could there be much doubt that he would keep
his word.

Life is dear to us all, and it was with a heavy
heart that I prepared to die. But I had no
hope. I even despised myself for the weakness
which had made me attach the slightest faith to .
the professions of S. D. Why, after all, should
I expect a casual acquaintance like the engineer
to trouble himself regarding me? " Nothing for
nothing," thought I, " is the rule of the world.
It matters little. Even poor little Lucy will
soon forget me, and—"

"Ho! Englishman, your skin is safe this
time," said L'Agnello, breaking in on my
gloomy meditations, and jingling a heavy bag
of gold, as he grinned encouragingly at me.
"Your ransom is paid, and the priest who
brought it up the mountain will show you the
path, and let you ride his mule. I bear you no
malice, and am just as glad as yourself to pouch
the cash, instead of seeing what colour your
blood is. So be off, and keep clear of my claws
for the future!"

The surprise almost stupified me, but it was
no delusion. The ransom had really been paid,
and that in full; and a cura, with whom the
robbers had a good understanding, was there to
confirm the Lamb's account. All he could say,
however, was, that the money had been confided
to him by an English signor, who refused to give
any other name than "S. D.," and who had
ridden down the valley, to return, as he believed,
to Naples.

I did not tarry long, but before I went my
watch and chain were restored to me, and these
I bestowed, as a parting keepsake, on the kindly
old crone whose capricious tenderness had saved
my life, and the brigands gave me a cheer by
way of farewell as I descended the rocky path,
mounted on the priest's mule. That night I
slept at San Paolo, and by noon of the next
day reached Naples, and hurried to the Via
Stretta. I was eager to see and thank my
unknown preserver, ignorant as I was of his
name or real rank. I found the senior partner
of the firm of Burbidge and Styles in his
bank parlour. He pushed up his gold- rimmed
spectacles to the middle of his wrinkled
forehead, as he listened to my earnest
request to be told to whom I was indebted for my
life.

" ' S. D.,' my dear sir," said the banker.

"Well, the question is a little out of rule, but I
have never been asked to keep silence on the
subject. I do not, therefore, think any
professional confidence will be violated in this case
if I say that the gentleman in question is Mr.
Graham."

"Graham—George Graham?" asked I, as the
blood mounted to my face.

"Yes; Mr. Graham, the railway contractor.
He met you, I understood, not long since,
and—- but here he is to answer for himself."

I turned, and there in the doorway stood the
English engineer that I had met at Portici.
And he was the man I had hated—Lucy's
brother—and to him I owed my life. His
undeserved kindness, his noble generosity, smote
me to the heart, and I dropped into a chair,
covered my face with my hands, and burst into
tears.

"Has Burbidge been telling tales?" said the
new comer. " Pray don't distress yourself,
Mr. Edwards, and let bygones be bygones.
We have had, I dare say, a fictitious idea of
each other's character, but in future let us be
friends."

And friends we are, friends and brothers, for
Lucy is now my wife, and the happiness of calling
her mine, with such of the world's good
report and worldly prosperity as has fallen to my
lot, I owe, under Heaven, to the man whom I
long looked on as a cold egotist—George
Graham. His succour of me at the hour of my
greatest need, at a pecuniary sacrifice which was
no trifling one—for he was not then rich—broke
through the cynic disbelief in human goodness
that was gathering round my heart. Cheered by
George's counsels and example, I led a new life,
applied myself assiduously to my art, and, in four
years of toil, was able to repay the large sum
which Graham had advanced for my ransom. By
this time I was well known as a painter, and in
receipt of a fair income, and on the day of my
marriage with Lucy, which took place in the
fifth year of my probation, George Graham,
grown a wealthy man, insisted on settling ten
thousand pounds on his sister and her husband.

            Now ready, and to be had at all the Libraries,
                              HARD CASH
                                   In 3 vols, 31s. 6d.
                     London: Sampson Low, Son, and Co.

Volume XI will begin on the 13th of February, 1864, with a New Serial Story, entitled
                                              QUITE ALONE
                                BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.