Webster over there would say), he is greatly
altered. You remember, he was a sort of rosy,
hearty, farmer-like creature. Now you would
not know him; he is a dry, gaunt, silent being.
Ah, poor old John Hanbury!" she added, mournfully.
"He has died out with the dead past.
The iron has entered into his soul, as Webster
would say, in his comic way."

She laughed a little harshly, and rose. "Now,"
she said, gaily, "for the drawing-room; there is
a better fire there."

During this little supper Miss Manuel's
brother had sat silent, and apparently moody.
They accepted him as such, and no remark was
made. He had altered a good deal since the
Eastport days, wore a large coal-black beard,
while his black bright eyes roved from side to
side with a look of inquiry. Sometimes he spoke;
but he usually seemed to have something on
his mind, and was reckoned "odd." Still he
was accepted as a useful male chaperon for his
sister. She was always noticed as being very
kind and gentle to him, almost humouring him.

When they had gone up into the drawing-
room, Harding Hanaper, who affected the character
of the overworked official, who could yet
by ability combine late hours and pleasure
with all the drudgery of business, came over to
Miss Manuel for some private talk. He leant
his elbow on the chimney-piece. The others
were boisterously pleasant.

"I shall have to be up at six," he said,
languidly, "to make up for this. A shoal of
people will be wanting answers by to-morrow.
I must look into their papers before I go to
bed. Old Pocock—your friend, Miss Manuel, he
says—is persecuting us at the office. I believe
we shall have to give him something—for your
sake." Miss Manuel opened her great eyes with
surprise, or indifference. It might be either.
"I believe he would be glad to get even the
Lee-Boo Coast, poor soul; he has come very
low indeed."

"The Lee-Boo Coast!" said Webster, striking
in; "who are you sending there? Who are
Harding Hanaper's enemies? It is rank murder.
We shall try you by the laws of your country."
"The average of human life on that coast,"
said Mr. Hanaper, placidly,  "is, we are assured,
from eighteen months to two years. The salary
is but nine hundred pounds. So it really amounts
to this: we buy a man's life from say thirteen
hundred to eighteen hundred pounds. We can't
get a bishop at all."

"What! the sheen of an Apron all unavailing?"
said Webster, with a sneer.

"It will be vacant in two or three months,"
said Harding Hanaper; "the two years are nearly
run out. Yet old Pocock is wild for the place
I suppose we must let him have it. We can
give him nothing else. He is too old, and too
old fashioned."

With gentle persuasion, and almost seductive
intercession, Miss Manuel made a request to the
official. "You must spare him," she said, "for
my sake. I will not have my old man sacrificed
on the Lee-Boo Coast. He would die in a week."

"But he will die in a week if we do not send
him," said Mr. Hanaper. "He looks quite worn
and fretful with anxiety."

"No matter," said Miss Manuel, "he shan't
be murdered officially. We shall keep him at
home for his own good—like a child."

"Very well," said Harding Hanaper; "I shall
recollect your orders at the proper time."

The little gay cohort was gone and scattered;
and Miss Mauuel was left alone with her brother.
It was past two. As usual, the brightness fled
suddenly from her face. A strange, weary, and
hopeless look came in its place. The brother
looked at her gloomily, and with eyes rolling
darkly.

"This life!" she said, "my soul revolts against
it. I am sick at heart. It is turning me into a
demon."

"I never took my eyes off him to-night," said
her brother, gloomily, "never. I was thinking
how strange to have him so near me, and to be
so calm and friendly with him. Ah! he little
knew!"

"But this is all so wicked—so horribly wicked,"
said she, starting up. "How can I go on with it?
Only to-night to see that poor soft child—whom
I am really getting to love—to see her falling
gradually into the power of that bold man."

His face lightened. "And she is? I thought
so to-night. All is going well, then." Then suddenly
changing his voice, "No, Pauline, no
going back now. I won't have it. Or," he
added slowly, and with a meaning that she
understood, "if you are tired of the business, or have
forgotten what we owe to our darling, whom at
one time you said was murdered, as much as girl
was murdered by knife, or rope, or poison, why
—have done with it, then, and leave it all to
me. My course shall be shorter, and perhaps
sharper."

"No, no," she said, hastily. "I don't wish
that. But the poor girl that loves me, who is
trustful and gentle, why must she be destroyed?''

"Every one of them," said he, savagely. "We
shall spare none. I am glad she is soft and
trustful and tender. So much the better. Violet
was soft and tender too. Ah, poor darling! and
how was she treated?"

There was a pause. Pauline then spoke. "I
am not equal to this sort of struggle," she said;
"it is confusing me. My head seems to be
flying round. No matter, as you say, we must
go on."

Fermor went home that night in a state of
wild exultation. He still "lived;" he was not
in a state of "social dotage," thank Heaven!
The old power survived. It was wonderful the
curious attraction he still exercised on every one
coming within his sphere. He was passive. He
had long since ceased to care for these little
triumphs; but the old power remained, in spite