should canonise him. They were making a
saint at Malta when I was there. Blessed are
the peacemakers, for theirs is the kingdom,
you know. But they don't win lawsuits, my
friend, for all that. No, no. They are content
with another kingdom, and must be on this
occasion. Make up your mind, Tillotson, with a
good grace, for it's all up with you."

"With all my heart," said Tillotson.

"Good-bye, then," said Ross.

A servant came in, now, saying that Mr.
Withers, from the bank, was below. This was
some special business. Mr. Tillotson went down
and came up presently "No ride to-day, I am
afraid—for me, at least. This dreadful business
waits for me for half an hour."

Mrs. Tillotson was standing there in her
riding-habit, a charming figure. The golden
hair was gathered back behind in a rich knot.
She looked like a statue of some saint. Mr.
Tillotson turned to her hastily. "You must not
lose your ride," he said. "Here, if Ross would
take my horse. You need not go into the
Park."

"Oh no," she said, hastily.

"But, oh yes. I insist; that is, if Ross can
go."

"Well," said the other, half eagerly, "I have
no objection."

"There then, that's settled," said Mr. Tillotson;
and went down to his business.

In a moment the horses were round, and the
golden-haired lady was out upon the steps. She
ran in for a second to her husband, and gave
him a grateful whisper. Ross helped her up,
still moody, then mounted himself. Martha
Malcolm held the door open till they were gone.
As they turned to ride away, Mr. Tillotson came
out for a second to look at them, which he did
with pleasure.

"Kindness, after all," he thought, "will tame
that poor outcast yet, and make him gentle.
She is an angel indeed, and looks one. God
grant that I do not feel too happy at this
moment."

Suddenly he heard a harsh voice beside him.

"That's a pleasant and agreeable arrangement,
sir?"

"Yes, what, Martha?"

"That. Is it to be regular and every day?"

"Not every day, Martha," said he, smiling.

He is in trouble, poor fellow, now."

"So it seems, sir," said Martha, gravely, "and
requires comfort."

Mr. Tillotson smiled again, and went into
his study. He looked on Martha as a
privileged but faithful retainer; a legacy, too,
from the fair little lady who had died in foreign
lands.

CHAPTER XI. BASIS FOR SUSPICION.

MRS. TILLOTSON came home very eager and
excited with her ride. She ran to her husband
in his study. "It is all going well," she said;
"you are only too kind and good. I am sure
he will give no more trouble now. I have talked
to him and reasoned with him, poor soul; and
he has half promised me."

"Half," said he, smiling. "Do I not know
that there can be no half promises made to you?
Well, I am very glad; and very glad, too, that
you are pleased."

"It has been a greater weight on my mind,"
said she, thoughtfully, "than I liked to own to
you. With all his follies and faults, he is good
and amiable and honourable; and I myself was
somewhat to blame. By the way, we met that
friend of his, Grainger; more his evil genius
than his friend. You remember him at St.
Alans?"

"A sort of traveller," said Mr. Tillotson,
"and a sneering traveller."

"Yes," she said; "Mr. Tilney somehow liked
him, but I never could feel easy in his presence.
I am sure he is crafty and wicked, and if we
could withdraw Ross from his fatal influence—
but I suspect—and he seems to be in his power
—I think he has given him money, and our poor
Ross, of course, cannot pay him."

"I remember his admiring you" said Mr.
Tillotson, "and that is the only thing I bear
him malice for. As for the money, if you can
settle that, too, and rescue Ross, you know
where to come to."

"Always good, too good," she said, with one
of her soft smiles, and went away to change her
dress.

Another paradisiacal evening for the banker.
Did he not think that life was actually growing
more and more like paradise every hour? Between
him and his figures, that night, seemed to dance
a crowd of fairies—spirits that seemed, with
grotesque feet, to make steps that took the shape
of the words of Happiness and Delight.

Some few more days—nearly a week—and Mr.
Tillotson went with alacrity into his banking
concerns. He was coming round gradually to
the heavy, almost silent Lackson, who, when he
spoke, said a couple of words that were as
valuable as a cheque. Still was the bank growing;
it bade fair to be the very megatherium of
banks, and the secretary hinted that there were
vast schemes in the brain of "the great Lackson"
which, if he could be induced to impart, would
set them all rolling in gold.

He came home one evening after one of these
meetings, thinking of the pleasant ride in the
Park that was before him. He had got to
the top of his street, when he saw a gentleman
come out and hurry away. He recollected
his face perfectly, as that of the Mr. Grainger
he had known at St. Alans. He wondered
what could take him to that house, but
knew that in the ride Mrs. Tillotson would
explain it.

He wrote a letter or two, then the horses
came round, and they went out. It was a charming
evening, and they had a delicious canter.
They stayed out a long time. This was more
of happy life. They were to dine out, and
came home about seven. Still Mrs. Tillotson
had made no mention of her visitor,
nor of her visitor's name. He wondered at