young jade, to be witness against you. I liked the
make of you (specially about the waist) when you
first came into the house, and I can't help liking
the make of you still—though you have
committed burglary, and though you are as crooked
as Sin. I've cast the eyes of indulgence on fine-
grown girls all my life—and it's too late in the
day to cast the eyes of severity on 'em now. I'm
seventy-seven, or seventy-eight, I don't rightly
know which. I'm a battered old hulk, with my
seams opening, and my pumps choked, and the
waters of Death powering in on me as fast as
they can. I'm as miserable a sinner as you'll
meet with anywhere in these parts—Thomas
Nagle, the cobbler, only excepted; and he's
worse than I am, for he's the youngest of the
two, and he ought to know better. But the long
and the short of it is, I shall go down to my
grave, with an eye of indulgence for a fine-grown
girl. More shame for me, you young Jezabel—
more shame for me!"

The veteran's unmanageable eyes began to leer
again in spite of him, as he concluded his
harangue in these terms: the last reserves of
austerity left in his face entrenched themselves
dismally round the corners of his mouth.
Magdalen approached him again, and tried to speak.
He solemnly motioned her back, with another
dreary wave of his hand.

"No carneying!" said old Mazey; "I'm bad
enough already, without that. It's my duty to
make my report to his honour the admiral; and
I will make it. But if you like to give the house
the slip, before the burglary's reported, and the
court of inquiry begins—I'll disgrace myself by
letting you go. It's market morning at Ossory;
and Dawkes will be driving the light cart over,
in a quarter of an hour's time. Dawkes will
take you, if I ask him. I know my duty—my
duty is to turn the key on you, and see Dawkes
damned first. But I can't find it in my heart to
be hard on a fine girl like you. It's bred in the
bone, and it wunt come out of the flesh. More
shame for me, I tell you again—more shame for
me!"

The proposal thus strangely and suddenly
presented to her, took Magdalen completely by
surprise. She had been far too seriously shaken by
the events of the night, to be capable of deciding
on any subject at a moment's notice. "You are
very good to me, Mr. Mazey," she said. "May I
have a minute by myself to think?"

"Yes, you may," replied the veteran, facing
about forthwith, and leaving the room. "They're
all alike," proceeded old Mazey, with his head
still running on the sex. "Whatever you offer
'em, they always want something more. Tall
and short, native and foreign, sweethearts and
wives—they're all alike!"

Left by herself, Magdalen reached her decision,
with far less difficulty than she had anticipated.

If she remained in the house, there were only
two courses before her—to charge old Mazey
with speaking under the influence of a drunken
delusion, or to submit to circumstances. Though
she owed to the old sailor her defeat in the very
hour of success, his consideration for her at
that moment, forbade the idea of defending
herself at his expense—even supposing, what
was in the last degree improbable, that the
defence would be credited. In the second of the
two cases (the case of submission to
circumstances), but one result could be expected—
instant dismissal; and, perhaps, discovery as
well. What object was to be gained by braving
that degradation—by leaving the house, publicly
disgraced in the eyes of the servants who had
hated and distrusted her from the first? The
accident which had literally snatched the Trust
from her possession, when she had it in her hand,
was irreparable. The one apparent compensation
under the disaster—in other words, the discovery
that the Trust actually existed, and that George
Bartram's marriage within a given time, was one
of the objects contained in it—was a compensation
which could only be estimated at its true
value, by placing it under the light of Mr.
Loscombe's experience. Every motive of which she
was conscious, was a motive which urged her to
leave the house secretly, while the chance was at
her disposal. She looked out into the passage,
and called softly to old Mazey to come back.

"I accept your offer thankfully, Mr. Mazey,"
she said. "You don't know what hard measure
you dealt out to me, when you took that letter
from my hand. But you did your duty—and I
can be grateful to you for sparing me this morning,
hard as you were on me last night. I am
not such a bad girl as you think me—I am not,
indeed."

Old Mazey dismissed the subject, with another
dreary wave of his hand.

"Let it be," said the veteran; "let it be! It
makes no difference, my girl, to such an old rascal
as I am. If you were fifty times worse than you
are, I should let you go all the same. Put on your
bonnet and shawl, and come along. I'm a disgrace
to myself and a warning to others—that's what
I am. No luggage, mind! Leave all your rattle-
traps behind you: to be overhauled, if necessary,
at his honour the admiral's discretion. I can be
hard enough on your boxes, you young Jezabel,
if I can't be hard on you."

With those words, old Mazey led the way out
of the room. "The less I see of her the better
—especially about the waist," he said to himself,
as he hobbled down stairs with the help of the
banisters.

The cart was standing in the back-yard, when
they reached the lower regions of the house;
and Dawkes (otherwise the farm-bailiff's man)
was fastening the last buckle of the horse's
harness. The hoar-frost of the morning was still
white in the shade. The sparkling points of it
glistened brightly on the shaggy coats of Brutus
and Cassius, as they idled about the yard, waiting,
with steaming mouths and slowly-wagging
tails, to see the cart drive off. Old Mazey went
out alone, and used his influence with Dawkes;
who, staring in stolid amazement, put a leather-