goodness. What should I be—think, what
should I be—if I could avail myself of your
sweet compassion to bind you—you with your
brilliant prospects—to a man so poor, so
burdened, as I am?"

Mabel had hidden her face in her hands. She
raised it slowly now, and it looked pale and
white in the gathering dusk.

"You would show yourself to be strong and
good," she answered with a quivering voice.
"You would prove that you know how small
and poor all worldly considerations are in the
presence of a true love."

"All mere worldly considerations, Mabel.
But there are others which——Ah, think what
it must be for me to plead thus against myself!"
He broke off abruptly, and pressed his hands
to his head.

"And think," she answered, " what it must
be for me to plead for myself! But, Clement,
be sure—nay, I believe you are sure—that if I
had not thought you spoke the full and simple
truth when you told me that you loved me
still, there is no power on earth which could
have made me speak the words I have spoken!"
The old haughty curve on the delicate mouth,
the old proud drooping of the eyes! He might
have measured the depth of her love for him
by the struggle that her pride was making to
subdue all manifestation of tenderness. But in
an instant she went on impulsively, " What is
money, or what money can bring, between you
and me? You would have bestowed your great
wealth upon me, a poor penniless girl, because
you loved me. Did the sacrifice appear very
great?"

"You know, Mabel, that there would have
been no sacrifice. If I could have been made
ruler of the world, my highest pride would have
been to call you my wife."

"And yet you cannot credit me with feeling
in that way! You talk of my brilliant
prospects! In another year I shall, if my health is
spared, have earned money enough to achieve
one great purpose of my life, a provision for
Dooley's education, and a sum sufficient (with
what she has already) to provide a comfortable
subsistence for my mother. Those are my
' brilliant prospects.' I do not despise them.
I am glad and grateful to have succeeded so
far. But when once that is done, what are the
' brilliant prospects ' before me? And you?
Shall you be happy? Ah, a man's love is not
as a woman's! He can bestow royally, but he
cannot be generous enough to accept!" Tears
were falling down her cheeks as she spoke, and
she turned away to hide them.

"Mabel! Mabel!" shouted a voice at a little
distance, and in a moment Jack came running
towards them. He was breathless and agitated.
"Mabel," he cried, "they are looking for you.
Jerry Shaw is here. He went first to Desmond
Lodge, and not finding you, came on here. He
is come on a sad errand. Poor little Corda
Trescott, they think, is dying, and she has been
begging to see you and Mr. Charlewood. Will
you go to her?"

Mabel flew along the garden path to the
lawn, where a little group of persons was
standing. Jerry Shaw was in the midst, leaning
on his stick, and with a face full of woe.
Lingo was not with him. When he saw Mabel
and Clement, he advanced towards them
hurriedly. " She's going, the darling," he said.
"The sweet loving little angel is ready to take
flight from among us. Will you come to her,
Miss Bell? It's for the last time. She'll never
trouble you nor anybody else any more." Old
Jerry wiped his eyes on his checked
handkerchief. " He wouldn't leave her a minute," he
went on; " there he lies stretched by her
bedside, and it's hard to get him. away, even to
take his food."

"Her father?" asked Mrs. Saxelby.

"No, ma'am. My dog Lingo. Her father's
a poor demented kind of creature. He does
nothing but moan and bother her. She went
to sleep this afternoon, and woke up about an
hour ago, and says she, ' Mr. Shaw, I know I
shall not be here very long, and I'd be very
thankful if I could see my dear Miss Mabel
before I go away, and Mr. Charlewood too.
I want to speak to him. Would you ask them
to come to me?' And when I promised that
I would set off to find the two of ye that
minute, she just gave a smile that seemed to
light up the room, so bright it was, and laid
down again as quiet as a lamb. I have a cab
waiting here at the gate, Miss Bell."

Mabel and Clement followed the old man to
the vehicle, and in a few minutes they were
driving at a rapid pace towards Blackfriars.

CHAPTER X. CALM.

As they went along through the rattling
streets, old Jerry related to them at intervals,
and in a broken manner, how Corda had been
found insensible on the floor three days ago;
how they had thought her dead at first, for that
her mouth and clothes were stained with blood;
how, when she had come to herself again, she
had merely declared that she had hurt herself in
falling over a footstool; and how she had been
in bed ever since, and growing rapidly weaker.
"I knew in my heart," said Jerry, " that she
wasn't very long for this world, but I little
thought it would be so soon. In these three
days her strength has been going, going, like
snow-flakes melting in the sun. And I believe,
on my soul, that that brother of hers has been
murdering her."

"You don't suppose," cried Clement, hastily,
"that he used any violence to the child?"

"I don't suppose he took a cudgel and
knocked her brains out," said Jerry, nodding
his head portentously, "but I do suppose that
there are more ways of killing than one. She
couldn't bear unkindness from those she loved,
any more than a little tender blossom can bear
a north-east wind. And she had the purest,
most sensitive conscience in the world. She
suffered for all her brother's sins that she knew
of, more than a good many tough people—who