and the porters running, and the long files of
cabs waiting.

CHAPTER XXI. A NIGHT VISIT.

THAT was the very eve of Mr. Tillotson's
marriage. A busy day had ended for the young
girl, but a very happy one. The sad, sober face
of the elder Miss Diamond had softened with
pleasure, and she had been very busy too. It
had been settled that, at first, there was to
be no "foreign parts," nor lengthened travel,
but a short trip down to a quiet Welsh corner,
within easy reach of London. Then, when
the dreaded winter drew on, and if that little
cough—which had held fast to the young
girl ever since the night of her expedition
—did not sensibly abate, they were to set out
for some sheltered place at Nice or Mentone.
That night he was almost calmly happy. Mr.
Bowater had congratulated him in a way of
his own. "Most sensible thing of you, Tillotson,"
he said. "Tell you the truth, did not
think you had it in you."

Captain Diamond had come out with some
marvellous presents to the young bride, which,
considering even the full pay of the Royal
Veteran Battalion, seemed incomprehensible.
He had given his official presents, as it were:
watch and chain, bracelets, earrings. Stepping
confidently into a great Bond-street house
crowded with ladies, he had been a little
bewildered at first, and a kind of shopman
exquisite, reading off his shovel hat and satin
stock into something that required only a
"ten-and-sixpenny" business, had, with a sort
of abstracted pity, said something about trying
lower down. "Afraid we can't do anything
for you here!"

The captain took fire. "You're confoundedly
impudent, sir, and don't know your place. I'll
bring you to book, sir; where's the Head of
this establishment? Send him here."

A grave gentleman, like a cabinet minister,
had heard a portion of this little scene, and,
with a look that cowed his subordinate, made
many quiet apologies to the captain, who was
presently quite confused with the help he
received and the attentions with which he was
loaded. Would he like one of their gentlemen
to wait on him in the morning at his residence,
and—as the sense seemed to run to the captain
—who would carry up bodily the whole contents
of the shop?

"Egad, I was quite ashamed, my dear," he
said afterwards, describing the scene; "and
they had all the airs and bearing of gentlemen.
I expected to hear something about a glass of
wine next."

These civilities were, however, well repaid
by the handsome purchases which the captain
made.

Mr. Tillotson, late that night, when the two
ladies had gone up to bed, came to consult the
captain on some sudden little difficulty. He
found him just lighting his pipe. He always
took "a few whiffs" before going to bed; but
looked very guilty.

"I do this very little," he said, "so as not
to make the room smell. I like going to bed
with the taste of it in my mouth. We were
talking of you not an hour ago. Little Alice—
curious little baggage she is—putting all sorts
of questions to me. She's taken it into her head
that there is a mystery—like a playhouse thing,
you know—over your early life. I laughed at
the little woman. But she says she knows, and
is so sure she knows, that she is determined to
find it out."

Mr. Tillotson's face darkened a little, and he
was silent a moment. "My dear friend," he
said, "you are a man of the world, and know
how much happiness depends on trifles. As a
favour, I beg you—even implore you—to ask
your niece not to think of these things. It will
only fret and worry me, and I should not like to
visit any of that on her. You would wish to
keep it all for myself, would you not? Oblige
me in this. Say it to her to-morrow morning—
gently, you know."

"God bless me! yes, the first thing," said
the captain. "I never thought—that is, it is
my fault (she meant it for fun, I know). But
Tom will be putting his old heel in it. Well,
well. She thought there was some little bit of
a secret."

"Don't—now don't, my dear captain," said
the other, almost imploringly.

"I beg your pardon, my dear fellow. Well,
Martha?"

"There's a woman—or a lady, she says—
below, wants Mr. Tillotson. She's followed
him from his place."

"Followed me here! Who? What is she?"
said Mr. Tillotson, starting.

"Ye must ask her all those questions yourself,
sir," said Martha, showing her dislike of
him in every tone.

"Go down to her, my dear fellow," said the
captain, eagerly, "or bring her up here, and see
her comfortably in this room. I'll bundle away
to bed."

Mr. Tillotson did not hear him. "A young
lady, did you say?"

"Can't say, indeed," said Martha. "Looks
youngish."

"Good God!" said Mr. Tillotson, in great
agitation. "What does all this mean? I'll go
down to her. You stay here."

"Yes, sir, you'd, better stay here," said
Martha, grimly and with meaning, to Captain
Diamond.

Tillotson hurried down. He knew that figure,
although veiled and muffled. The light of
the hall-lamp glinted on the golden hair. He
forgot the grim Martha on the stairs, or the
possibility of other ears listening, but ran to
her and cried:

"O, Miss Millwood, you here!"

Ada began in a moment, and rushed into her
story in a hurried voice. "We are in dreadful
grief. A horrid blow has come upon him—money
—ah! you will understand. They have seized
on our house. Poor, poor uncle—I left him
behind lying half insensible. No one to turn to.