purpose. Read that. Its contents will be no
news to you, I dare say. But feast your eyes
on your precious handiwork. Read it, I say!"

Corda mechanically took the letter from his
hand, and cast her eyes on it. Once or twice
she pressed her trembling hands together, as
though to steady them. After two or three
attempts, she dropped the letter in her lap,
and sank back in her chair.

"I cannot read it," she murmured.
"Indeed, indeed, Alf, I tried to read it, but I
cannot. The letters swim before my eyes."

"Oh, you can't read, can't you? But you
could write, it seems, and prowl, and spy, and
betray your own brother. Hear what she says;
it will please you."

He read rapidly: " ' These disclosures have
caused me the greatest pain, but there is no
possibility of doubting their truth. I need not
recapitulate the charges which Mr. Charlewood'
—curse him! — ' has brought against you, as
your own conscience will, no doubt, accuse you
more heavily than any words of mine can do.'
You see you have been highly successful;
there is a tribute to your talents! And again,
here: ' I can only trust that you will wreak
none of the anger which this letter is calculated
to cause you, on the amiable child who has thus
innocently been the means —— '"

Alfred broke off in his reading to crush
the letter in his hand, and to pour forth
the most terrible imprecations. Corda
shudderingly raised her clasped hands, and cried to
him:

"Oh, Alf, you must not say such dreadful
things! not for my sake, but for yours; it kills
me to hear them. It kills me, Alf, it kills me!"

"Not for my sake, but for yours," he
repeated, with a sneer that drew his lips back
from his white glittering teeth. "Do you
think you can humbug me still, you canting
little hypocrite? For my sake? "What did you
ever do, or care, for my sake? It was a lie, all
a lie, from beginning to end, your pretended
fondness and affection! You never loved me!"

The child fell down before him, quivering
like a wounded bird, and clasped his knees.

"Alf," she gasped, "Alf, if you knew, if I
could tell you how it was, you — you — wouldn't
say — such cruel, cruel things. I — it was by
accident — I saw a letter — partly copied out—
and then I knew by it that — that others had
gone before, — and there was the address. And,
Alf, I prayed — oh, I did pray so hard to do
right. It was cruel to injure Mr. Charlewood,
dear Alf."

At the name he made a rough, sudden
movement to shake her off, but she clung to him
still.

"Oh, it was not cruel to injure me, I sup-
pose? Your own brother, your darling Alf?
Lying little devil!"

"No, Alf, — only hear me, I humbly beg of
you, — I didn't think it would injure you. I—
I tried to screen you, God knows I did. But
I couldn't let that evil be done, dear, dear Alf,
and be at peace. I — I — even hoped and prayed
—that — that if I could set it right — and no
—harm came of what you had done — it might
be — easier for you to be forgiven — and to grow
good, dear Alf,—  and when you say — I — I never
loved you, darling Alf, my own, own brother—
it breaks my heart, it does — it does."

The tears came at last in such a passion of
weeping, as shook her feeble frame with
convulsive sobs. It might have moved him to
compassion to see her clinging round him, kissing
his hands, and covering them with her
bright hair, all wet and stained with tears. But
the demon temper within him made him blind
and deaf to all save the promptings of his
ungoverned fury.

"You have betrayed me, and ruined me, like
a cold-hearted, ungrateful, treacherous little
spy as you are," he cried, struggling to release
himself from her clasp. " Only this very day,
almost within this hour, I was planning to take
you abroad with me, to make you well and
happy, and to have you to live with me always.
I little thought what a treacherous little viper,
—let me go, I say; tears are easy enough to
you, no doubt. Now, from this time forward,
all is over between us; remember that. You
have been clever enough to deceive me for a
long time, but if you were a thousand times
more clever, you could not make me believe in
you again. You never loved me, — let me go,—
I say again you never loved me; you're a canting,
lying hypocrite, and I hate the sight of
you!"

By a sudden exertion of his strength he
unclasped her clinging hands, and, in his mad rage,
thrust her from him with such violence that the
blood gushed from her mouth as she fell heavily
upon the floor at his feet.

On Thursday, 12th December, will be published
THE
EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS,
Written entirely
BY CHARLES DICKENS
AND WILKIE COLLINS.

A NEW SERIAL STORY,
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
Will shortly appear in these pages.

In a few days, in 3 vols., post 8vo,
MABEL'S PROGRESS.
A NOVEL.
By the Author of "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, Piccadilly.