window above, gave him assurance that he might
move in safety. Then he bent forward, and
found it was a sprig of myrtle. He picked it
up, looked at it idly, and put it into the breast-pocket
of his miserable coat.

"What a sweet voice she has!" he said. "A
sweet face too, I am sure; it must be so, to
match the voice and the hair. Well, she has
given me something, though she didn't intend
it, and will probably never know it. A spirited,
plucky girl, I am sure, for all her grace and her
blonde style. Carries too many guns for the
captain, that's clear!"

He dived down in the midst of his words, for
the door of the room into which he had been
looking, opened quietly, and an elderly woman
in a black silk dress entered. After casting a
glance round her, she was about to seat herself at
the table, when Dallas gave two low taps in quick
succession at the window. The woman started
and looked towards the spot whence the sound
came witli a half-keen, half-frightened glance,
which melted into unmixed astonishment when
Dallas placed his face close to the glass and
beckoned to her with his hand. Then she approached
the window, shading her eyes from
the candlelight and peering straight before her.
When she was close to the window, she said, in
a low firm voice:

"Who are you? Speak at once, or I'll call
for help!"

"It's I, Nurse Ellen. I —"

"Good Heavens, Master George!"

"Yes, yes; open the window and let me in.
I want to talk to you, and I'm half dead with
cold. Let me in. So. That's it."

The woman gently raised the sash, and so
soon as the aperture admitted of the passage of
his body, he slipped through and entered the
room, taking no notice of his old nurse, but
making straight for the fire, before which he
knelt, gazing hungrily at the flames, and spreading
both his hands in eager welcome of the
blaze. The old woman closed the window and
then came softly behind him, placed her hand
on his head, and, leaning over his shoulder and
looking into his face, muttered:

"Good Lord, how changed you are, my boy!
I should scarcely have known you, except for
your eyes, and they're just the same; but in
everything else, how changed!"

He was changed indeed. The last time
George Dallas had taken farewell of his old nurse,
he had parted from her, a big strong healthy
youth of eighteen, with short curly brown hair,
clear skin, bright complexion, the incarnation
of youth and strength and health. He knelt
before her now, a gaunt grisly man, with high
cheek-bones and hollow rings round his great
brown eyes, with that dead sodden pallor which
a life of London dissipation always produces,
and with long thin bony hands with which he
clutched hold of the old woman, who put her
arms round him and seemed inclined to burst
into a fit of sobbing.

"Don't do that, nurse! don't do that! I'm
weak myself, and seedy, and couldn't stand it.
Get me something to drink, will you? And,
look here! I must see my mother to-night, at
once. I've come from town on purpose, and I
must see her."

"She does not know you are here?" asked
Mrs. Brookes, while she gazed mournfully at the
young man, still kneeling before the fire. "But of
course she does not, or you would have told me."

"Of course, of course, Nurse Ellen," said
George Dallas; "she knows nothing about it.
If I had asked her leave, she would not have
dared to give it. How is she, nurse? How
does she like her life? She tells me very little
of herself when she writes to me, and that's not
often." He rose from his knees now, and pulled
a ponderous black horsehair chair close to the
fire, seated himself in it, and sat huddled together,
as though cold even yet, with his feet on
the broad old-fashioned fender. "I had to come
at any risk. You shall know all about it, nurse;
but now you must contrive to tell my mother
I am here."

"How can I do that, Master George?" asked
the old woman, in a tone of distress and perplexity.
"She is in the ball-room, and all the
grand folk are looking at her and talking to
her. I can't go in among them, and if I could,
she would be so frightened and put about, that
master would see in a moment that something
had happened. He is never far off where she is."

"Ha!" said George, gloomily; "watches her,
does he, and that kind of thing?"

"Well, not exactly," said Mrs. Brookes;
"not in a nasty sort of way. I must say, to
do him justice, though I don't much like him,
that Mr. Carruthers is a good husband; he's fond
of her, and proud of her, and he likes to see her
admired."

The young man interrupted her with selfish
heedlessness.

"Well, it's a pity he has the chance to-night;
but, however it's managed, I must see her. I
have to go back to town to-morrow, and of
course I can't come about here safely in the
daytime. Think of some plan, nurse, and look
sharp about it."

"I might go up-stairs and join the servants —
they are all about the ball-room door — and
watch for an opportunity as she passes."

"That will take time," said George, "but
it's the best chance. Then do it, nurse, and
give me something to eat while you are away.
Will any of the servants come in here? They
had better not see me, you know."

"No, you are quite safe; they are looking
at the dancing," she answered, absently, and
closing as she spoke the shutters of the window
by which he had entered. She then left the
room, but quickly returned, bringing in a tray
with cold meat, bread, and wine. He still sat
by the fire, now with his head thrown back
against the high straight back of his chair, and
his hands thrust into his pockets.

"Very plain fare, Master George," said the
housekeeper, "but I can't find anything better
without wasting time."

"Never mind, nurse. I'm not hungry, and