them to give the sum he had named as his price,
but offering him, on the whole, very handsome
terms.

So, it had come at last! No longer to struggle
on, a wretched outsider, a component of the
"ruck" in the great race for name, and fame,
and profit, but one of the select, taking the
leading: place in the leading periodical of the
day, with the chance, if fortune favoured him,
and he could only avail himself of the opportunity
so long denied, and call into action the
influences so long prompting him, of rendering
himself from month to month an object of
interest, a living something, an actual necessity
to thousands of people whose faces he should
never see, and who would yet know of him and
look with the deepest interest on the ideal
creatures of his fancy. Pardon the day-dream
now, for the good to be derived from action is
now so real, so tangible, that the lotos-leaves
shall soon be cast aside. And yet how fascinating
is the vision which their charm has ever evoked
for the young man bound under their spell!
Honour, wealth, fame, love! not all your riches,
Capel Carruthers, not your county position, not
your territorial influence, not your magisterial
dignity, nor anything else on which you pride
yourself, shall be half as sweet to you as the
dignified pride of the man who looks around him,
and seeing himself possessed of all these enviable
qualities, says:  " By my own hand, by the talent
which God has given me, and by his help alone,
unaided by birth, or riches, or influence, I have
made myself what I am!" The crisis in George
Dallas's life had arrived, the ball was at his
feet, and with the opportunity so urgent on
him, all his desultoriness, all his lazy dilettante-ism,
vanished. He felt at last that life was real
and earnest, and determined to enter upon it
at once. With what big schemes his heart was
filled, with what quixotic dreams his brain was
bursting! In his own mind his triumphant position
in the future was so assured, that he could
not resist taking an immediate foretaste of his
happiness, and so on the very day of the receipt
of Cunningham's letter a box containing some
very rare Japanese fans, screens, and china,
was despatched anonymously, addressed to Miss
Carrutners. The cost of these trifles barely left
George Dallas enough to pay his fare back to
Amsterdam. But what of that? Was he not on
the high road to fortune, and could he not make
money as he liked?

The polyglot waiter received him, if not
with open arms, at least with a smiling face
and a babble of many-tongued welcomes, and
placed in his hands a letter which had been
more than a week awaiting him. George
glanced at its superscription, and a shadow
crossed his face as he recognised Routh's hand-
writing. He had looked upon that connexion
as so completely cut asunder, that he had
forgotten his last communication necessitated a
reply — an acknowledgment of the receipt of
the money at least — and he opened the letter
with an undefined sensation of annoyance.
He read as follows:

                               S. M. Street, June—- , 18—-.
"Your letter, my dear George, and its
enclosure is ' to hand,' as we say in Tokenhouse-
yard, and I flatter myself that you, who know
something of me, and who have seen inside my
waistcoat, know that I am highly pleased at
the return you have made for what you ridiculously
term my 'enormous kindness,' and at
the feeling which has prompted you, at, I am
certain, some self-sacrifice, to return me the
sum which I was only too pleased to be able
to place at your disposal. I am a bad hand,
as you, great author, literary swell, &c. &c.,
will soon see —- I am a bad hand at fencing off
what I have got to say, and therefore I must
out with it at once. I know it ought to be put
in a postscript —- just dropped par hasard, as
though it were an afterthought and not the
real gist of the letter —- but I do not understand
that kind of ' caper,' and so must say
what I have got to say in my own way. So
look here! I am ten years older than you in
years and thirty years in experience, and I
know what heart-burnings and worries, not
merely for yourself alone, but for others very
very dear to you, you have had in raising this
money which you have sent to me. You thought
it a debt of honour, and consequently moved
heaven and earth to discharge it, and you knew
that I was hard up — a fact which had an
equally irritating effect on you. Now, look
here! (I have said that before, I see; but never
mind!)  As to the honour————Well, not to
mince matters, it was a gambling debt, pur et
simple; and when I reflect, as I do sometimes
—- Harriet knows that, and will tell you so —- I
know well enough that but for me you would
never have been led into gambling. I am not
preaching, old fellow; I am simply speaking
the honest truth. Well, the thought that you
have had all this to go through, and such a
large sum of money to pay, yerks me and goes
against the grain. And then, as to my being
hard up, I don't mind telling you—of course
in the strictest confidence — that Tokenhouse-
yard is a tremendous success! It was a tight
time some months ago, and no mistake; but I
think we have weathered the storm, and the
money is rolling in there splendidly; so
splendidly and so rapidly, that — again in the strictest
confidence—I am thinking of launching out a
little and taking up the position which — you'll
know I'm not bragging, old boy— my birth and
education warrant me in assuming. I have
grovelled on long enough, Heaven knows, and
I want to see myself, and, above all, I want to
see my wife, out of the reach of ——— Well, I
need not dilate to you on what circumstances
have lowered us to, and what we will now float
above. So, as good luck is nothing unless
one's friends share in it, I want to say to you,
as delicately as I can, ' Share in mine!'
Don't be in a hurry to send me back that
money, don't be too proud—that's not the word,
George—I should say, don't fear to remain in
my debt, and, if occasion should arise, let me
be your banker for further sums. I can stand