Alfred!" And she left off making the tea, while
her father opened it with comparative
composure.

This coolness, however, did not outlast the
perusal: "The young ruffian!" said he: "would
you believe it, Jenny, he accuses me of being the
cause of his last business."

"Let me see, papa."

He held her out the letter; but hesitated and
drew it back: "My dear, it would give you pain
to see your poor father treated so. Here's a
specimen: 'What could they expect but that
the son of a sharper would prove a traitor?
You stole her money; I her affections, of which
I am unworthy.' Now what do you think of
that?"

"Unhappy Alfred!" said Jane. "No, papa,
I would not read it, if you are insulted in it.
But where is he?"

"The letter is dated Paris. See!" And he
showed her the date: "but he says here, he is
coming back to London directly; and he orders
me in the most peremptory way to be ready with
my accounts, and pay him over his fortune.
Well, he is alive at all events: really my good,
kind, interfering, pragmatical, friend Sampson
with his placards made me feel uneasy, more
uneasy than I would own to you, Jenny."

"Unhappy Alfred!" cried Jane, with the tears
in her eyes; "and poor papa!"

"Oh never mind me," said Mr. Hardie;
"now that I know no harm has come to him, I
really don't care a straw: I have got one child
that loves me, and that I love."

"Ah yes, dear, dear papa, and that will always
love you, and never, never, disobey you in small
things or great." She rose from the table and
sealed this with a pious kiss; and, when she sat
down with a pink flush on her delicate cheek, his
hard eye melted and dwelt on her with beaming
tenderness. His heart yearned over her, and a
pang went through it: to think that he must
deceive even her, the one sweet soul that loved
him!

It was a passing remorse: the successful plotter
soon predominated, and it was with unmixed
satisfaction he saw her put on her bonnet directly
after breakfast, and hurry off to Albion Villa to
play the part of his unconscious sieve.

He himself strolled in the opposite direction,
not to seem to be watching her.

He was in good spirits; felt like a general,
who, after repulsing many desperate attacks
successfully, orders an advance, and sees the tide of
battle roll away from his bayonets. His very
body seemed elastic, indomitable; he walked
lustily out into the country, sniffed the perfumed
hedges, and relished life. To be sure he could
not walk away from all traces of his misdeeds;
he fell in with objects, that to an ordinary sinner
might have spoiled the walk, and even marred
the spring-time; he found his creditor Maxley
with grizzly beard, and bloodshot eyes, bela-
bouring a milestone; and two small boys quizzing
him, and pelting him with mud: and soon
after, he met his creditor, old Dr. Phillips, in
a cart, coming back to Barkington to end his
days there, at the almshouse. But to our
triumphant Bankrupt and Machiavel these things
were literally nothing; he paced complacently
on, and cared no more for either of those his
wrecks, than the smiling sea itself seems to care
for the dead ships and men it washed ashore a
week ago.

He came home before luncheon for his gossip
with Jane; but she had not returned. All the
better; her budget would be the larger.

To while the time he got his file of the
Times, and amused himself noting down the
fluctuations in Peruvian bonds.

While thus employed he heard a loud knock
at his door, and soon after Peggy's voice and a
man's in swift collision. Hasty feet came along
the passage, the parlour door opened, and a
young man rushed in pale as ashes, and stared
at him; he was breathless, and his lips moved,
but no sound came.

It was Edward Dodd.

Mr. Hardie rose like a tower and manned
himself to repulse this fresh assault.

The strange visitor gasped out, "You are
wanted at our house."

CHAPTER XXXV.

JANE HARDIE found Albion Villa in the
miserable state that precedes an auction; the house
raw, its contents higgledy-piggledy. The stair
carpets, and drawing-room carpets, were up, and
in rolls in the dining-room; the bulk of the
furniture was there too; the auction was to be
in that room. The hall was clogged with great
packages, and littered with small, all awaiting
the railway carts; and Edward, dusty and
deliquescent, was cording, strapping, and nailing
them at the gallop, in his shirt sleeves.

Jane's heart sank at the visible signs of his
departure. She sighed; and then, partly to
divert his attention, told him hastily there
was a letter from Alfred. On this he ran
upstairs and told Mrs. Dodd; and she came down
stairs, and took Jane up softly to her friend's
room.

They opened the door gently, and Jane saw
the grief she was come to console; or to
embitter.

Such a change! instead of the bright, elastic,
impetuous, young beauty, there sat a pale
languid girl, with "weary of the world" written on
every part of her eloquent body; her right hand
dangled by her side, and on the ground beneath
it lay a piece of work she had been attempting;
but it had escaped from those listless fingers:
her left arm was stretched at full length on the
table with an unspeakable abandon, and her brow
laid wearily on it above the elbow. So lies the
wounded bird, so droops the broken lily.

She did not move for Jane's light foot. She
often sat thus, a drooping statue, and let people
come and go unheeded.

Jane's heart yearned for her. She came softly