about below, as if pricked in black cardboard;
while close behind they could make
out the gleaming sea and the red glare of
lighthouses. They arrived when the place
was comfortably in bed—about its first
sleep; for this was a night when the tyrannous
tide did not force steamers to enter
or depart at two or three in the morning.
They drove down a steep hill, winding, as
it were, round the sides of the bowl, to
its very centre. There they found
themselves a little scared, and strange, before a
row of tall, red-brick houses that crept in
a crescent down to the sea-shore, with a
flavour of shellfish blowing on to their faces.
This was Harbour-street. As they knocked,
Mary saw lights high up in the windows,
and presently the door was opened to them.
"Does Mr. Cecil Leader stay here?" asked
his father, timorously. They could not see
who it was holding the door open. But
a voice came from the hall: "No other,
my dear and noble sir. There'll be joy
in heaven for this act. Oh, he's a shade
better; on the turn, I think. Come up,
Mr. Leader, do."

Both recognised the voice of our friend
Doctor Findlater, and with a half-sigh, as
though his pleasure in this affectionate visit
were gone, Mr. Leader and his daughter
followed him up-stairs.

CHAPTER VI. "A SPOKE IN MRS. LEADER'S
WHEEL"

At the top of the narrow stairs was a
lamp. The drawing-room door was open,
and the Doctor showed the way in.

"Sit down, Miss Leader; you must be
tired. I declare we no more expected
you—and to come off in this way! Why,
it was like my grand-uncle at the Forlorn
Hope at Badajoz!"

"But how is he?" said Mary, eagerly;
"is there any danger? Where is he?"

"Now, now, you mustn't agitate yourself.
Just try this glass of Folkestone sherry,
though that's a queer vintage enough.
There! now I'll tell you. He's better—really
better. But we thought he was off—away
from us, at two o'clock. It was as lucky
as a stray sovereign that I wasn't out on
the hill, or down at the pier. Oh, all we
went through for that hour! And my
poor child, Katey, that hasn't closed eye or
eyelid these three nights. But he'll do yet,
and I don't know but that the bout may do
him good still."

They were listening to this explanation
with wonder and interest. Suddenly the
door was opened softly, and there stood
Katey herself. There was something in her
so tender, so full of softness and sympathy,
that Mr. Leader's daughter, drawn irresistibly,
rose, and, after a little hesitation,
flew over and caught her new sister-in-law
in her arms. The two girls clung together,
and Katey, worn and desolate as she was,
felt now that she had found a new warmth
and sympathy.

Then Mr. Leader, always hesitating about
any step, went forward and affectionately
greeted his daughter-in-law. There was
a great change in the charming Katey
since we last saw her, on her wedding-day.
An indescribable weight of woe and anxiety
seemed to have settled on that attractive
face: the Irish gaiety and slyness seemed
to have faded out.

Cecil Leader was asleep. "Wonderful,"
as the Doctor said, "after all the boiling,
scalding, and scraping, he had endured that
day. A frightful attack: much the old
thing," the Doctor added, mysteriously.
"You know I was sitting yesterday in my
little snuggery writing a prescript, when I
got her telegram. We were going to have
one of our nice little compact dinners for
Captain Morgan, one of my Polly's adorers,
who's determined to make her Mrs. Morgan,
if he's let. I didn't think of that, but was
off scouring the country like mad, and got
here in the nick of time. However, we
can all be easy now, and liberate our minds
for a little imitation of a supper which we
have dearly earned. Here, Mary Anne,
serve up."

In a few moments the door was opened,
and Mary Anne entered with a fine brown
roast fowl—"Folkestone's pride, that might
be put in a food museum." Such were
the compliments with which the Doctor
saluted this bird. There was a salad
and a lemon, "that might have an air
of incongruity" for the present, but by-and-bye
would fall in harmoniously, and
be supported by a copper kettle now
keeping itself in modest retirement on the
hob. Cheerful, good-natured, the Doctor
dispensed his hospitality, and did the
honours of his little board. Then it was
that he told, for Katey, the story of their
adventures since the wedding, very
mysteriously, as though they were too painful
to dwell upon minutely. Poor Cecil had
almost at once turned his commission into
ready cash; "and then"—the Doctor shook
his head slowly up and down for some
minutes, glancing mysteriously at Katey, as
who should say, "spare her." Thus they