and otter lady–like accomplishments, and
while she ran on fluently, I covered my eyes
with my hand, and furtively examined her
satchel. It was a small strong bag of black
leather, stamped with a peculiar scrollwork,
and finished off by a double steel rim
running round the opening, with a lock in
the centre. A short steel chain of twisted
links was attached to it, and had been
rubbed very bright by hanging always on
her arm. It was evident that there could
not be much in it, for the sides fell rather
flatly in. There was no chance of touching
it; that I should have guessed instinctively,
if Lewis had not told me how she had
knocked even him down for venturing to
do so. Becket seemed a little disquieted
while I was only looking at it, as if she felt
what I was about, though I was quite sure
she could not see what I was doing.

My first step was to procure a satchel
exactly similar to the one she always carried
about with her, in the hope some chance
might present itself of making an exchange,
which in my case surely would be no
robbery. Here I found a great difficulty. I
had to visit half the trunk–shops in London,
and look at thousands of satchels. I had
to slink through the streets in mortal terror
lest I should encounter George on his almost
hopeless quest. To meet him would be
ruin to my well–laid plans, for I knew he
would never let me return to the house
where his mother's mad aunt was living.
After a weary search, I discovered an out–
of–the–way dusty store in the city, kept by a
foreigner of elaborate politeness, who
appeared to have fallen asleep amidst the roar
and din of the life around him, and to have
awakened solely at my entrance. He took
immense interest in my want, and
overhauled some scores of faded old bags, piled
upon his upper shelves. We came upon
one after a long investigation, which I
thought was sufficiently like Becket's for
my purpose. It had been lying by for
years, and the steel was dim but not rusty;
with a little rubbing it would put on as
much brightness as the chain on Becket's
satchel.

I returned to my lodgings triumphant
in having overcome my first difficulty; but
my triumph was short–lived. Upon turning
the corner of the road which brought
me in sight of the house, what should I see
at the gate but the well–known carriage of
Mrs. Haddan, of Haddan Lodge? What
could she be doing there? Was it possible
that some subtle mysterious prevision had
warned her of danger to the documents so
important to her, and that she had come
with the intention of removing them to her
own keeping ? Would Becket's monomania
be under her control ? A profound anxiety
seized upon me. I dared not go on, and
run the risk of being seen by her or Lewis,
and yet I would have given worlds to be
inside the house at my post of observation
in my own room. For I felt sure that the
interview between Mrs. Haddan and her old
servant would take place in the open garden,
rather than in the house, where they
might be overheard. Overheard! I caught
at the thought as it crossed my brain. I
must hide myself somewhere; and there
was a path along the other side of the thick
hedge surrounding the garden a private
path through some gentleman's grounds,
but, private as it was, I resolved to try to
enter it. The lodge was close beside me,
and the lodge–keeper was busy about her
house, so I stole, in unseen. I crept down
under the hedge till I came to the back of
the wooden alcove in the garden. How
plainly I could have heard them if they had
but been in it ! But all was silent there,
with no sound save the whistling of the
blackbirds, and the clear little trills of the
nightingales, singing in the sunshine
reminiscences of their midnight concerts. I
could no more see through the thick hedge
than I could through a stone wall; and I
stole a little further on, and sat down on the
hedge–bank, listening as if I were all ear. I
could hear the shrill piping note of the
thrush, and the smaller, thinner, bell–like
tone of the chaffinch. I heard the hum of
the bees in the clover at my feet, and among
the lime blossoms overhead. I heard the
rustling of the young leaves in the light
breeze of the spring, and the chirping of
little unfledged birds in their nests, and the
scampering of tiny field mice through the
fine blades of grass growing for hay.
Beneath all I could hear a strange, sad, solemn
sound, more sad and solemn than the sea,
which I knew must be the far–away moan
of the great city.

EXTINGUISHED BELIEFS.

"MY friend Sir Roger is very often
merry with me upon my passing so much
of my time among his poultry."

On the occasion of this pleasantry, the
Spectator spent a month with the worthy
knight at his country–seat in Worcestershire,
and there were grounds for the
host's whimsical complaint that his ducks