unblemished character, and had seen the inside of
the county jail more than once in her lifetime.  But
these counter-pleadings did not influence Hope;
and she thought only of the suffering family,
which she could help, and would, if she had the
money.  Then she wanted to make Grantley a
present before he went away, and she did not
want her father to know of it; though perhaps
she would have been puzzled to explain why
she wished to keep such a trivial matter secret.
She had never given him anything, not even a
flower, not even a book; and he was almost the
only person within her sphere so passed over;
but now, when he was going to leave for ever,
she would give him something as a
remembrance —something that would make him think
of her when he was away.  Poor, proud Hope,
come then at last to this!

She knew that her father had money in the
house, when she went into the library to speak
to him; for she saw him put a twenty-pound
note in his desk yesterday, which was just
the sum she wanted, and indeed was on the
point of asking for then.  She would have got
it had she done so; but to-day the vane had
shifted, and for the first time in his life he
refused her, and so sternly and positively, that, as
much in surprise as anger, she gave up the
point at once.  But with a sullen flush of pride
and determination on her face, which he did
not see, sitting as he was towards the light
while she stood in the shadow.  And then she
left the room in stately silence; too proud to
coax even her father after a refusal so harshly
made; though, had she coaxed him as Hope
could when she chose, the whole thing would
have been at an end, and John Rashleigh would
have yielded.  She was but a spoiled child,
remember, whose faults had been fostered by the
injudicious training of her life.

The distress of poor Anne Rogers pressed
upon her.  Unused to opposition and in a
mood more than ordinarily excitable,
everything became exaggerated, and she laid awake
through the night in a state bordering upon
mania, feeling herself to be a coward and a
murderess in not executing the righteousness
of will, and taking from her father what he
would not but ought to freely give.  Was
not humanity before mere obedience?  Was
she to let a fellow-creature die rather than take
what could be spared so well, and what she had
the right to demand?  Yes, by right; her
father's money was hers as well, if not by law
yet by moral justice, and if he made a cold and
churlish steward, it was her duty to supply his
defects, and to let the poor benefit by his
superfluities.  All the wild reasonings of a
wilful mind aiding the impulses of a generous
heart passed through her brain that night, and
when she rose in the morning it was with the
determination to do her own will, and defy her
father's.

John Rashleigh was a magistrate, and to-day
was market-day at Canstow, the town near
which they lived, where the magistrates always
assembled in the upper room of the town-hall and
dispensed law, if not justice, on the offenders.
His absence gave Hope the opportunity she
wanted.  Very quietly and very deliberately she
unlocked his desk, and took from it the twenty-
pound note.  But though the act was shameful,
she had no perception that she was doing
wrong, beyond the consciousness of self-will
and disobedience, which did not trouble her
much —which, on the contrary, she had reasoned
herself into considering the meritorious exercise
of a better judgment and a nobler motive.

"Grantley, change this for me," she said,
giving him the note.

"I cannot change it myself, Miss Hope," he
answered, "but I will get it done for you in
Canstow; I am going over there directly."

"Change it where you like," she answered
carelessly.  "I want the money as soon as you
can give it to me, that is all; and Grantley, do
you hear? if papa asks you, do not tell him
that I gave you the note to get changed."

"Very well, I will not," said Grantley, who,
suspecting nothing wrong saw nothing odd in
her request; and who indeed felt not a little
flattered that she should have made a secret
with him on any matter.  So, full of pleasant
feeling, he rode over to Canstow, where he
changed the note, and bought various things
with the money, partly for Hope according to
her orders, and partly for himself; not at Hope's
charge it must be understood, the squaring of
accounts having to come afterwards.  And
among other things, he bought a certain camp
apparatus for himself at Tell's the ironmonger's,
for which he paid witli the note in question —
that being the largest shop and the largest
purchase.

Now it so happened that Mr. Rashleigh went
to pay his bill at this same ironmonger's to-day.
He took a cheque which he had just received
in the market-place from one of his tenants
who owed him half a year's rent for his farm;
and to save himself the trouble of going to the
bank —banking hours indeed being over —he
gave it to Tell, receiving the surplus change.
Among which change came his own twenty-
pound note.  Passing it through his fingers,
and looking at the number to take down in
his pocket-book, he recognised it as that left
in his desk at Newlands.  He knew the number,
and a certain private mark which he always
made on his bank-notes, thereby rendering them
doubly "branded;" and he knew that no one
could have obtained possession of it lawfully.

"Where did you get this, Tell?" he asked.

"Mr. Grantley, sir," said Tell. "He changed
it here not half an hour ago, and ordered this
patent camp apparatus," showing the young
man's purchase.

"Mr. Grantley Watts?" cried John
Rashleigh, flushing up; "he changed this note
here?"

"Yes, sir; I hope no mistake, sir —nothing
wrong?" asked the ironmonger, a little
anxiously.

"No, no, nothing!  I was surprised, that
was all; no, Tell, nothing wrong."