terribly misled by her indulgent love for
Walter. But it is useless to say more on that
head. One thing clearly results from this
discovery, that there is no safety for Walter or for
any of us so long as he remains at home."

Before the little servant rang to be admitted,
Clement and Penelope had breakfasted, and had
agreed that it would be well for the former to
have an interview alone with Walter before
going to his office.

CHAPTER X. SECRET SERVICE.

CHANCE had brought Mrs. Hutchins again
into contact with the Trescotts. Her lodger,
Mr. Shaw, was engaged at the same theatre
with Mr. Trescott, and had renewed his
acquaintance with Corda. Lingo's protecting
regard for the little girl had, Jerry Shaw
maintained, influenced his master in her favour.
"We often talk of the time at Kilclare," said
Jerry to Mr. Trescott, with inscrutable gravity,
"and Lingo has always the kind word for your
little white colleen."

With Corda's father and brother, Mr. Shaw
steadily refused to form any close acquaintance.
Alfred, indeed, would have contemptuously
rejected all advances towards intimacy on
the part of Jerry Shaw, had any such been
made. If he had any feeling at all for the
old man, it was dislike. But Jerry troubled
neither father nor son, and limited his attention
strictly to Corda. He would escort the
child on long excursions into the country.
They usually proceeded in the following manner.
Corda was put into an omnibus, bound
for some distant outskirt of London. Mr.
Shaw would mount on to the top, and Lingo,
if disposed for much exercise, would run by
the side of the vehicle. Arrived at their
destination, Mr. Shaw and his young companion
would alight, and strike across some pleasant
path through the fields, or along a pretty high
road, bordered with tangled hedges, and with
a rustic inn or dwelling-house here and there
breaking its monotony. Lingo trotted before
them or beside them, or sometimes walked
solemnly at their heels with a responsible air.
These walks were very pleasant to Corda.
She and her oddly-matched companion chatted
together with quaint gravity. Jerry Shaw was
well acquainted with the country, and with the
hidden treasure-houses of delight and interest
to be found in hedgerow, meadow, and coppice.
He had wonderful stories to tell of his boyish
days in Ireland (for to Corda he had long
ceased to deny the land of his birth, as he
sometimes chose to do to the rest of the world),
of tramps over wide bog and barren mountain,
of fishing in sequestered streams, of dangerous
boating in the rock-bound bays and creeks of
the blue Atlantic, of wild mad gallops over long
desolate tracts of country on a half-broken
spirited blood horse.

Once Corda had said to him: "Then you must
have been rich when you were young, Mr. Shaw,
if you had a horse to ride upon." Jerry had
thereupon shut his lips as with a spring, and for
an hour had uttered no articulate sound, only
the long sniff, which Corda had learned to interpret
as a sign of dissatisfaction. But
thenceforward the child's instinctive quickness and
delicacy made her keen to avoid such occasions
of offence. Jerry kept a scrupulously accurate
register of the cost of all these excursions, and
presented it weekly to Mr. Trescott for the
payment of his daughter's share. Jerry was very
poor, though, as he often boasted, he and Lingo
did not owe a farthing in the world. The
weekly account between himself and Mr. Trescott,
however, was simply a homage to Corda's
feelings. The old man perceived her to be
uneasy at the idea that her father should allow
her to be a burden on Mr. Shaw's slender
purse. Corda was well enough acquainted with
poverty to look upon sixpences as serious
things; and the payment of her omnibus fare,
performed in her presence with much ceremony,
was a great relief to her tender conscience, and
made her feel free to enjoy the pure air and
pleasant rambles thus obtained; but there was
no record kept of the cool leaves full of fresh
dainty fruit, the bowls of rich milk, and slices
of sweet country bread with which Corda was
regaled on these occasions.

"I'm a peculiarly greedy old man," Jerry
would say, in his jerky manner. "I never can
see fresh fruit without wanting to buy some.
Same with milk. Did ye ever taste buttermilk?
Well, perhaps this is better, but it's a
matter of taste, ye know. Ate up the rest of
those cherries, Corda machree, and take warning
by me. I'm so horribly greedy that when
I see 'em, I think I want 'em, and when I've
got 'em, divil a one of 'em can I swallow! It's
a very bad thing to be greedy. Ate 'em up,
colleen bawn."

Mrs. Hutchins's opinion of her lodger was
very fluctuating. The rent for his one room
was paid with exemplary punctuality, and the
room itself was kept in a state of neat cleanliness
that was a standing reproach to the
slatternly condition of the rest of the house.
But Lingo was a subject of unceasing wonder
and curiosity in Mrs. Hutchins's mind; and his
relations with his master appeared to her so
mysterious as to warrant grave doubts whether
Mr. Shaw were not some weird magician in
disguise, and Lingo his familiar spirit.

"Talk of dogs of Montargis!" Mrs.
Hutchins would say, argumentatively. "Show me
the dog of Montargis as 'll go to the butcher's
for his three-penn'orth of liver, and bring it
home in his mouth! I think there's summat
queer about the beast. I do raly."

"Something queer," in Mrs. Hutchins's
vocabulary, meant something that she did not quite
comprehend; and whatever Mrs. Hutchins did
not quite comprehend, she invariably supposed
to be evil. Mr. Shaw was, however, a favourite
with his landlord. His punctuality, his neatness,
his honesty, and his taciturnity,
recommended themselves favourably to Mr.
Hutchins. The latter had himself a great command
of silence which was one of his wife's cherished