of influences whose interest it was to hold him
in contempt and subjection.

As he entered his hall the clock struck two.
He went up-stairs softly, still smiling to himself.
The door of the settlement on the stairs opened,
and the grim Carlay figure stood before him,
with a light in its hand. "Come in here," it
said.

Fermor's recent triumph had made him defiant.
This sudden return to the rude prose of
life jarred on him. "I cannot," he said. "You
must excuse me to-night. You must put off
your remonstrance, or lecture, until the morning."

Mr. Carlay made three strides towards him,
and grasped his arm as in a steel vice. "No
trifling," he said. "You know me! Stay, then,
where you are, and listen to me. I gave you a
warning a short time ago. How are you
attending to that warning?"

Fermor burst out in a fury. "This yoke is
getting intolerable!" he said, drawing back.
"What title have you to lecture me and bring
me to account in this way? Once for all, Mr.
Carlay, I give you notice—"

"Once for all," said the other, "I give you
notice. Take care what you are doing. Do you
suppose this tone of yours has any effect on me?
I am not thinking of myself now, but of her.
And I tell you solemnly, and I call Heaven to
witness," here his long stiff arm was lifted, "that
this must not, and shall not, go on! And I
charge you to take care what you are doing.
For I have snatched my daughter from death
once before, and I will not have her life risked
again. Mind. There have been desperate
passages in my life that you cannot guess at.
And if warnings are of no use, and it comes to
this, that there is to be a choice of lives between
hers and any other's—no matter whose it is—
there shall not be a moment's hesitation. Her
life before all: my life after hers cheerfully. So
take care. I know where you were to-night.
Forswear that house. You will find her in the
drawing-room. Good night!"

He disappeared into his settlement. Fermor
was left in darkness. In presence of this
being he lost his self-possession. But he was
almost scared by the dark meaning of his
significant hints, which he could not but accept
as genuine. The cold withering sarcasm and
contempt of his look and manner, as he met the
injured anxious face of his wife in the drawing-
room, it would be hard to describe.

"Where have you been?" she said.

He threw the very concentration of contempt
and anger into his look and manner. "Though
you may run to tell your father and protector of
this speech, I shall tell you this much: You shall
never, between you, reduce me to such abject
slavery! I tell you this much: I shall never
forget to-night. Fortunately, there are places,
outside this house, where I am still liked and
appreciated. I shall say no more."

Mrs. Fermor was not of the guild of suffering
wives. She was warm and quick of temper. Her
bright eyes flashed. She answered him with the
heat of wounded pride and repelled affection.
That was all for himself, she said. He was welcome
to choose his house, and to choose his company.
With glowing cheeks she drew herself
up with proud defiance, and said that she, too,
was independent, and could find amusement and
appreciation elsewhere. As to what he said
about "tale bearing," she scorned it.

She was still in her Putnenham finery—in her
tulles and flowers, with her "low neck." The
wreath was on her little head, and the flowers
rustled and shook as she spoke with trembling
voice, and threw down this challenge to her
husband.

He was astonished. "This is the way you
meet me, then," he said. "With all my heart!
You have me at an advantage. I have been
bought and sold. This is one of the grand mistakes
of life found out too late! Poor Eastport!
Ah!"

Mrs. Fermor understood that allusion perfectly.
It confirmed her. "Very well!" she
said.

That very night, or morning rather, Mrs.
Fermor went to the devonport, and, with
compressed lips and trembling fingers, wrote a little
note. The little note was to Mr. Romaine. It was
prettily and coquettishly worded, saying that she
would be at his Chambers at five o'clock; and
she was so eager it should reach him promptly,
that she sent out her maid to post it in the
nearest "pillar box." After she had done this,
her pink lips were pressed together a little
vindictively, and she walked to her room in
indignant triumph.

EASTERN SPIRITS.

WHILE travelling in the Levant, I fell in with
a manuscript written by a French officer of rank,
and what follows is a translation of a portion
of it. I have no reason to think it was ever intended
for publication. These narratives are so
illustrative of the credulity of the Oriental mind,
and throw so much light on Oriental phraseology,
that I deem them well worthy of preservation.

During the months of February and March,
in the year 1816, I lived in Napoli di Romania,
a strong maritime city of the Morea. I was
told there so extraordinary a tale of a tailor,
who was at the head of his trade, that I felt it
to be utterly incredible; but it was confirmed
by incontestable witnesses, who for three years
had seen with their own eyes what I am about
to relate. (Here follow the names and titles of
more than twenty persons, among whom are the
Governor of the Province, the Aga of the
Janissaries, the Defdar Bey, the principal Mollahs,
the Hebrew priests, and the leading merchants,
Mahomedans, Jews, Greeks, and Armenians.)
Moreover, the writer says he had himself
examined the tailor, who was employed by the