"No. Certainly not. I shall take my supper in the kitchen when you're gone to bed. Tell Hester and the cook to come to me.

Dressed in black gowns, and with their aprons ready for their eyes, the servants waited his commands. They found him sitting with a little housekeeping book of his sister's in his hands. They thought Mr. Mortiboy was about to improve the occasion. But they had misjudged him. He was

going to discharge them.

66

"Habit is a curious thing," he began, pouring out a cup of the cold tea, and sipping it appreciatively. I missed my usual little nap on the stairs to-day, and I have wasted a precious evening-a pr-e-ci-ous evening through it.” The corners of the white aprons dropped. The three domestics waited for him while he took another sip of his tea. "I ought to have done this earlier; but thoughts of her who is gone"-he looked upwards—“ kept me from it." The aprons up again, ready for use. Hester, a very old retainer, in real tears.

"You've heard me called eccentric ?"

"Oh! no, sir!"—mumbled.

"You've heard 'em call me old Ready-money?"

"Oh! no, sir!"-very loud.

Yes, you have. You were-Susan's-servants, not mine. You've heard me called rich, now ?"

“Yes, sir.”

Well, I should not have been called rich if I had spent all my money like my poor sister did. One servant will be quite as many as I shall want." Aprons dropped again.

Hester, you can do all I shall require. So, cook and Mary, my girl, I really must give you notice, for I can't keep you. But I can give you excellent characters, both of you.'

"Thank you, Mr. Mortiboy," said the cook-facing him, with arms a-kimbo-"thank you, Mr. Mortiboy; but my mistress, as I lived with four year and three-quarters-come Michaelmas was five years-would do that for me any day. And I've only been here four months, which—”

"I have given you notice," Mr. Mortiboy interposed. "I shall not keep you your month. I shall pay your wages instead.

He was getting angry.

"Thank you, sir. Which is the law, and rich and pore must both abide by it"--dropping a most irritating curtsey.

66 I'll pay you now!" cried Mr. Mortiboy.

"If you please, sir; and I'll pack up my boxes this very night, and go. For I couldn't abear-"

Poor little Mary, frightened out of her wits, tugged at cook's gown.

"Don't pull me, Mary. Mr. Mortiboy never was my master -and never shall be."

"I'll take your black dress away from you if you say another

word."

"No, sir-'xcuse me, that'll go with me to my next place; and I shan't trouble you for a character. And I have heard you called old Ready-money, and called you so mysel-"

Before she could finish her sentence, the ruler of the roast was dragged out of the room by Hester and Mary.

An hour and a half later, Mr. Mortiboy had recovered from his discomfiture, paid the cook, and seen her and her baggage off the premises, and sent Mary and Hester to bed.

He sat before the kitchen fire, eating a slice of cold boiled beef laid on a crust of bread. He dispensed with a plate and fork, but had a very sharp knife in his hand.

He cut his mouthfuls into equal parallelograms, with mathematical precision, and slowly got through his frugal

supper.

He rose from his chair, unfastened the door, and looked out into his garden.

The moon was up, but heavy clouds obscured it every moment, drifting swiftly past.

An idea had for half an hour held possession of his mind. He was going out.

To pay a visit to the churchyard.

To find out for himself really which was the smallest window. The will said nothing about the size.

He found his great-coat hanging in the passage, without a light.

He fumbled at the latch and bolts of the front door, and let himself out.

The moon shone brightly on it and him; and he saw in chalk characters,

"OLD REDDY-MUNNY IS A MIZER"

scrawled on it.

"Now this is too bad-to-day," he exclaimed, producing from his inner coat pocket the sad-coloured handkerchief full of holes. "I must wipe it off. What is the good of a policeman? I'd give-I'd give-a-a shilling to know who does it, and hang the little devils for it too."

He rubbed the writing off his door, and went on his way. His house opened on the street. Across the street was a paddock. The field belonged to him. He had a key, and let himself in.

This close was a little gold mine to him. It was the arena on which all flower-shows, agricultural and horse shows, wildbeast shows, and riders' circuses were held.

A few sheep started as he crossed the wet grass at the side by the church.

In the churchyard, the clouds hid the moon, and hid the ponderous figure that had dogged him there-from his house door, over the paddock wall, into the grave-yard.

The old man went on.

