, I forget where they are almost." you. go into so many

Nowhere," said Frank, looking Dr. Perkins-whom he knew was an old friend of his father's-full in the face. "I painted it myself."

And he was gone out of the shop. It was in vain the old clergyman and his son-in-law tried to overtake him. They soon lost sight of him in the crowded street.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

MUST tell you," wrote Grace to Kate, "of the great day we had at Derngate. You know all the dreadful news, because Lucy has told you how Uncle Mortiboy, after he had given all his money to Dick, had a paralytic stroke, and is quite helpless now. He seems to know people, though he cannot speak. He gives a sort of a grunt for 'yes,' and frowns when he means 'no.' Though we feel sure he will never recover his faculties again, poor old man, he is not at all a pitiable object to look at. He has completely lost the use of one side, and partially that of the other. His face is drawn curiously out of shape, and it gives him a happy and pleasant

look he never used to have. He actually looks as if he were smiling all the while-a thing, as you know, he did not often do. They have taken him downstairs, and old Hester looks after him. Dick has moved into that little villa which stands across the river, the only house there. He has a boat to go across in. It seems a prosaic way of getting over a river for a man who knows all about California and Texas, doesn't it? I told him that we all expected him to strike out a new idea. "But the moving was the great thing. He asked us all there to come down while he ransacked the old house. down we went. We went in to see poor old Mr. Mortiboy, and he seemed to know us, and to want to speak; but it was no use. Then our voyage of discovery began. We had Mr. Tweedy, the builder, who went about with the house-steps and a hammer. He went first. Dick came next. We followed, pretending not to be at all curious; and old Hester brought up the rear.

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So

First, Aunt Susan's room. Then we opened all her drawers, boxes, and cupboards. There was nothing in one of them except old letters and things of no interest or value. 'The old man,' Dick said, 'has been here before us.' I don't think that it's nice of him to speak of his father in that way; though mamma declares that his voice always shakes as he does it. All poor aunt's dresses were hanging up just as she had left them. Dick gave every one to mamma, with her lace you know what beautiful lace Aunt Susan had. There is not much, after all; for she never dressed very well, as you know. Mamma transferred the gowns to old Hester on the spot, and kept the lace, of course.

"Then we went downstairs to the first floor-Mr. Mortiboy's own floor. Here we had a surprise. In the room was a long press, which Dick opened. My dear Kate, it was full of gold and silver cups, and plate of all kinds.

"Dick tossed them all on the table with his usual careless

manner.

"Now, cousins,' he said, 'if you can find anything here with the Heathcote crest on it, take it.'

"I found an old cup, which must have been my greatgrandfather's, which I took home to papa.

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I am going to pick out the Mortiboy plate,' said Dick, ' and sell all the rest.'

Oh, Kate! among the rest was a great deal of yours, which Uncle Mortiboy had bought up from the sale. I waited

till mamma was not looking, and I begged him not to sell that. He did not know that it was yours, and promised. So that is all safe for the present. And then he produced Aunt Susan's jewels and trinkets, and divided them between Lucy and me. I shall have such splendours to show you when we meet again. It is old-fashioned, of course, but very good. "Then he put all the things back again.

"We're going to look for money,' he said. 'Hester says he used to hide it away.'

"Then we saw the use of the steps and the hammer. Mr. Tweedy went about hammering everywhere, to see if things were solid or hollow. In a window-seat which he forced open -it had been screwed down-we found a bag full of guineas. I have one of them now. Behind a panel of the wainscoting, which had a secret spring-I did not know there were any houses in Market Basing with secret springs and panels-we found-not a skeleton, my dear, with a dagger stuck in its ribs, as there ought to have been in a secret cupboard,—but another bag, with thirty old spade guineas in it. Wherever a hiding place could be made, Uncle Mortiboy had hidden away some money. There was quite a handsome sum in an old and welldarned stocking foot, and ever so many guineas under his bed. He seems to have had a great penchant for saving guineas. Hester says he thought they brought luck.

"How much is left to find, of course we cannot tell. It seems now that he was never quite easy in his mind about the things in his house. You know their queer, narrow old staircase? Well, he used always to take his after-dinner nap on the stairs, where nothing could pass him without awaking him; and he used to pay the policeman extra money for giving a special look at the house. How it was he was not robbed, I can't think.

