calf-covered tomes that strew the table before
them." One of the " Gladiators" is the counsel
for the prisoner: " I gaze on his face in this
November morning. This is a God in Israel, a
Boanerges in the law, and how mighty must
thou have been in thy pride and power before
whom his arguments were burst like burning tow
for a captive's gyves." (What does this mean?)
Another counsel is the best "to turn a judge
from his peccadilloes with a midriff tickling joke
—the best to catch a legal hiatus and drive a
coach-and-four through the gap;" both of which
wonderful performances would be worth seeing
" in" any November morning.

These are some few flowers of the fine writing
brought out by the late "movement." A little
too much of this " fine" writing, this
remembrance of Erin of the Days of Old (welcome
enough in a melody at the piano), this ringing
the changes on " Tyranny," " Saxon oppressors,"
and the like! It has led to the bitter and prosy
end of penal servitude through long monotonous
wearisome years, with no shine upon them,
and no stage-gilding whatever. O for the
patriotism that will look more to the physical
wants of the country and less to its politics—
that will aid and foster everything that will
tend to the improvement of the people, and that
will bring money into the land—and O for the
patriotism that will be " down" on the disturber
of harmony — be he Trojan or Tyrian, Papist or
Orangeman with the same impartial hand!

HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THB AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER XCV. BROUGHT TO BAY.

WITH closed windows, lighted lamp, and
curtains jealously drawn, Saxon Trefalden and Mr
Guthrie sat together, ominously silent, in the
larger salon of the Château de Peyrolles. On
the table were placed pens, paper, and ink. The
ante-room was left in darkness, and the folding-doors
between stood a little apart. All was very
still—in the house no voice, no footfall, no sound
of life; out of doors, nothing but the weary
moaning of the wind, and the creaking of the
weathercocks upon the turrets overhead.

They were waiting for William Trefalden.

Miss Rivière had withdrawn to her chamber,
partly to escape all sight or hearing of the coming
interview, and partly to make such slight
preparation as might be necessary before leaving
the château; the clergyman having promptly
volunteered to find her a temporary asylum with
the family of an English merchant settled at
Bordeaux. It was therefore arranged that the
carriage should be in readiness at the back
entrance shortly after seven o'clock; and then,
as soon as was practicable, they were all three
to hasten back to Bordeaux as fast as Saxon's
post-horses could carry them. In the mean
while the appointed hour came and went, the
two men waited, and still no William Trefalden
made his appearance.

Presently the pendule on the mantelshelf
chimed the quarter.

Mr. Guthrie looked at his watch. Saxon rose,
went over to the nearest window, pushed aside
the curtain, and looked out. It was now dusk;
but there was still a pale, lurid gleam upon the
horizon, by the light of which the young man
could see the great clouds rolling together
overhead, like the mustering of many armies.

"It will be a wild night," he said, as he
resumed his chair.

"Hush!" replied the clergyman. " I hear
wheels."

They listened; but the vehicle came along at
a foot-pace, and went slowly round by the yard
at the back of the château.

"It is only our own post-chaise," said Saxon.

And then they were again silent.

Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an
hour went by, and the pendule chimed again. It
was now half-past seven.

All at once, Saxon held up his hand, and bent
his head attentively.

"I hear nothing," said the clergyman.

I hear a carriage and pair—coming very
quickly—from the direction of Bordeaux!"

Mr. Guthrie smiled doubtfully; but Saxon's
trained ear could not be deceived. In another
moment the sound became faintly audible, then
grew gradually louder, and ceased at last before
the gates of the château.

Saxon looked out again.

"I see the carriage outside the gates," he said.
"They are opened by a boy carrying a lantern.
He alights—he pays the driver—he crosses the
court-yard—the carriage drives awav. He is
here!"

With this he dropped the curtain and turned
down the lamp, so as to leave the room in
half-shadow; while Mr. Guthrie, in accordance with
their preconcerted plan, went out into the dark
ante-room, and took up his station close against
the door.

Presently they heard William Trefalden's voice
chatting pleasantly with the housekeeper in the
hall, and then his footsteps on the stairs.
Outside the door he seemed to pause for an instant,
then turned the handle and came in. Finding
himself in the dark, he deposited something
heavy on the floor, and, guided by the narrow
line of light between the folding-doors, moved
towards the second salon. As he did this, Mr.
Guthrie softly locked the door, and put the key
in his pocket. Slight as the sound was, the
lawyer heard it.

"What's that?" he said quickly, and stopped
half way.

He listened, holding his breath the while; then
sprang forward, threw the doors open, and passed
into the adjoining room.

As he did so, Saxon turned on the full light of
the table-lamp, and the two men stood suddenly
revealed to each other face to face.

"At last—traitor!"

A frightful pallor—that deadly pallor which is