THE
   SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."
                  BOOK I.
CHAPTER XIV. AN ANGRY WALK. HOME.

WITH this speech ringing in his ears like a
bell, Mr. Tillotson went home that night almost
elated. He seemed to hear it over and over
again: he repeated it to himself—meditated on
it. It seemed to resolve a secret for him—about
to resolve it: to dispel a mystery that might
have hung around him like a cloud. He was
almost elated, and found himself looking on
the little town with a sort of reverence and
affection which he had not felt before. He
wandered a long time about the old cathedral,
looking up to it tranquilly, mentally resting
within its shadows, scarcely able to make up his
mind to go home. Suddenly he heard a step
behind him, as if some one was running to
overtake him, and, looking round, he saw Ensign
Ross. But it was Ensign Ross with wild eyes
of fury and inflamed cheeks.

"Ah! I have found you alone," he said, panting.
"I was sure you had slipped away home.
But you are doing the romantic there, it seems."

"And what do you want?" said Mr. Tillotson,
stopping calmly. "You can have nothing to
say to me."

"Haven't I, Mr. Banker!" the other answered.
"Then you are wrong. There is no foolish
woman here to protect you, before whom you
can speak so mildly and gently. A nice protection
—a fine opportunity of showing off!"

"I do not want to quarrel with you," said
Mr. Tillotson, still calmly, and moving across
the grass towards the path. "We had better
not talk any more to-night."

"Don't be alarmed," said the other. "Don't
fear for yourself. This is not a lonely place.
There is the old watchman passing by. A cry
of yours would reach every one of these windows.
See! there is some one actually looking  out.
There is no violence going to be done."

For the first time for many months of his life
Mr. Tillotson became impatient.

"What right have you to speak to me in this
way, or in the way you have done since I have
come here? I have borne much from you—too
much. I have made what amends I could
for what I did under a mistake. I have told
you again and again that I am deeply sorry for
it. And now that I look back, I can see no
reason why I should. I must ask you to say
what you want with me, at once, or I shall not
stay another moment."

They were walking on together. People in
their little old-fashioned windows—some of which
had diamond panes, and were embroidered round
and round with ivy and moss, and where lights
were twinkling—thought that these were two
gentlemen walking home pleasantly after dinner.

"Do I want to keep you or to talk with you?
But I just want to tell you something very
plainly. I have been watching you from the
moment you came here. I am not a man to put
up with interference of any sort from soft gentlemen
or from bold insolent fellows! I can meet
both in their own way. You think because you
found out that I was falling in the world—that
you, with your banker's money and your brass
shovels and cheques—that you could step in and
put that girl against me! That was fine generous
conduct!" (His tone was already softened.)

"That girl?" said Mr. Tillotson. "Miss Ada
Millwood?"

"Yes. Oh, how astonished you are. Not
that I care much for her, or that I believe that
she cares for me. She's a weak creature, with
no mind or character. But still one of these days,
perhaps, I might have changed my mind. I may
have my designs about that woman. She was in
some sort mine, and you saw it. You did! You
thought I was down! And I suppose, because
the world chose to turn against me, and banking
fellows and usurers to strip me of everything,
you thought you would come in with the rest,
and that I should be too weak, too "down" to
resist you. But I am not, sir, and you shall find
that I am not, sir."

He planted himself suddenly in front of Mr.
Tillotson. The people in the old windows, just
going to bed, thought these were two jocular
minor canons going home full of spirits.

Mr. Tillotson met his gaze. "I see you are
one of those who mistake good nature and
indulgence for fear. I do not understand your
threats; nor do I mind them. I will only tell you
this. You might have made a friend of me. I
was willing to help you. But I see your real
character now. Even one who may have had some