some talk with him. It was to be a family
party, with the exception of Broadhurst and
his son, and the clergyman and his wife, to
whom Mrs. Ranford had imparted her scheme,
and implored the vicar's aid in the crisis.

Longmore, on entering his house, met his
sister in the hall, and they embraced each
other affectionately. Mary, who had been
there some days, remained in the drawing-
room, for she was too much terrified to
venture out.  Mrs. Ranford having seen her
brother relieved of his coats and wrappers,
opened the drawing-room door, and purposely
allowed him to go in first. Scarcely did he,
however, set his foot in the room, than he
turned round, and with a fierce low outburst
of — " The devil!" he plunged past Mrs.
Ranford in the direction of the hooks on
which hung  his hat and coat. Mrs. Ranford
had probably expected something of the kind,
for she suddenly opposed her large calm
person in his way and — as he gave her a
terrible look, saying—

"You, sister! you!" she seized him by
both arms, and said—

"Brother! brother! show yourself a man
and a Christian. There are things to tell you
that will set everything right."

At the same moment Mary rushed from the room,
clasped his knees, and cried in
agonised tones—"Oh, father! father!"

But Longmore had by this time grasped his
hat with one hand, thrust it upon his head,
snatched his great coat with the other, had
given himself a furious shake loose, and dashed
out of the door. The scene he left behind was
awful. Mary Longmore had sunk down on
the floor where her father had left her, and
was weeping convulsively. Mrs. Ranford was
exclaiming,
"What a madman! What a fury! But
he shall be brought to reason."

Tom Broadhurst stood over Mary, whispering
to her something which only seemed to
increase, if either, the violence of her grief;
and Mr. Broadhurst almost wept.

"Stop him, Mrs. Ranford! Send after
him!   I won't stand in his way. I will
retire to the inn."  And with that Mr.
Broadhurst also snatched his hat, and rushed out.

What a New Year's dinner-party! what
an upshot of the experiment! Mrs. Ranford
did not send after her brother. She knew
very well she might just as rationally send
for Lincoln Minster; but she set about to
comfort Mary, telling her never to fear - all
should be right yet; her father's proud spirit
should be made to bend. It was a miserable
scene.

Meantime Longmore had hastened into the
stableyard, where his horse was not yet got
out of his harness — made the man put him in
again in desperate speed, jumped into the gig,
and drove off. The snow was now falling in
masses — a keen east wind drove it into his
face and bosom — it was pitch dark, and
neither man nor horse could tell which was
road, and which was not.  But the storm
within Longmore's breast raged far more
fiercely than it did without. He lashed his
horse, and whirled on. But even the horse
began to slacken, spite of the whip, and
betrayed unmistakeable symptoms of uncertainty
and reluctance to proceed. Longmore gave
him some unmerciful cuts, which for a while
sent him forward at a good rate. But again
the poor horse stopped; and in response to
the whip only reared, wheeled aside, and
refused to go. None but a madman would
attempt such a road on such a night. The
horse evidently thought so, and therefore
stood stock still, in spite of the murderous
inflictions of Longmore's whip. At length
Longmore saw that it was no use to urge him.
"Fool!" he exclaimed; gave the rein a pull
to the left, and the poor animal, joyfully obeying
the hint, turned, and proceeded at a rapid
rate towards the farm. He would have
stopped at Mrs. Ranford's gate; but again
Longmore applied the whip, and the gig rolled
expeditiously on to the village-inn. Here
Longmore flung the reins on the horse's neck,
and stalked into the house. There was a
considerable crowd of labourers drinking and
smoking in the common room, who, as well as
the landlady, stared to see him enter.

"Put up my horse," he said; and was
proceeding to enter the parlour.

"I beg your pardon, Sir," said the landlady;
"but that room is engaged."

"Show me another, then," said Longmore.
The landlady opened another door, saying—

"But there is no fire, Sir!"

"Then make one," said Longmore, gruffly;
and entering, flung himself on the sofa, in his
snow-covered clothes and hat. The landlady
quickly brought a light, and attempted to
light the fuel already in the grate; but the
sticks were damp. They refused to kindle,
and the poor woman hastily clearing out the
grate, brought forth wood and live coal from
the kitchen. In vain! The chimney was
damp; the smoke drove down, and filled the
room; Longmore bade her angrily let the fire
alone, and go. She made her exit in evident
alarm.

Longmore sat gloomily on the sofa. The
room was deathly cold; the smoke filled his
eyes and lungs with its sharp, suffocating
vapour—he looked round and wished himself
dead. But something now caught his attention.
The room was only divided from the
next by a thin wooden partition. The
landlord was holding a garrulous talk with some
guest there, and every word he uttered was
as audible as if in the room itself. Longmore
started. He heard his own name. Yes!—
there it was again.

"So he's likely, I hear, to get the property
back again. They say the old woman has
peached; but I know not. If she was bought
one way she may be bought another, and
Longmore is a determined man."

"Silence!" said another voice—it was no