covering of matting in which he had shrouded
himself. A figure had crossed the window,
between him and the light—a figure he knew
well, and recognised with a beating heart—a
figure clad in purple velvet and decked with
gleaming jewel; it was his mother. She passed
hastily, and went up to Mr. Carruthers, then
talking with another gentleman. She stretched
out one jewelled arm, and touched him on the
shoulder with her fan. Mr. Carruthers turned,
and directly faced the window. Then George
Dallas flung the matting which had covered him
away, and left his hiding-place with a curse in
his heart and on his lips.

"Yes, curse you," he said, "you dress her in
velvet and diamonds, and make her splendid to
entertain your company and flatter your pride,
and you condemn her to such misery as only
soft-hearted, strong-natured women such as she is
can feel, all the time. But it won't do, Carruthers;
she's my mother, though she's your wife,
and you can't change her. I'll have some of your
money, tyrant as you are, and slave as she is,
before this night is over. I'm a desperate man;
you can't make me more miserable than I am,
and I can bring you to shame, and I will, too."

He stepped softly to the edge of the terrace,
climbed the balustrade, and sat down cautiously
on the narrow strip of grass beyond; then felt
with his hands along the rough face of the wall
which formed the front of the area. He looked
down between his feet, the depth was about ten
feet, he thought. He might venture to let himself
drop. He did so, and came safely on his
feet, on the smooth sanded ground. An angle
of the house was close to him; he turned it,
and came upon a window whose shutters, like
those of the upper range, were unclosed, and
through which he could see into the comfortable
room beyond. The room was low but
large, and the heavy carved presses, the table
with green baize cover, the arm-chairs, one at
each side of the fire, the serviceable comfortable
and responsible appearance of the apartment,
at once indicated its true character. It
could be nothing but the housekeeper's room.

In the centre of the table stood an old-fashioned
oil lamp, no doubt banished from the
upper regions when the moderator made its
appearance in society; close to the stand was
a large Bible open, a pair of spectacles lying
upon the page. A brass-bound desk, a file of
receipts, a Tunbridge-ware workbox, and a venerable
inkstand, were also symmetrically arranged
upon the table. The room was empty, and the
observer at the window had ample leisure and
opportunity to scrutinise it.

"I am in luck," he said. " This is Nurse
Ellen's room. There are the dreadful old portraits
which she always insisted on keeping over
the chinmey-piece, and venerated, quite as much
because she thought them objects of art, as
because she fancied them really like my
father and mother. There's her Bible, with
the date of my birth and christening in it. I
dare say those are the identical spectacles
which I broke, playing Red Riding Hood's
grandmother. I wish she would come in, and
come alone. What shall I do if she brings any
one with her, and they close the shutters? How
delightful the fire looks! I have a great mind
to smash the window and get in. No one
would hear the noise with all that crashing
music overhead, and there does not seem to be
a soul on this side of the house."

No sound of footsteps made itself audible on
the terrace above his head. He was sheltered
a little more in his present position, but still the
cold was bitter, and he was shivering. The impulse
to break the window grew stronger. He
thought how he should avoid cutting his hand;
his shabby gloves could not protect him, suppose
he were to take off his waistcoat, and
twist it around his hand and arm. He had unfastened
one button of his coat, as the idea
occurred to him, when a sound overhead, on
the house side, caught his ear. It was the click
produced by opening the fastening of a French
window. Then came steps upon the light balcony,
which was one of the modern decorations
of the old building, and voices which reached
him distinctly.

"Any influenza you may catch, or anything
of that kind, you must ascribe to yourself, Miss
Carruthers.  You would come out this — hum
— by Jove — awful night!"

"Oh, don't fear for me, Captain Marsh,"
said a light girlish voice, laughingly, "I'm
Poynings bred, you know, and accustomed to be
out in all weathers, so that I run no risk; and
though it is wintry enough outside, the temperature
of that room was becoming unbearable!'

"Think it must be caused by that old woman's
red face that we noticed, or the thingummy—
paradise feather in her cap. She with the very
thin daughter. Don't you know?"

"Of course I know. The old lady is my
aunt, Lady Boldero; the young one is my cousin
Blanche!"

"Haw, by Jove, sorry I spoke, haw!  By-the-by,
that was Sir Thomas Boldero's park,
where I met you riding on Friday, wasn't it,
Miss Carruthers?"

"Yes. I was taking a short cut home, as I
thought I should be late for dinner."

"You were going a rattling good pace, I
noticed. Seemed quite to have distanced your
groom."

"My groom! That's a luxury I very seldom
indulge in — never, when I think I can dispense
with it without my uncle's knowledge. It is disagreeable
to me to have a man perpetually at my
heels!"

"You shouldn't say that, Miss Carruthers —
shouldn't, indeed. You don't know how pleasant
it is — for the man."

"Very pretty indeed, Captain Marsh! And
now that you've had the chance of paying a compliment,
and have done it so neatly, we will go
back, please. I begin to feel a little chilly."

As the speakers moved, something fell at
George Dallas's feet. It was so dark in the
corner where he stood, that he could not distinguish
what it was, until the closing of the