from the faithful page, in as loud a tone
as he dared, "to cut t'other way! I'm sent to
catch ye alive;" whereupon Deal, his wits
sharpened by a dread of Colonel Chutney's
wrath, and a suspicion that (as he would
himself have phrased it) he was in the "wrong
box," turned sharply and dived down another
walk; while, under "shelter of a friendly tree,
the page unlocked and left open the garden
gate, then rushed towards Deal, shouting to
him to come "back, as master wanted him."

The colonel stood at the half-open window in
his eagerness, and Mrs. Chutney, fearing the
neighbours' comments, endeavoured to drag him
back. "That's right, John! dodge under the
willow-tree, and you will have him! Double
round the mignonette plot. Turn his flank by
the garden-seat. Police! police!"

"For Heaven's sake, Colonel Chutney,"
said his wife, alarmed and scandalised at these
outcries, "compose yourself! People will think
you mad!"

By this time several smart parlour-maids had
assembled at both the back and front entrances,
with friendly messages to inquire if the house
had been robbed; if "master could be of any
use;" "if missis should come and stay with
Mrs. Chutney," who was popularly supposed to
be in violent hysterics after witnessing a desperate
hand to hand conflict between her husband
and a truculent housebreaker.

In the midst of this excitement Captain
Peake presented himself, with the intention of
dining according to invitation with the
hospitable owners of the house.

Mrs. Chutney, now thoroughly roused to
self-assertion, had surmounted a strong
inclination to a fit of crying, and received Captain
Peake with wonderful composure. "What is
the matter?" asked that gentleman, with natural
curiosity. "There's a bevy of uncommon smart
girls in caps on the door-steps, and they say
Chutney has been obliged to cut somebody's
throat in self-defence. Where is your cousin,
Miss Holden?"

"Thank Heaven!" returned Mrs. Chutney,
"there is one sane individual in the house at
last! Captain Peake, I can explain this matter
in a few words, and the colonel will not hear
me."

Captain Peake looked much distressed, and
pulled his long moustaches meditatively, as the
colonel panted on a chair, flushed and heated
from unusual exertion.

"Sorry to give you so strange a reception,
Peake," he said, in an injured tone; "but I
have partly unearthed a disgraceful mystery of
some kind."

"Come, come, Chutney, you are in a passion,
and will not hear reason. Let Mrs. Chutney
explain."

"Two days ago," said Mrs. Chutney, quietly,
"at the colonel's request I wrote to Sir Frederic
Samperton, asking him to dine here to-day,
or to name any other day on which he could dine
with us, and I stupidly put his note into an
envelope directed to Mr. Deal, at the same time
enclosing a note intended for Mr. Deal about the
exchange of an ottoman, to Sir Frederic. Mr.
Deal consequently thought he was invited to
dinner, and arrived at six o'clock. While I,
knowing Colonel Chutney's irritability and
impatience with my short-comings, foolishly strove
to hide my mistake by sending Deal into the
garden."

Further explanation was cut short by the
abrupt entrance of Miss Bousfield, who dragged
rather than led Mary Holden after her.

Poor Mary looked much less brilliant than
usual. Her cheeks were pale, and a dark shade
under the eyes bespoke fatigue or anxiety.
Still the mouth looked resolute, and the large
speaking eyes were even brighter than ever in
their sadness.

Mrs. Chutney stepped forward hastily and
warmly embraced the culprit, who endeavoured
to brush away a tear furtively.

"There," said Miss Bousfield, "is a reception
for a modest woman to give one with—
with a cloud on her reputation, to say the least."

"Aunt Barbara!" cried Mary, slung to
self-possession by this coarse attack. "I know you
will try to degrade and insult me in every way;
but, for all that, the motives which took me to
Sir Frederic's chambers were pure and good."

"Nevertheless, you don't like to disclose
them," said Miss Bousfield, sneeringly.

"Excuse me, Miss Bousfield," said Colonel
Chutney, solemnly, "but I have some very
queer suspicions—there's some ugly work going
on somewhere. Now, Miss Mary! you decline
positively to say what business took you to Sir
Frederic Samperton's; will you assure me it
was not in any way connected with Mrs.
Chutney?"

"With me?" exclaimed his wife.

"Mrs. Chutney was perfectly unacquainted
with my visit, or its object," replied Mary,
steadily.

"Oh!" cried Miss Bousfield, exasperated to
find how little her severity or condemnation
was valued by her penniless niece. "You may
say what you please, but it's my opinion that
the truth isn't in you."

At this moment Colonel Chutney's eye was
attracted by the corner of an envelope which
peeped out of Mrs. Chutney's little work-basket.
Without more ado he drew it forth, and while
Peake was trying to soothe the aunt and to
comfort the niece, read its contents. Then,
witli a withering look of indignation, repeated it
aloud:

"' My dear Mrs. Chutney.'

"Ha! Dear Mrs. Chutney would have been
enough for all purposes of civility."

"'Your charming note'

"Oh, a charming note!"

"'has just reached me; quite in time to prevent
any mischief.'

"Query, who was the bearer of that note,
eh?" Here he glared at Mary with all his
might.