"And this gentleman—the—the employer,
does he credit the anonymous dastardly
villain?"

"Who, M'Culloch? Not he! Bless you,
he is a fine honest-hearted old fellow. He
loyally showed these letters to Charlewood
from the very first. But, at the same time, it is
an irritating, anxious thing to have these kind
of accusations constantly and perseveringly
made. You see, Charlewood is in a very
responsible position, and has the command of
large sums of money belonging to M'Culloch,
and—"

"He cannot suspect his probity! It is
impossible. No one who knew Clement
Charlewood could doubt him for an instant."

Mabel had risen and faced her cousin with
eyes in which tears of indignation were
glistening.

"Why, Mabel! I did not know that you
would take it so much to heart."

"I do take it to heart," she answered,
bravely, though the bright colour mounted to
her brow. "Clement Charlewood was a kind
and true friend to us, and I know him to be as
honourable and good a man as any under
heaven."

Jack looked at her thoughtfully for a minute
or two.

"I did not know that you had so much
regard for these people, Mabel," he said,
gravely. "I fancied they had behaved ill to
you in some way. I suppose I got that
impression from our 'snaky-eyed' friend—you
remember? But, any way, one can't, help feeling
very sorry for these Charlewoods, for they are
in terrible trouble just now."

"Oh, Jack, what is it.? Tell me; pray tell me
at once!" She spoke very quietly, but her
knit brow and parted lips betrayed the eager
anxiety with which she awaited his reply.

"Well, the younger brother—I forget his
name—"

"Walter—Walter."

"Yes; Walter is missing."

"Missing?"

"Disappeared from his home; and they've
been searching everywhere for these two days
past, putting advertisements in the papers, and
doing all they can to discover him and induce
him to come back; but in vain, hitherto. From
what I can hear, it would be no great loss to
society in general if he never did turn up again.
M'Culloch says that he was an extravagant,
dissipated young scamp; and it comes out now
that, he was over head and ears in debt, unknown
to his family, and that Charlewood has been
half distracted by the discoveries that have been
made since his brother's disappearance."

"Poor Clement!" murmured Mabel. "Ah!
how he must suffer!"

"But you see," pursued Jack, "his mother,
naturally enough, is not of my way of thinking.
She is on a sick-bed has got a kind of low
nervous fever from anxiety- and they're all in
a most pitiable condition."

"Jack," cried Mabel, with sudden resolution,
"will you do me a favour? Get the Charlewoods'
address from Mr. M'Culloch. I will go
and see them. I may not be able to help them,
and probably shall not; but I know that the
mere attempt to do so will be welcome to Mrs.
Charlewood. It will be sweet to her to feel
that she is remembered and cared for. She is
a kind-hearted, affectionate-natured woman, and
I was a great favourite of hers—long ago."

Mabel and her mother alighted from a cab at
the beginning of the street called De Montfort
Villas, on that same afternoon. They had
judged it better not to drive up to the Charlewoods'
door, for fear of disturbing and exciting
the sick woman. The little servant—on
whom Penelope's impressive injunctions to be
very quiet had produced such an effect, that she
stole about the house on tiptoe and with much
elaborate action of her elbows, and spoke in a
hoarse whisper, which appeared to cost her
exquisite pain—admitted the visitors, and
promised to send down Miss Charlewood to them
forthwith. Mrs. Saxelby looked round the poor
parlour, and then out on to the waste ground.

"What a change for Mrs. Charlewood!" she
murmured. "She who was surrounded with
gilding and finery like an Indian idol to think
of her coming to be poor!"

"Her poverty is the least part of her sorrows,
I should think, mamma," said Mabel.

As she spoke, the door opened softly, and
Penelope Charlewood entered the room. She
was not prepared to see them, for they had
desired the servant merely to announce some
old friends of Mrs. Charlewood. For a moment
she stood still, surprised and irresolute; then
she advanced and took Mrs. Saxelby's proffered
hand, but with some coldness and constraint.

"I hope you will forgive our coming, Penelope,"
said Mabel's sweet thrilling voice." I
thought—I hoped, that mamma's face, as that
of an old friend, might not be unwelcome to
Mrs. Charlewood."

"You have come to a miserable house, Mabel
Earnshaw," replied Penelope, turning towards
her, and speaking in a tone rendered almost
stern by the resolute repression of the emotion
that was striving to master her self-possession.

"We heard of your trouble, and of your
mother's illness," said Mabel, timidly laying her
hand on Penelope's arm, "and I ventured to
come not intrusively or unfeelingly, believe
me—but because I did so truly wish to see dear
Mrs. Charlewood, and to beg that you would do
me the great favour of letting me show in some
way, however trifling, that I am not unmindful
of your mother's goodness to me in the old
days."

She spoke humbly, almost pleadingly, and
there was no trace of the haughty curve on her
lip which Penelope remembered so well. A
thought, of the last interview they had had passed
through Penelope's mind, when the two girls
had walked side by side up the little garden at
Jessamine Cottage, and Mabel's sensitive pride
had taken alarm so quickly at the hint respecting
Clement.