life, and in which, too, she had acquitted herself
with credit. She felt pride that she had proved
herself equal to that bitter, wicked campaigner,
who was double her size and strength. She
was "a young thing," and had a natural pride
in her victory. But she knew nothing of the
little hair-springs and cog-wheels and endless
mechanism of the human heart, or she would
have felt that this assault, aimed really at her
client, had made her more than ever his
protector. Nay, she resented the ill-judged attempt
to dispossess him, and advance another.
Unconsciously, she found herself resisting what
was so awkwardly being forced upon her.

Miss West went home, through the cold
searching winds, which made her thin chest
shrink and shiver. She found her brother still
busy with his papers. She had not seen him
all the morning. His eyes were bright; his forehead
clear. The weather had no effect on him;
yet she realised, with a pang, there had been a
time when it deepened his melancholy. Now he
was secure.

"My dear Margaret," he said, cheerfully,
"are you ready for a secret? I have been
turning a plan over all last night. You know I
should have to go home next month to look after
our business. Well, I have made up my mind to
go at once. It is only anticipating a little."

"Go at once!" she repeated. "Why?"

"Oh, many whys and many wherefores. I
have all sorts of things to do, though I shall be a
very short time away. I shall go to-night. I
may as well."

"Go to-night! What is the meaning of all
this?" She spoke with a sort of hopelessness,
for she knew it was idle opposing him.

"Because I shall be back the sooner. I shall
go straight to Westown—the old house."

"Why, you told me you could not endure to
go within twenty miles of it—that your heart
would sink——"

"Ah, then; yes. But it must be done at
some time, and it is as well to get over such
fancies. I'll make a plunge, Margery. The
poor old place must be in an awful stale of
decay. I'll get some clever fellow to go down
to repair and beautify."

"I know the reason of this folly," she said,
impatiently.

"No folly, indeed, if you knew all."

"If I knew all?"

"Ah, you know very little, Margery; forgive
your brother for telling you so. Then, there is
that poor Dacres and his affairs; he is such a
muddler. I am convinced he is well off, this
moment, if only some sensible man——"

"Like you. Oh, I lose all patience. You,
indeed, going off to settle their business! They
have finely entrapped you!"

"Now, Margaret," he said, coldly, " I warned
you about this. At our last conversation on
that subject, I told you I could hear no more.
My mind is made up.'

"But you must hear me, Gilbert. She no
more cares for you than——All last night she
was flirting, yes, like any——"

"Like any girl, " he said, smiling, "with the
lean Frenchmen there, I suppose. Just what
I would expect, and like to see. Wherever she
goes, she must be admired."

"But— but——Oh, I see, it is quite hopeless.
Nothing will change you; you are so
infatuated. But you will suffer for this."

The anxious sisterly heart had checked itself—
she could not bring herself to do more than
hint about last night. She could not so madly
break up his fool's paradise.

"My dear Margery," he added, kindly, "do
you come with me, to look after me, and keep
me out of these follies which you think I am
sure to fall into. We shall have a very pleasant
little expedition together."

At first she gave a start of delight. Then
the vision of the designing girl, left behind,
unchecked, unwatched, rose before her, and she
said, firmly,

"No, I must stay behind here."

He tried to persuade; but she grew obstinate.

He walked down to Mr. Dacres, the schemes
he had thus so lightly epitomised to her floating
in his head. He found Mr. Dacres cold
physically, and morally desponding.

"Ah! West, here's a hole to be put down in!
The summer of a life, the primest of a man's
days, slipping from him in a den. I shall die
here, like a poisoned rat in a hole, as that beggar
Swift said. What a mind, what a tongue, that
fellow had! When I want to rake some scoundrel
of a witness fore and aft, sir, I read over a page
of the immortal boy before going into court. I
used to read. Ah! my friend, those days are
numbered with the past. Well, sir, what's the
best news with you ?"

"I called in to tell you that I am going away
for a short time."

"The deuce you are! " said Mr. Dacres,
turning on him sharply, as he would on a
witness suddenly discovered to be hostile.
"What's that for, Mr. West?"

"Well, chiefly for you and Miss Lucy; and
I have mapped out the whole thing, and I want
some information from you."

Then he proceeded to unfold his plans—the
restoration of the family place—and added:

"You are very clever, but, I think, not the
man exactly to deal with these sharks and Jews.
I am accustomed to business, and a friend could
make better terms. We will get you quite free,
and start you fair again."

Dacres replied, with deep emotion, "West,
you've a fine nature, and a delicate one, which
I like better. I am not, indeed, up to these
things. Would I were going with you! To be
sure—yes! Why couldn't we start together?"

"That would destroy everything," said Mr.
West, firmly. "No! There's Sir John Trotter;
I am sure I know people that know him."

"Oh! my dear fellow, this overpowers me.
Why, how shall I ever——"

"No thanks. To tell you the truth, this is
not so much for you——"

"Ah! I know it is not," said the other, slyly.
"Don't tell me, my boy! Don't. And she