"After all this, we went home, loaded with spoil. Mamma began again about Dick's 'intentions;' but that only annoys me a very little now.

"Dick has got old Mrs. Lumley, whom you know, to look after him. But he won't let her sleep in the house. He fired pistols at his first woman, and she ran away. But Mrs. Lumley is not afraid, and I haven't heard of any pistols being fired at her.

"When are you going to give me fresh news of Frank? Kate, dear, give him my love-my real and only love—and tell him not to forget me, and to keep up his courage. If he

would only be helped, all would be well. I am sure papa liked him better than anybody that came to Parkside. And, after all, papa-is papa."

It was a fine time this, for Polly. She had plenty of Dick's society. He was at home nearly every evening, and generally alone. Then she would sit with him while he drank, smoked, told her queer stories, and sang her jovial sea-songs. As for her, she always behaved as a lady, put on a silk dress every evening, and invariably had her bottle of port before her, carrying her adherence to the usages of polite society so far as very often to finish it.

Occasional wayfarers along the towing-path would hear sounds of merriment and singing. It was whispered that Dick Mortiboy even entertained the Evil One himself, and regaled him with cigars and brandy.

Sometimes they played at cards, games that Dick_taught her. Sometimes they used to quarrel, but not often; because once, when she threatened her husband, he took her by the shoulders, and turned her out of doors.

Her venerable parent was a bedridden old lady, of prepossessing ugliness, who resided in a cottage, neither picturesque nor clean, in the outskirts of Market Basing. By the assistance of her daughter, she was able to rub along and get her small comforts. She was not a nice old lady to look at, nor was she eminently moral; being one of those who hold that lies cost nothing, and very often bring in a good deal. "Get money out of him, Polly," she said.

as you can-it won't last, you know."

"Get as much

"And why shouldn't it last? What's to prevent it lasting, you old croaker?"

"The other will turn up some day, Polly. I know it-I'm certain of it. Make him give you money. Tell him it's for Bill."

Mother, Dick's no fool. I've had fifty pounds out of him for little Bill in the last four months. I told him, only a fortnight ago, that Bill had got the scarlet fever! and he told me to go to the devil. He's deep, too. He doesn't say anything, but he's down on you all of a sudden. Mother, I lie awake at night, and tremble sometimes. I'm afraid of him, he is so masterful."

"But try, Polly, my dear-try. Tell him I want things at my time of life.”

“I might do that. But it's no use pretending anything about Bill for a while. The other night he said Bill was played out. He wants to know where the boy is, too.”

"Where is he, Polly? Tell your old mother, deary.” “Sha'n't,” said Polly.

She made a long story about her mother that very night, and coaxed ten pounds out of Dick for her. The old woman clutched the gold, and put it away under her pillow, where she kept all the money that Polly got out of Dick.

It was odd that he could endure the woman at all. She was rough-handed, rough-tongued, coarse-minded, intriguing, and crafty-and he knew it. Her tastes were of the lowest kinds. She liked to eat and drink, and do little work. They had no topics in common. But he was lazy, and liked to “let things slide." She had all the faults that a woman can have; but she had a sort of cleverness which was not displeasing to him. Sometimes he would hate her. This was generally after he had been spending an evening at Parkside—almost the only house he visited.

Here, under the influence of the two girls and their father, he became subdued and sobered. The subtle influence of the pure and sweet domestic life was strong enough to touch him: to move him, but not to bring him back.

The sins of youth are never forgiven or forgotten. Now, when all else went well with Dick, when things had turned out beyond his wildest hopes, this woman-whom he had married in a fit of calf love-stood in his way, and seemed to drag him down again when he would fain have risen above his own level. Other things had passed away and been forgotten. There was no fear that the old Palmiste business would be revived. Facts and reports, ugly enough, were safe across the Atlantic. Of the twelve years of Bohemian existence no one knew: they were lost to history as completely as the forty years' wandering of the Israelites. Only Lafleur, who was sure to keep silent for his own sake, knew. And this woman alone stood in the way, warning him back from the paths of respectability-an Apollyon whom it was impossible to pass.

But one evening, Polly, who had come in to see him, cried in a maudlin way over the love she had for the boy; and pulling her handkerchief out of her pocket to dry her eyes, dragged with it a letter, which Dick, who was sitting opposite her and not too far off, instantly covered with his foot. Igno