of comes into my hands; I will multiply it a
thousand-fold—and then—"

"The palace will be built," said Winnington,
who could not keep anger long, "and the
place at your right hand will be got ready
for the resident physician who in the meantime
recommends you to go quietly to bed,
for you have overstrung your mind with
work, and your health, dear Arthur, is not at
all secure."

For a moment, a touch of the old kindness
came to Arthur's heart. He shook
Winnington's hand. "Thank you, thank you,"
he said, "I will do as you advise. Your
voice is very like Lucy's, and so are your
eyes—good night, dear Winnington." And
Winnington left the room, so did Arthur,
but not for bed. A short time before this, a
package had arrived from Hawsleigh, and
had been placed away in a dark closet under
the stairs. He looked for a moment out into
the night. The moon was in a cloud, and
the Wind was howling with a desolate sound
over the bare moor. He took down the
package, and from it extracted a spade
and a pickaxe; and, gently opening the front
door, went out. He walked quickly till he
came to the waterfall; he looked carefully
round and saw a clump of broom. The
ground from the rectory to this place formed
a gentle declivity; where the river flowed
there were high banks, for the stream had not
yet been swelled by the rains, and he first
descended into the bed, and examined
the denuded cliffs. He then hurried
towards the broom, and began to dig. He
dug and struck with the pickaxe, and
shovelled up the soil—weighing, smelling,
tasting it, as he descended foot by foot. He
dug to the depth of a yard; he jumped into
the hole and pursued his work—breathless,
hot, untiring. The moon for a moment came
out from the clouds that obscured her. He
availed himself of her light and held up a
particle of soil and stone; it glittered for an
instant in the moonbeam. With an almost
audible cry he threw it to the bottom of the
excavation, and was scrambling out when he
heard a voice. It was the drunken
shoemaker returning from some distant
merrymaking. He lay down at the bottom of the
hole, watching for the approaching footsteps.
At a little distance from the waterfall
the singer changed his path, and diverged
towards the village. The song died off in the
distance.

"That danger's past," said Arthur, "both
for him and me. I would have killed him if
he had come nearer. Back, back," he
continued, while he filled up the hole he had
made, carefully shovelling in the soil—"No
eye shall detect that you have been moved."
He replaced the straggling turf where it had
been disturbed; stampt it down with his
feet, and beat it smooth with his spade. And
then went home.

"Hallo! who's there?" cried Winnington,
hearing the door open and shut. "Is that
you, Arthur?"

"Yes; are you not asleep yet?"

"I've been asleep for hours. How late you
are. Weren't you out of the house just
now?"

"I felt hot, and went out for a minute to
see the moon."

"Hot? " said Winnington. "I wish I had
another blanket—good night." Arthur passed
on to his own room.

"If he had opened his door," he said, "and
seen my dirty clothes, these yellow stains on
my knees, these dabbled hands, what could I
have done?" He saw himself in the glass
as he said this; there was something in the
expression of his face that alarmed him. He
drew back.

"He is very like Lucy," he muttered to
himself, "and I'm glad he didn't get out of bed."

Meantime Winnington had a dream. He
was on board a beautiful boat on the Isis.
It seemed to move by its own force, as if it
were a silver swan; and the ripple as it went
on took the form of music, and he thought it
was an old tune that he had listened to in his
youth. He sat beside Ellen Warleigh, with
his hand locked in hers, and they watched
the beautiful scenery through which the boat
was gliding—past the pretty Cherwell, past
the level meadows, past the Newnham woods,
—and still the melody went on. Then they
were in a country he did not know; there
were tents of gaudy colours on the shore;
and wild-eyed men in turbans and loose
tunics looked out upon them. One came on
board; he was a tall dark Emir, with golden-
sheathed scimitar, which clanked as he stept
on the seat. Winnington stood up and asked
what the stranger wanted: the chief
answered in Arabic, but Winnington understood
him perfectly. He said he had come
to put him to death for having dared to look
upon his bride. He laid his grasp on him as
he spoke, and tore him from Ellen's side. In
the struggle Winnington fell over, and found
himself many feet in front of the fairy boat.
The Arab sat down beside Ellen, and put his
arm round her waist, and then he suddenly
took the shape of Arthur Hayning. The
boat seemed to flutter its wings, and come
faster on. Winnington tried to swim to one
side, but could not. On came the boat, its
glittering bows flashed before his eyes—they
touched him—pressed him down; he felt the
keel pass over his head; and down, down,
still downward he went, and, on looking up,
saw nothing but the boat above him; all was
dark where he was, for the keel seemed
constantly between him and the surface, and yet
he heard the old tune still going on. It was
a tune his cousin Lucy used to play; but at
last, in his descent through the darkened
water, he got out of hearing, and all was
silent. The music had died away and
suddenly he heard a scream, and saw Ellen
struggling in the water. He made a dart