"And miscalculating the distance?"  I
repeated, impatiently.

"Put her head through a pane of glass,"
said the butler, in a soft voice suited to the
pathetic nature of the communication.  "By
great good fortune her ladyship had been
dressed for the day, and had got her turban
on.  This saved her ladyship's head.  But
her ladyship's neck, sir, had a very narrow
escape.  A bit of the broken glass wounded
it within half a quarter of an inch of the
carotty artery,"  (meaning, probably, carotid,)
"I heard the medical gentlemen say, and
shall never forget it to my dying day, that
her ladyship's life had been saved by a hair's-
breadth.  As it was, the blood lost (the
medical gentleman said that, too, sir) was
accidentally of the greatest possible benefit,
being apopleptic, in the way of clearing out
the system.  Her ladyship's appetite has
been improved ever since—the carriage is out
airing of her at this very moment—likewise, she
takes the footman's arm and the maid's up
and down stairs now, which she never would
hear of before this last accident.  'I feel ten
years younger' (those were her ladyship's
own words to me, this very day),  I feel ten
years younger, Vokins, since I broke the
drawing-room window.'  And her ladyship
looks it!"

No doubt.  Here was the key to Mr.
Batterbury's letter of forgiveness.  His chance
of receiving the legacy looked now farther off
than ever; he could not feel the same
confidence as his wife in my power of living down
any amount of starvation and adversity;
and he was, therefore, quite ready to take
the first opportunity of promoting my
precious personal welfare and security, of
which he could avail himself, without spending
a farthing of money.  I saw it all clearly,
and admired the hereditary toughness of the
Malkinshaw family more gratefully than
ever.  What should I do?  Go to
Duskydale ?  Why not?  I had no particular
engagements; I was ready for a change;
and I was curious to see what sort of thing a
Literary and Scientific Institution might be.
I had only to pack up my traps, write a letter
of contrition and civility to Mr. Batterbury,
and then—hey for Duskydale!

I got to my new destination the next day,
presented my credentials, gave myself the
full advantage of my high connections, and
was received with enthusiasm and distinction.
I found the new Institution torn by internal
schism, even before it was opened to the
public.  Two factions governed it—a grave
faction and a gay faction.  Two questions
agitated it: the first referring to the propriety
of celebrating the opening season by a
public ball, and the second to the expediency
of admitting novels into the library.  The
grim Puritan interest of the whole neighbourhood
was, of course, on the grave side—
against both dancing and novels, as proposed
by local loose thinkers and latitudinarians of
every degree.  I was officially introduced to
the debate at the height of the squabble; and
found myself one of a large party in a small
room, sitting round a long table, each man of
us with a new pewter inkstand, a new quill-
pen, and a clean sheet of foolscap paper
before him.  Seeing that everybody spoke, I
got on my legs along with the rest, and made
a slashing speech on the loose-thinking side.
I was followed by the leader of the grim
faction—an unlicked curate of the largest
dimensions.  "If there were, so to speak, no
other reason against dancing,"  said my
reverend opponent, "there is one unanswerable
objection to it.  Gentlemen!  John the
Baptist lost his head through dancing!"

Every man of the grim faction hammered
delightedly on the table, as that formidable
argument was produced; and the curate
sat down in triumph.  I jumped up to
reply, amid the counter-cheering of the
loose-thinkers; but before I could say a
word, the President of the Institution and
the rector of the parish came into the room.
They were both men of authority, men of
sense, and fathers of charming daughters,
and they turned the scale on the right side in
no time.  The question relating to the
admission of novels was postponed, and the
question of dancing or no dancing was put to
the vote on the spot.  The President, the
rector, and myself, the three handsomest
and highest-bred men in the assembly, led
the way on the liberal side, waggishly warning
all gallant gentlemen present to beware
of disappointing the young ladies.  This
decided the waverers, and the waverers
decided the majority.  My first business, as
secretary, was the drawing out of a model
card of admission to the ball.

My next occupation was to look at the
rooms provided for me.  The Duskydale
Institution occupied a badly-repaired ten-
roomed house, with a great flimsy saloon
built at one side of it, smelling of paint
and damp plaster, and called the Lecture
Theatre.  It was the chilliest, ugliest,
emptiest, gloomiest place I ever entered in
my life; the idea of doing anything but
sitting down and crying in it seemed to me
quite preposterous; but the committee took
a different view of the matter, and praised
the Lecture Theatre as a perfect ball-room.
The Secretary's apartments were two
garrets, asserting themselves in the most
bare-faced manner, without an attempt at
disguise.  If I had intended to do more than
earn my first quarter's salary, I should have
complained.  But as I had not the slightest
intention of remaining at Duskydale, I could
afford to establish a reputation for amiability
by saying nothing.  "Have you seen Mr.
Softly, the new Secretary?  A most
distinguished person, and quite an acquisition to
the neighbourhood."  Such was the popular
opinion of me among the young ladies and
the liberal inhabitants.  "Have you seen