the Khyber Pass; outlying pickets at Cabool;
jolly mess-dinners; race-meetings; tigers shot,
missed, bagged, and lost; shooting-parties
living in tents; and all the other thousand
incidents of a soldier's life in India. "Here is a
long letter from the old gunner"—the name by
which Colonel Laber had been known for the
last thirty years—said Sir John to his wife, as
he opened it between the intervals of eating his
egg and tasting his tea. "What can the old
boy have to say?" Presently, as he began to
read it, his attention got more and more riveted,
and Annie had to ask him twice for rice (like all
Anglo-Indians, the Milsons always had rice on
their breakfast-table) before she could draw his
attention to the every-day business of breakfast.
When he looked up, his face wore such
an appearance of astonishment that Lady Milson
was almost alarmed. "Why, John, what is the
matter? Has anything happened to Laber?"
she asked, and this recalled to his memory
what he had just gathered from the letter, that
all regarding the story of his old friend's
marriage, to say nothing of the advent of the
two young ladies, was to be kept a profound
secret from his wife, from whom Sir John had
never before in his life concealed anything. He
mumbled out some tale about bank shares
having fallen in value, and that he must look
after the interests of his old friend. Lady
Milson did not ask to see the letter, for she had
letters of her own to read, and was not a
woman in whose character curiosity was a leading
feature. Sir John said something about
having letters to write, and an appointment at
the club, as an excuse for hurrying over his
breakfast, and made off to the back dining-
room (called his study), there to think over
the difficulties which his old chum was about to
impose upon him.

"Why on earth I am not to tell Annie
anything about the story is more than I can
understand," said Sir John to himself, as soon as he
was alone. He read the letter over again from
beginning to end, every now and then uttering
some expletive of bewilderment. "Married,
and never told me a word about it. A French
governess; furnished house; two girls—very
beautiful. What on earth will people say or
think when they hear I am the paymaster of a
suburban residence inhabited by three ladies?
If I could only tell Annie, and ask her advice!
I must ask some person's advice. I can't order
a French governess as I would a pair of boots
or a hamper of wine. No, hang me, I can't do
it. I'll write and tell the gunner that I really
must decline, unless he allows me to tell Annie
all about it."

Such was the determination—which lasted
rather less than three minutes— at which Sir John
arrived. But then came the thought, would not
his old friend have done as much for him, had he
been in the same situation and their positions
reversed? Who was it that years ago lent
him three thousand rupees to pay his racing
bets, which he would have been utterly and for
ever disgraced if he had not met at once? Who
was it, when he heard Lieutenant Milson was
laid up with jungle fever, rode a hundred miles
in ten hours through a blazing hot Indian sun,
and nursed his friend until he was on his legs
again? How did he escape the sword of that
Affghan fanatic, near Candahar? was it not by
Laber shooting the man dead as he rushed
upon his friend, who was looking away at the
time? How many years ago was that—thirty?
no, something short of that—about twenty-six or
seven. What jolly days were those Affghan
campaigning times! Where were all the fellows
who dined at the Horse Artillery mess the night
before Guznee was taken? We sat down
sixteen. By Jove! I remember all their names
much better than I do those of the stupid stuck-
up people I met last week at Lord Eggspoon's.
They are all gone now, except Laber, myself,
and Spinvith, the little doctor, who has retired
and lives at Cheltenham. I will do it. Laber
would do as much, and more, for me if I wanted
him. I must pull through the business somehow.
I dare say there are agencies and places
where French governesses can be procured. It
will be a nuisance keeping the affair a secret
from Annie, but I must do it, if I want to serve
Laber. The mail goes out to-night. I'll write
and say that I'll do all he wants, and I'll
telegraph at the same time to Suez, so that he will
know my determination by the mail that leaves
there to-morrow for Bombay, and the message
will be sent on at once from that place to
Meerut. Do it? Of course, I must and will.
If there was no difficulty to overcome, nothing
unpleasant in doing what the old gunner asks
me, there could be no merit on my part. Of
course I'll do it."

And so Sir John betook himself to the
Oriental Club, and wrote by that night's mail
to tell his old friend that the girls might be
sent home, and he would do his utmost to do
all their father wanted, and to have a suitable
house ready for them on their arrival in
England.

Next week will be commenced
THE MOONSTONE;
A NEW SERIAL STORY
By WILKIE COLLINS.

Now ready, price Fourpence,
THE
EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS,
ENTITLED
NO THOROUGHFARE.
BY CHARLES DICKENS
AND WILKIE COLLINS.

Bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE EIGHTEENTH VOLUME.