and that lady was crouched on an adjacent,
doorstep, eating something from a wooden bowl.
Engaged thus, she did not observe Lord Kalydon,
until he stood before her. At the first
sound of his voice, the wretched old hag
started so convulsively that her bowl flew
one way, her broom another, while she
herself, cowering in an attitude of abject terror,
gazed wildly up into the passion-wrought face
of him who had accosted her. It was a public
thoroughfare, and the dialogue was necessarily
brief.

"You infernal old Jezebel! You thrice
(a-hemmed) old witch, why do I find you here?
What devil's games have you been playing
now? How dared you follow me to England?
Was not the provision I was fool enough to make
to keep your cursed body and more accursed
soul together dependent on your remaining in
Africa? Do you know, beast, that you are a
murderess, and that I can give you to the hangman."

"Give me, then!" croaked the old hag. "I
done it for my boy. I nursed him in his cradle.
He was the only thing, man or beast, that ever
cared for me. I tried to live without him; but
I couldn't. So I hid myself in the sugar-ship,
and came after. They couldn't throw me
overboard, though some wanted," and she shook
her withered fist. "I come here because I can
see him, even when he don't speak to me, and
when he do—what wouldn't I do to please him,
though twenty was to die? Is she dead?" asked
the old woman, with horrible eagerness. "The
poison wasn't mixed with the snuff so strong as
I can do it."

"Peace, you monster," said Lord Kalydon,
trembling with rage. "Another word, and I
give you to the gallows. Peace, I say, for your
voice might change my purpose. You have
been faithful in your love to the child you
nursed. For that, your life is safe for me. Take
this" (he put something in her hand) "and
begone. If, in five minutes' time, you are still
found here, your blood upon your own head."

He turned, and strode away.

"I was right in my surmise," was his
explanation to Mrs. Normicutt. "'Mother Rabbit'
is an old acquaintance from Cape Coast Castle.
She nursed my ward, that boy Christian, for
several years, and was a faithful enough servant;
but she had the reputation of being a witch,
and her knowledge of drugs and deleterious
herbs," said his lordship, laughing easily,
"rendered her somehow an undesirable inmate.
She was dismissed, but found her way hither.
I fear that, whether purposely or not, she has
mingled with the snuff given her by your
kind little French neighbour some of her own
compounds harmless to herself, but perilous,
even when only shaken into the air, to organs
differently constituted. Every passing
recognition of the lovely little benefactor was
rewarded by an invisible cloud of poison. If
inquiry be considered necessary, she can be
apprehended, and my testimony is at your service."

It was not considered necessary. Mother
Rabbit, acting upon my lord's advice, shouldered
her broom, and departed; the deposed potentate,
slightly more imbecile than before, returning
to his throne. No inquiry was made as to
her after-residence.

Lord Kalydon carried off Mr. Bohné the same
day, consoling us for his loss by obtaining for
us a half-holiday.

Tseery rallied wonderfully, and within three
weeks her sweet voice was again occasionally
audible, her bright pale face glimmering from
the window. She was not, however, allowed
to go out at present. Meanwhile, the holidays
inexorably drew near. I went home, thence to
Sandhurst, and, in due time, with my regiment
to India.

Seven years thereafter I was once more in
London. Being, one Sunday morning, not far
from the chapel we used to attend at school, I
walked thither, and took my place, not without
a glance towards the well-remembered pew.
It was tenanted, as I had expected, by strangers;
and it was near the close of the service when
my eyes, unconsciously returning in that direction,
lighted upon Desirée! One glance enabled
me to see that she was ten times lovelier
than ever. I could not tell if she had recognised
me or not. She left the chapel leaning on the
arm of a tall man who had accompanied her.
Lingering near the entry, I accosted the old
pew-opener as she came out, and, after a word
or two, asked, as carelessly as I could,

"So, Mademoiselle Lamond is—is married,
ha?"

"Not as I've heerd on, sir," was the answer.

"But, that gentleman?"

"Oh, sir, 'tis her uncle."

I gave the old lady—she was such a very
old acquaintance—five shillings.

And the boy's love is the man's; for Tseery
is my darling and my wife.

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

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

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