"The moon gone in? But I'm not superstitious. I'd as soon sleep in a churchyard as anywhere else," he said to himself as he groped his way round the south wall of the church. "Ha! light again!'"

The man behind him dropped three or four paces back.
Not a sound was heard in the deep wet grass.

66 Now we shall see what we are at. There is a smaller window than this though, I know--and this is not a big one. I should have made a first-rate window-peeper in the old tax days.

"Ha! this is the window I had in my eye. Now could it cost ten pounds to put in a beau-u-tiful window there?" The moon was clouded again, and his attendant gained on him. There was a corner between them that was all.

"Be whipped if I think it could cost ten pounds. Eight ought to do it."

His arm was raised.

The man came nearer. "No mention of which window you meant to have, Susan, my poor dear sister. Ha! ha! Ghrimes was taken into your confidence, not your own flesh and blood."

Nearer still the arm came. It almost touched him.

66

Well, now, I've been all round the church, I think. I'll go back, or I shall go and catch cold in this grass. It's like a little river. D-n! What's this?"

He had stumbled over some hard substance in his path.

The moon shone out brightly, and showed him the footstone of his wife's grave. He had not been near it for years. He read the inscription on the headstone in the bright moonlight.

66

Want's doing up a bit," he muttered.

The man who was dogging him was close at his back.

"There's room for Dick's name now, if we had heard about him. But no, poor fellow-no!-I think I'll go in again I feel chilly-I—”

now.

As he spoke, a hand like a blacksmith's fell on his shoulder, and held him in a vice!

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

IM

It

MORTIBOY'S first impulse, on feeling
the hand upon his shoulder, was to
cry for help; his second, when a mo-
ment's reflection had convinced him
of the entire folly of the first, to shake
off the hand and turn round.
must be confessed that a third impulse
tempted him-to break from the
stranger's hold altogether, and flee
with what speed he might. His
assailant released him, however, at
once; and Mr. Mortiboy sharply
turned upon him trembling.

"Who-who-are you?" he stam

mered.

It was a figure he did not know; that of a tall strong man, warmly wrapped in a thick pilot jacket, with a stout stick in his hand, and a round felt hat upon his head. As the moon came out by fits and starts between the flying clouds, Mr. Mortiboy made out, besides these details, a thick black beard, which covered all the face from the eyes downwards, and hid a foot or so of throat and chest.

"Old Mr. Mortiboy, I think you are ?" said the stranger, in a rough harsh voice.

"Mr. Mortiboy certainly-and perhaps old. Pray, who are and what do you want?"

you,

"I want to speak to you. Come out of this mouldy old churchyard, and go home. I will walk with you.'

"You can come to-morrow to the bank. That is where I receive strangers."

"I shall do nothing of the kind. I shall go home with you now. So as soon as you've done your business-whatever that may be in this convivial gathering-place, we'll go on together to Derngate."

"Is it business you want to see me about ?"

"I

suppose you don't have many evening callers for pleasure -do you, Mr. Mortiboy ?"

"I do not. I am not one who wastes his time in gossiping with people."

"Not had many parties since your son went away, I suppose ?"

Mr. Mortiboy laid his hand upon the stranger's arm.
My son! Did you know my son Dick? Can you

anything about him?"

"Go on home, and I will tell you all I know."

tell me

"It's twelve years and two months," growled Mr. Mortiboy to himself" twelve years and two months, yesterday. I wonder if he'll tell me what became of the boy."

He led the way home: not by the paddock, through the streets a way the stranger seemed to know pretty well, as he swung along the street by the side of him, great-shouldered and burly, looking up at the names over the shops, as if he was trying to read them; nodding his head, too, with a certain air of recognition, as they passed the public-houses.

But it does not take long to exhaust the streets at Market Basing; and the pair found themselves in a very few minutes on the steps of Mr. Mortiboy's house.

"Still live here, eh?" asked the stranger.

Mr. Mortiboy, not without a certain feeling of uneasiness, opened the door, and admitted his guest. The hall was perfectly dark, and he bade him wait while he struck a light. To his terror and amazement, the stranger, who evidently knew where things stood, deposited his hat on the hat-stand and his stick in the umbrella-stand. Now this familiarity with places in a perfect stranger, and in the dark, savoured of the supernatural; and though Mr. Mortiboy was not a superstitious or a nervous man, he trembled slightly, and looked