MABEL'S PROGRESS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."

BOOK V.

CHAPTER IX. CLEMENT UNDERSTANDS WHY THE
LOCK WAS OILED.

IT was barely nine o'clock on that same bright
summer Sunday evening of which I have
written in my last chapter, when Clement
Charlewood reached his home. But Walter
was already in bed.

"He went up-stairs half an hour ago," said
Penelope, "and locked his door. I wanted a
book that he had carried to his room, and
knocked at his door to ask for it, but he would
not answer for a long time, and at last called
out that he was in bed, and that it was useless
to knock and disturb him, for he should make
it a rule not to take any notice of such                                                  interruptions. Civil, wasn't it?"

"It is very strange," said Clement, thoughtfully.                                                    "Watty was always pettish and quick
tempered, but it seems to me that his disposition
is changing lately into moroseness and
brutality. This freak of shutting himself up
in his own room, too, is unlike his old self."

The brother and sister chatted together some
time longer. Clement said a few words to his
sister about his chance meeting with little Corda;
but he did not, in repeating what the child had
said, mention Mabel's name. It seemed impossible
to him to talk about her, even to Penelope.
He was sure of Penny's fullest sympathy for
himself, but the risk of provoking a sharp word
against her involved too painful a possibility.

Long before twelve o'clock all was profoundly
quiet in the little household at Barnsbury.
Mrs. Charlewood was with her daughter in
Mayfair. The little servant had gone home to
sleep. Clement and his sister had supped
quietly and had retired to rest. A little after
midnight, Penelope, who slept lightly, raised
herself on her elbow to listen to an unusual
sound in the basement story.

"It is just as though some one were trying
the street door," she said to herself. Then
she listened more intently. For a few minutes
all was still, then again came the sound. This
time it was unmistakably the noise made by a
key in the lock of the street door. Penny
promptly wrapped a shawl round her shoulders,
thrust her feet into slippers, and ran softly and
swiftly to Clement's door.

"Clem!" she cried, "Clem, get up for an
instant. There's an odd noise down-stairs.
I'm not desperately frightened, but I should
like to satisfy myself what it is. I will wait for
you on the stairs."

She stood still, looking out of the staircase
window into the darkness, and in a few minutes
her brother joined her.

"What is it?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Some one tampering with the lock of the
house door. Hush! There again! Don't you
hear it?"

"Yes; I hear it distinctly enough, but I
don't think there can be any cause for alarm. I
secured the fastening myself. Besides,
housebreakers don't come to one's door and announce
themselves in that way, and Heaven knows
we have little to tempt thieves. However, we
will see what it is."

As he spoke, he struck a match and lit a
candle. The noise down-stairs grew louder.
A key was being violently moved about in the
lock, and the door shook and rattled.

"Shall I call Walter?" asked Penelope.

"Yes," answered her brother, after a moment's
thought; "call him."

She knocked loudly at Walter's door, calling
him at the same time by name, and urging him
to rise. There was no response.

"If the house were on fire, Wat would
infallibly be burnt in his bed," muttered Penelope,
running down-stairs. Clement was already in
the passage, and the noise without had ceased.
Penelope took the candle and held it whilst her
brother undid the fastenings of the door. As
soon as it was opened, a man pushed into the
passage and staggered against the wall. The
flare of the candle fell full upon his face. It
was Walter Charlewood. Clement had already
raised his hand to repulse the intruder, but, on
recognising his brother, stood still, transfixed
with surprise. Penelope gave a great start, but
uttered no sound, and the three remained for
some seconds silent and motionless.

"Where's my mother?" demanded Walter, at
length, glaring wildly at the others. His face was
pale, his hair dishevelled, his dress disordered.
He spoke thickly and huskily, and leant against
the wall behind him to support himself.

"Walter! " cried Clement, fixing his eyes upon
his brother's face, "can I believe my senses!