strange hours, just as the captain was going to
bed, fling himself on a chair, and talk and
maunder about himself in despairing tones. The
captain had really taken a liking to him, which
was indeed no more than that feeling of deep
pity which he had for every fellow-creature that
was down in the world, and often listened to his
miserable story, as he told it again only the night
before the coming home of the Tillotsons.

"I lay it all to that miserable Tillotson, that
wretched, crawling, creeping fellow. Wait only
until he comes back! Don't be frightened. I
don't, want to be hung—as yet. I shan't dirty
my fingers touching him. But I have one
comfort. I know the life he is to live. You
were by at the vestry there. You heard what
she said. It's a dirty business, sir. Never
mind, though. He'll pay me for it all yet.
What's his gloominess that he's got rid of
just for the time? Why, Grainger, a shrewd
man of the world, that knows everything, says
he's sure that he's done something shameful."

The captain coloured. "My goodness, no, no.
Is it Tillotson? Indeed, there isn't a
purer-minded man alive. He's had misfortunes."

Ross was watching him narrowly. "Ah! that's
what he calls them himself. There's an uglier
name. Why, Grainger reminded me only
yesterday—he remembers everything—of a dinner
where some one talked of a murder or a shooting,
and this creature turned as white as a sheet,
and had to run out of the room. He had, as I
am a living man."

Again the captain grew red and confused.
"There are always stories about every man—
always. Take my advice, and let all this be.
The thing's done now—and——"

"But it's not done," said Ross, eagerly.
"Only wait. So he's coming home to-morrow.
I am glad of it. I want to begin. Don't be
afraid, captain. No violence, or even rudeness."

"No, I know that," said the captain. "A
young fellow like you, with the world before
him, and a noble profession——"

Ross laughed harshly, and rose to go. "Are
you learning irony, captain, or what are you
talking of? Don't you know I have done for
myself in the noble profession? Wait until the
next mail comes. If—if—they do dismiss me,
then let our friend look out."

The captain caught at this. "Don't be
afraid," he said. "I have a little interest, and
shall be glad to work it for you, such as it is.
There are old friends who, I believe, would be
glad to do something for Tom Diamond; at
least, they tell me so. And now, like a real
good fellow, if I do this, you'll make me a
promise to take things sensibly, and not bother
yourself with spilled milk, you know. There,
give me the hand. You won't?"

"You're a good fellow," said Ross, taking
his hand, and speaking with a hopeless despondency,
"and I am always making some wretched
miserable exhibition, and always shall be. Yes;
if I get over this infernal scrape——"

"Egad! then you shall," said the captain, in
delight. "Leave it all to me. I know some
one at the Horse Guards. I'll go this very
day and see if Tom McKenzie——That's right.
Now you talk like a man."

Is it any wonder that our captain, after his
visitor had gone gloomily away, began stirring
his fire with great satisfaction, and getting ready
for bed, saying to himself that he was growing
into a wonderful diplomatist for "an old
fogie"?

Just before he had gone away, Mr. Tillotson
had taken a house in Lowndes-square, had
chosen furniture, and had left it in charge of
skilful decorators. The captain often walked
down during these operations. Indeed, a daily
visit to the house became a favourite pastime.
He contracted a firm friendship with the chief
decorator, who explained to him his plans and
processes; the deftness and neatness displayed
in papering and gilding specially delighting
our captain. Yet with the furniture people the
captain would assume a little authority and
vigour; for he knew that his friend wished it
to be all ready and furnished by the day he
returned. "See, my men," he said; "stir, stir,
now. This will never do! See that fine lazy
young fellow that should be in the dragoons,
and he's not doing half the work of the older
men. Come, sir, what are you trifling about,
wasting our time here? You haven't spirit
enough to earn the pot of porter which I'll
take good care the steady working men get
who have put their shoulder to the wheel. And
you, sir, what are you at? I declare, with my
lame leg and all, I'd be worth more to my
master."

He made a prodigious effect among the men.
At last all was done and completed by the day
fixed. The house was fresh and bright, the
rooms sumptuously furnished, and the men had
been sent away for a final "pot of porter,"
which they partook of, saying, as so many had
said before them, that the captain was a " deal
more of a gennelman than some lords and
hurls" they could name, and whose mansions
they were busy with.

Mr. Tillotson, too, had given orders. Two
charming carriages were in the coach-houses,
and the captain himself, who had a fine eye for
a horse, had helped to choose a noble pair of
chesnuts. Mr. Tillotson had earnestly prayed
of him to take the whole responsibility of this
affair upon himself; but the captain, perhaps too
modestly, declined. He was content to act as
assessor to a sort of honest dealer and trainer;
for he modestly owned that, as far as the cut of
a horse went, he had a right to know something.

CHAPTER IX. THE RETURN.

AT last, late in the evening, the house was lit
up and brilliant, the servants were in the hall
waiting, and the new Brougham, which had made
its first professional journey that day, came
driving up from the South Eastern. The door
was opened, and the master of the house and the
new mistress entered. She was almost dazzled
by the magnificence and the light. Under those
lamps Mr. Tillotson's brother men of business