the expression, against the alarming pregnancy
of new opinions. A few more men like you,
and we should not be in the state we are in.
You must come down to Truncheon Hall, and
we can talk it over."

The dean went down eventually, as many
were destined to know. For, hereafter, he was
accustomed to date things from this year of his
Hegira; saying, "The year before I went to
Truncheon;" or, "Let me see, not long after I
returned from Truncheon."

The Sir Thomas or Sir William who was
the lord of Truncheon had a very long family,
with two dull sons in the Church, and it may
have been the position of these youths as
hopeless curates, who were neither popular, nor likely
to "draw," nor get on in any way, that gave the
baronet such a desponding view of the Church.
The dean was pleased to take a fancy to one of
these youths when he met him at Truncheon; to
whom, one night—when Mr. Dean had taken in
to dinner Lady Grey de Malkyn herself, and had
even heard her ladyship say he was a "charming
churchman"—the baronet alluded with a
comic despondency. "As for you, Charley, you
must make up you mind to a stall in the
workhouse, unless you can get your friend the dean
there to do something for you—ha! ha! I see
what he is at, dean—ha! ha! I have had my
eye on him for some time—ha! ha! dean.
Uncommon good that—ha! ha! You must not tell
Lady Grey, though. No, no."

"Well," said Mr. Dean, balancing himself,
"I am afraid, if her ladyship were to ask me
anything, I couldn't well refuse. So I hope you
won't put it into her head."

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared the Sir Thomas or Sir
William. "Uncommon good again. The dean
has us everywhere. Whatever window we look
out of, he flanks us with another."

"The dean," continued the baronet, in a low
but audible voice, to a country gentleman who
was like a theatrical supernumerary at this
feast—"the dean is a man so practical—so
going straight to his point—that really, even to
carry out his joke, he would get that boy a
stall. Upon my word I believe he would.
Remarkable instance of tenacity of character."

No wonder the dean often dwelt upon that
visit to Truncheon. Never had he before
received such homage. He came up from
Truncheon, waited on the bishop—then not in
residence—and had several conferences with
him on the state of the cathedral. There was
one "painful scandal" which he wished to
bring before him, and which he did bring before
him. This intermediate process delayed matters
a little; but things were gradually hurrying on
to a crisis. Bills were rushing to maturity
with the unnatural speed common to these
securities; dates fixed by solemn promises, and
asseverations, were coming round. Tradesmen's
voices rose yet higher and more insolently, and
soft voices pleading became of no avail. Still,
the old routine life went on. Doctor Fugle
chanting with more than his seraphic force,
even though "the season" was not "on," and
taking off his surplice as he got under the far
arch, out of sight of the congregation, in a
manner, it must be said, very unlike a seraph's.

"You see, Jenny," said Mr. Norbury, now
playing the Fifth air with surprising freshness
from constant practice, "I was right. Black
Dick will be afraid to lay a finger upon me."

"Yes," said Mrs. Jenny, gratefully, "dear
Joe. Thanks to Providence. And now you
must promise me, for my sake, to be more
obedient to the dean, and respectful. You know he
is dean, after all. Won't you promise me?" And
Mrs. Jenny put her hands into a praying attitude
—at least, as well as the unfailing and
adherent baby would allow her.

"Well, for your sake, Jenny, I'll try," said
Mr. Norbury. "Now, just listen and see how I
shall astonish them at the Philharmonic next
week;" and he gave her that groaning variation
"in thirds" which he himself had christened,
with some appropriateness it must be confessed,
"the pig's agony."

Of these days, too, Mr. Tilney, who had
become very disconsolate and moody, went about,
dwelling often on what he called the "tyranny"
of Smiles to him. "I made that man, sir," he
said, lashing a thistle deliberately. "Who was
the first person they came to, sir? It was I
made the whole concern, lock, stock, and barrel.
They will divide fifteen percent. How do they
get that, I should like to know? Fact is, sir,"
and he dropped his voice, "that Smiles is not
a gentleman. It won't last, mark me. You
may pick up a sovereign here and sixpence
there; but you must have gentle blood, sir;
gentle manners, sir; and sir, gentlemen. It'll
collapse; blow up, sir. What's this wretched
guinea to me on board-days? O, it's very bad, sir."

It was, indeed, getting very bad for the
Tilneys. The Smileses had never forgiven that
outrage about the dinner. The secretary had
become curt and short with Mr. Tilney; was down
on him when he could. In fact, he had a stone
in his sleeve for him.

"You have not forgotten, Mr. Tilney," he
said, one day, "your joint note with that Mr.
Norbury. It is very close now. You will be ready?"

"By the way, Smiles," said Mr. Tilney, a
little nervously, "I was just going to ask you
about that. Of course the usual renewal will
not be objected to?"

Mr. Smiles opened his eyes wide.
"Renewal!" he said. "I beg such a thing will not
be thought of, for the sake of the bank—must
not be dreamt of. It would be fatal, my good
sir, a director to be compromised for such a
trifle. You must see about it at once, I beg."

"But, my dear Smiles," said poor Mr. Tilney,
"I—that is, he—reckoned on it all this time.
Really, I think a director, and all that! Why,
even the late Prince Regent——"

"I know," said Mr. Smiles, contemptuously.
"A fine example, certainly. A director, just as
you say. 'Pon my word, the whole thing comes
on me by surprise."

But there was yet a great surprise in store
for Mr. Tilney's family that very night. For
when he left the bank, hopeless and desponding,
a cab drove past him with luggage on the top,