when the boy's explanation was concluded, and
the plans formed upon it were finally arranged.
Then the lawyer's quick eye noticed symptoms
of giving way in Mr. Felton. There were many
hours of excitement and strain upon the nerves
still to be endured, and not yet might he be free
to face the grief which was his, pre-eminently
his, not yet must he seek solitude, to mourn for
his only son. Anguish, fear, and fatigue were
setting their mark upon him, but he must not
yet have even bodily rest?

"You will not come with us?" said Mr.
Lowther.

"No," replied Mr. Felton, with an irrepressible
shudder. " I could not see that man
before I must."

"You will lie down and rest?"

"Not yet. I will rest to-night. I must see
my brother-in-law, who will reach London this
evening, and tell him all that has happened."

"Your brother-in-law?"

"Mr. Carruthers, my sister's husband.
Much depends on George's mother being kept
in ignorance, and Mr. Carruthers must be
prepared."

During this short dialogue, Jim had been
speaking earnestly to Mr. Tatlow, apparently
urging very strongly an. earnest appeal. On
its cessation, Mr. Tatlow addressed Mr.
Lowther.

"He agrees to everything, if one of you
gentlemen will write to Mrs. Routh for him.
That's it, ain't it?" said he, turning again to
Jim.

"Yes, sir," said the boy, with an earnestness
of entreaty in his voice and his look which
touched the listeners. "If one of you will
write to her. I don't mean a letter of your
own—grand like— for then she mightn't
believe it, and she might think as I was paid. I
did it for Mr. Dallas, but I don't think as I
should have done it if he hadn't been bad to
her, and if I hadn't seen her a-dyin' day after
day, as courageous as can be, but still a-dyin',
and he a-neglectin' of her first and deceivin' of
her after."

"She is this man's accomplice," said Mr.
Lowther, moodily.

"Perhaps so, to a certain extent," said Mr.
Felton; " but she is to be pitied, too. I saw
that. I saw a little way into her life at
Homburg, and, from all George has told me, I would
be as little hard with her as possible. He cannot
escape us, she cannot shield, him; let us
hear what the boy wishes to say to her, and
then decide. Tell me," he said, kindly, to Jim,
"what do you wish to say to this lady?"

"You must understand," said Mr. Tatlow,
"that you can't send your letter till we've got
him."

"I don't want to, sir," said Jim; " I think
as he's runnin' away from her to-night,
partik'lar as the lady is gone."

(Mr. Tatlow had ascertained the fact of Mrs.
P. Ireton Bembridge's departure during his
brief absence.)

"He didn't go home last night, and I think
as he's afraid to face her, and is runnin' away
to-night."

"Very well, then," said Mr. Lowther, "I
will write the letter. You shall tell me what
to say, and it shall be sent to her this evenin."

So Jim dictated, with infinite difficulty and
astonishing slowness, and Mr. Lowther wrote:

" Dear Ma'am. This comes from Jim Swain,
as wouldn't like to hurt you, but has to tell at
last, because of Mr. Dallas being took for what
he didn't do. I wanted to see you to-day, but
you was out, and I couldn't, and I come down
here and heard of Mr. Dallas being took. You
weren't in it, dear ma'am, I'm sure, and so I have
told the gentlemen and Mr. Tatlow, which has
me in charge at present; but you know it, and
that Mr. Dallas did not do it, and Mr. Routh
did. I followed them all the night it was done,
and I saw Mr. Deane and Mr. Routh going
down to the river, and I went down to the river,
when one was gone away alive and the other
couldn't be found, only his blood on the
stones, and I found the gold thing he had
on his chain, which the gentleman has it now,
and Mr. Routh have the same in a little drawer
in the big desk in the parlour. I haven't hid
anything, dear ma'am, and Mr. Routh will be
took, at six o'clock, at the railway, where he told
me to meet him, which so I am to do. I know
about a lady, too, which her picture is in the
gold thing, and I would have told you about her
if I could have seen you to-day. I hope you
won't be hurt. I didn't mean to do it to hurt
you. I wish I hadn't been so secret so long."

When Jim had formally made his mark, the
letter was sealed and directed, and Mr. Lowther
took charge of it.

Considerably before the platform of the
London-bridge railway station, from which the
tidal train for Folkstone was about to start,
had received the usual crowd of passengers and
their friends, a lady, plainly dressed, and closely
veiled, made her unobtrusive appearance upon
it. " I am waiting to see a friend off," she had
said, as the official at the barrier questioned
her, and she attracted no further notice. Slowly
and with downcast eyes, and hands which
clasped each other closely under her shawl, she
walked up and down, keeping close to the wall,
and allowing the groups, as they began to
form, to form between her and the edge of the
platform. Once or twice she unclasped her
hands, and lifted her veil, and breathed deeply;
then, after one piercing glance, which
comprehended every face under the roof within its
vision, dropped it again. Once, as she did
this, a nursemaid with a child in her arms at
the back of the platform noticed her, and said to
a fellow-servant,

"That woman's face is enough to frighten
one; she looks like death!"

But life was strong in Harriet Ronth, and
hope was strong in her also, a terrible hope,