wrong to allow him to go alone, after having
placed my child in safety. If anything happens,
I shall never forgive myself." Such were the
thoughts that crossed my mind.

"There he is!" cried Margaret. " I see his
cap between two great stones. He is rising
slowly. Now I can see his head and shoulders.
He is stooping; and, look! he is helping
madame over the rocks, much in the way that
you helped me. What a relief!"

She came, sure enough— thanks to the gallant
fellow— but drabbled, draggled, more dead than
alive, her shawl gone, her finery limp. When
he first caught sight of her, he told us, the water
was already up to her armpits. He swam to her,
and she refused to stir. " Leave me to die," she
said. " I must die." He had to drag her away
by force. It was only when he got her on the rocks
that she moved forward of her own free will.

At the guard-house, after a dram, she
revived; so much so as to be able to proceed
on foot, with our assistance and that of her
rescuer, over the cliff down to Sangatte. Miss
Clialker happily had been under no anxiety, not
expecting us much before the actual time of our
arrival. Madame was got to bed at once. The wind
and the long walk over the hill had pretty nearly
dried and drained us. Our coast-guard friend
sat down with us to dinner at once; and — didn't
he relish his well-earned meal and the glasses of
hot wine (to keep the cold out) that washed it
down! Miss Clialker agreed to remain that night
with madame at Sangatte, while Margaret and
I returned, to prevent exaggerated accounts
from reaching M. Dupuis. Next day, we would
fetch madame home.

"VVe found M. Dupuis in bed. I went up to
his attic. He was fast asleep. I woke him.

"Monsieur Dupuis," I said, " I regret to tell
you that an unpleasant accident has happened to
madame. We were caught by the tide at
Blanez, and might have been drowned.
Madame remains at Sangatte; but we hope
tomorrow ——"

"Very good!" he said, in a dreamy way, and
laughing slightly. " I understand; I know all
about that. You are come to break it to me
gently. But you need not have troubled yourself;
I can bear the loss." He laughed again, turned
over on his side, and resumed his slumbers.

Early next morning, Margaret and I lost no
time in re-conveying Madame Dupuis— nearly
re-established in health, though sorely tried in
habiliments — to the presence of her un-disconsolate
husband.

By unlucky chance, he was standing at the
door, after indulging in a longer morning snooze
than was his wont, just as our carriage drove
up. On beholding the apparition of his wife,
a blue-blank pallor overspread his face.

"You look astonished to see me," she abruptly
remarked. "Perhaps you think it was my fault."

"It certainly was your fault, madame," I
said, losing temper. "It was not your fault that
we were not all lost; and it assuredly was not
your fault that you were not lost yourself."

"Do you hear?" she sharply asked her
husband.

"Hum! Yes. I believe Monsieur Smithson.
Very sorry for it, very sorry indeed. If it is
not your fate to be drowned, you will die by
some other death. That's all."

"I ask you, did you hear what Monsieur
Smithson said?"

"Yes, treasure of my life, I did hear. And I
suppose that explanation is all the winnings I am
to expect. Our game turns out a game 'for
love' after all. Are we to begin again; or ——"

"Monsieur Dupuis," I interrupted, " instead
of rambling on with this strange talk, you had
better go and fetch the doctor. Your wife needs
medical advice, after the fatigues of yesterday."

He went away, but not, I think, to the doctor.
Madame rapidly recovered.

In a few days, the conjugal bickerings were
renewed with greater bitterness than ever. We
soon agreed that it was far from pleasant to
remain under a roof where evil passions were
constantly at work. We consequently installed
ourselves elsewhere, and thought no more of the
Dupuis couple and their quarrels.

Several months afterwards we heard that M.
Dupuis's body had been found on a distant and
desolate part of the coast, where it had been
stranded by the waves, with no clue as to the
time, or place, or circumstances of his death.
Little doubt he was sick of his life. Madame
Dupuis closed her lodgings, and then left the
neighbourhood. Our coast-guard is still alive
and well. When he comes to dine with us, he
not only brings with him a sea-side appetite, but
also wears a silver medal suspended at his button-
hole.

FROM A REAL PITMAN. The conclusion of this article
was sent to press with the following note, which was
accidentally omitted from the foot of page 8:

"These are the honest Pitman's opinions, not
ours.

Now ready, stitched in a cover, price Fourpence,

MUGBY JUNCTION.

THE EXTRA NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS.

CONTENTS.

BARBOX BROTHERS . . . . . By CHARLES DICKENS.
BARBOX BROTHERS AND CO. . . BY CHARLES DICKENS.
MAIN LINE. THE BOY AT MUGBY . By CHARLES DICKENS.
No. 1 BRANCH LINE. THE SIGNALMAN  BY CHARLES DICKENS.
No. 2 BRANCH LINE. THE ENGINE DRIVER . . . . . . . BY ANDREW HALLIDAY.
No. 3 BRANCH LINE. THE COMPENSATION HOUSE . . . . . BY CHARLES COLLINS.
No. 4 BRANCH LINE. THE TRAVELLING POST-OFFICE . . . BY HESBA STRETTON.
No. 5 BRANCH LINE. THE ENGINEER . . . . . . . . . BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

Early in January will be published

THE SIXTEENTH VOLUME.

Price 5s. 6d., bound in cloth..