and on the other side of which was the
great gateway of Panton Castle. She was
so exhausted, she had to stop and lean for
rest upon the parapet. The sun had already
set; there were but a few red embers in
the west. Desperately struggling to regain
strength for fresh exertion, two minutes
more would bring her to the lodge, when,
looking up the river, she saw a boat coming
out from the bank on the side she had left.
She rubbed her eyes. A man rowing, and
a white figure lying in the stern. Thank
Heaven! It was like a miracle. Some
one, no doubt, passing by on the other
side, had caught a glimpse of the
hapless girl. A few strokes brought them
across, and the man was seen to take out
the white figure, and carry it up the bank
like a child.

With this relief, the half guilty feeling that
had oppressed her seemed to pass away, and
the sense of old wrongs to return. She
remembered, then, that this was a sort of
habitual attack to which the girl was
subject. Was it not a terrible judgment on that
unworthy and unchristian triumph and
exultation?

It was now the grey time of the evening:
everything was inexpressibly calm.
Calm herself now, after the long suspense,
the doubt as to what she should do to learn
news worked itself up at last to be almost
unendurable. She wished at times to set
forth up to the castle, and ask what
the end was; but an undefined terror, a
shadow that took only an indistinct shape,
seemed to be cast in her way. As she
thought and thought, stray scraps of darkness
seemed to gather and gather—recollections
of what she had said and done—and
take more alarming and firmer shape. She
thought she had best wait her father's
return. An hour of agony went by. She
heard carriage wheels, and rushed out
on the top of the stairs. There came no
accustomed stamping or vociferating, but
his voice low and tremulous. "This is an
awful thing to happen!" Then she knew
that sentence of death had gone, and that
her enemy of the old school days would
trouble her and the world no more.

That coarse, selfish soul of the doctor's
had received a real, overwhelming shock,
and he sat there in his chair talking almost
incoherently. " Where are we? What
does it mean? Oh, Jessica, I saw the poor,
poor thing brought in, and laid down, and
the—the blood pouring out. It was he—
he did it. Oh, how cruel!"

"He! Who, who?" said Jessica, frantically.

"Conway. She left us after dinner to
make signals to his vessel. Her poor tender
soul was wrapped up in him. The agitation
was too much for her. She might
have lain there nearly half an hour—and no
one with her. Her foot caught in the grass,
and her forehead all cut with the fall.
Heavens, what a life it is!"

Lain there half an hour. Why did not
Jessica say then how she had flown for aid,
but a strange indecision sealed her lips. He
could not understand; and then, full of
grief and pity for the miserable girl, she
felt she had done no wrong, and disdained
to expose herself to the talk of the miserable
gossips of the place, and to the unscrupulous
enmity of Dudley, when there was no
necessity.

Well, indeed, might Conway have named
that fatal bridge the Bridge of Sighs. It
seemed like Nemesis. The yacht, bending
to the breeze, as if in an impetuous gallop,
sped on her course, her owner thinking
wearily of his new and splendid bondage,
and little thinking that he was now free.

Now Ready, price 5s. 6d., bound in green cloth,
             THE SECOND VOLUME
            OF THE NEW SERIES OF
              ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
          To be had of all Booksellers.

  MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S FINAL READINGS.
MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S FINAL FAREWELL
READINGS will take place at St. James's Hall, as
follows : Tuesday, March 8, " Boots at the Holly Tree
Inn " (last time), " Sikes and Nancy" (from Oliver
Twist, last time), and " Mr. Bob Sawyer's Party" (from
Pickwick, last time). Tuesday, March 15 (FINAL
FAREWELL READING), "The Christmas Carol"
(last time), and the "Trial from Pickwick" (last time).
All communications to be addressed to Messrs.
CHAPPELL and Co., 50, New Bond-street, W.