about him. Gibbs resisted with fury, and a
fierce struggle ensued, during which he
repeatedly endeavoured to stab his opponent
with his clasp-knife. At length Williams
prevailed, and throwing all his strength into one
supreme effort, hurled Gibbs to the ground, the
back of whose head striking with fearful
violence against a tree, he was killed by the force
of the blow. Appalled by his own act, and by
the probable consequences to himself, Williams
hastily dragged the body from the footpath,
rifled the pockets, and hurried away from the
scene. The church clock struck ten as he
emerged from Southanger Woods; he walked all
that night, rested the next day in an old outhouse,
and succeeded in reaching London undiscovered.
But he was, almost immediately afterwards,
arrested for debt, and had remained in prison
until within the last few days, when he was
released chiefly because he was believed to be
dying of consumption. And he was dying, he
added, despairingly. For, since that fearful
night, the victim's upturned eyes had followed
him everywhere—everywhere—and his life had
been a burden to him.

Such was the tale, told in broken whispers in
the dead of night, to the clergyman, by that
miserable man: a tale impossible to doubt, and
triumphantly proving the innocence of one who
had been too Iong suspected. Before twelve
o'clock next day, the whole village was ringing
with the news of Williams's confession, which
spread like wildfire.

George bore his triumph, as he had borne
unjust suspicion. The man's character had
been strangely purified in the furnace of that
affliction. The awful fate of his enemy, overtaking
him with the suddenness of a chastisement
from Heaven, had struck George at the
time with a strange compassion, as well as
self-upbraiding. For, though guiltless of Gibbs's
death, he was not guiltless of many and eager
longings for it; and he would have given
worlds to have forgiven him, as he hoped
himself to be forgiven. Hence his first sad and
self-accusing words in his father's house, after
hearing of the murder.

It may be mentioned, by the way, that the
object of the letter he had received from Susan
on the morning of the fatal day, had been to
implore him to call upon her father that very
afternoon, and induce him to take immediate
steps for effecting her separation from her husband,
of whom she went in fear of her life, and
by whom she was watched too closely to be able
to assist herself. And as her letters were liable
to be opened, she entreated George to meet her
in Southanger Woods that night, in order
to inform her of the result of his negotiation
(which was never even entered into, as the
farmer happened to be from home). Finding,
however, that Gibbs was bound to the Plashetts
from the public-house, she had rushed out hastily
to warn George of the circumstance, and so prevent
a meeting between the two, which was
very near taking place.

Susan fully confirmed the testimony of Williams
as to the circumstances of her abduction.
That wretched man survived his confession little
more than a week, and died in prison, penitent.

And once more George and Susan met. At
that interview he took from his bosom a little
silken bag, in which was a bunch of withered
hops, so dried by time, that they almost crumbled
beneath his touch. And he held them up to her.

There is a cottage on Cumner Common, not
far from Simon Eade's, the walls of which are
covered with roses and clematis. There you may
see Susan, if not as beautiful as of yore, still
fair; and happy now, with her brown-eyed
baby in her arms; and, if you choose your hour,
you may catch George, too, coming in to dinner
or to tea, stalwart, handsome, with a bright
cheery look on his honest English face, that will
do you good to look upon.

                                     VIII.
                     TO BE TAKEN FOR LIFE.

Sophy read through the whole of the foregoing
several times over, and I sat in my seat in the
Library Cart (that's the name we give it) seeing
her read, and I was as pleased and as proud
as a Pug-Dog with his muzzle black-leaded for
an evening party and his tail extra curled by
machinery. Every item of my plan was crowned
with success. Our reunited life was more than
all that we had looked forward to. Content and
joy went with us as the wheels of the two carts
went round, and the same stopped with us when
the two carts stopped.

But I had left something out of my calculations.
Now, what had I left out? To help
you to a guess, I'll say, a figure. Come. Make
a guess, and guess right. Nought? No.
Nine? No. Eight? No. Seven? No.
Six? No. Five? No. Four? No. Three?
No. Two? No. One? No. Now I'll tell
you what I'll do with you. I'll say it's another
sort of figure altogether. There. Why then,
says you, it's a mortal figure. No nor yet a
mortal figure. By such means you get yourself
penned into a corner, and you can't help guessing
a immortal figure. That's about it. Why
didn't you say so sooner?

Yes. It was a immortal figure that I had
altogether left out of my calculations. Neither
man's nor woman's, but a child's. Girl's, or
boy's? Boy's. "I says the sparrow, with my
bow and arrow." Now you have got it.

We were down at Lancaster, and I had done
two nights' more than fair average business
(though I cannot in honour recommend them as
a quick audience) in the open square there, near
the end of the street where Mr. Sly's King's Arms
and Royal Hotel stands. Mim's travelling giant
otherwise Pickleson happened at the self-same
time to be a trying it on in the town. The
genteel lay was adopted with him. No hint of
a van. Green baize alcove leading up to Pickleson
in a Auction Room. Printed poster "Free
list suspended, with the exception of that proud
boast of an enlightened country, a free press.
Schools admitted by private arrangement.