witnessed in this world than the life which
was once to be seen in the rectory-house at
Penliddy.

With these necessary explanations, that
preliminary part of my narrative of which
the events may be massed together generally
for brevity's sake, comes to a close. What I
have next to tell is of a deeper and a more
serious interest, and must be carefully
related in detail.

The rector and his wife had lived together,
without, as I honestly believe, a harsh word
or an unkind look once passing between them,
for upwards of two years, when Mr. Carling
took his first step towards the fatal future
that was awaiting him, by devoting his leisure
hours to the apparently simple and harmless
occupation of writing a pamphlet.

He had been connected for many years
with one of our great Missionary Societies,
and had taken as active a part as a country
clergyman could in the management of its
affairs. At the period of which I speak,
certain influential members of the Society
had proposed a plan for greatly extending
the sphere of its operations, trusting to a
proportionate increase in the annual
subscriptions to defray the additional expenses
of the new movement. The question was not
now brought forward for the first time. It
had been agitated eight years previously, and
the settlement of it had been at that time
deferred to a future opportunity. The
revival of the project, as usual in such cases,
split the working members of the Society
into two parties; one party cautiously objecting
to run any risks; the other hopefully
declaring that the venture was a safe one
and that success was sure to attend it. Mr.
Carling sided enthusiastically with the
members who espoused this latter side of the
question; and the object of his pamphlet was
to address the subscribers to the Society on
the subject, and so to interest them in it as
to win their charitable support, on a larger
scale than usual, to the new project.

He had worked hard at his pamphlet, and
had got more than half way through it, when
he found himself brought to a standstill for
want of certain facts which had been produced
on the discussion of the question eight
years since, and which were necessary to the
full and fair statement of his case. He at
first thought of writing to the secretary of
the Society for information; but, remembering
that he had not held his office more than
two years, he thought it little likely that
this gentleman would be able to help him,
and looked back to his own Diary of the
period, to see if he had made any notes in it
relating to the original discussion of the
affair. He found a note referring, in general
terms only, to the matter in hand; but
alluding, at the end, to a report in the Times
of the proceedings of a deputation from the
Society, which had waited on a member of
the government of that day, and to certain
letters to the Editor which had followed the
publication of the report. The note described
these letters as "very important;" and Mr.
Carling felt, as he put his Diary away again,
that the successful conclusion of his pamphlet
now depended on his being able to get access
to the back numbers of the Times of eight
years since.

It was winter time when he was thus
stopped in his work; and the prospect of a
journey to London (the only place he knew
of at which files of the paper were to be
found) did not present many attractions.
And yet he could see no other and easier
means of effecting his object. After
considering for a little while and arriving at no
positive conclusion, he left the study, and
went into the drawing-room to consult his
wife.

He found her working industriously by
the blazing fire. She looked so happy and
comfortable—so gentle and charming in her
pretty little lace cap, and her warm brown
morning-dress, with its bright cherry-coloured
ribbons and its delicate swansdown trimming
circling round her neck and nestling over her
bosom, that he stooped and kissed her with
the tenderness of his bridegroom days before
he spoke. When he told her of the cause
that had suspended his literary occupation,
she listened, with the sensation of the kiss
still lingering in her downcast eyes and her
smiling lips, until he came to the subject of
his Diary, and its reference to the newspaper.
As he mentioned the name of the Times, she
altered and looked him straight in the face
gravely.

"Can you suggest any plan, love," he went
on, "which may save me the necessity of a
journey to London at this bleak time of the
year? I must positively have this information;
and, so far as I can see, London is
the only place at which I can hope to
meet with a file of the Times of eight years
since."

As he pronounced the last three words, he
saw her face overspread instantaneously by
a ghastly paleness; her eyes fixed on him
with a strange mixture of rigidity and
vacancy in their look; her hands, with her
work held tight in them, dropped slowly on
her lap; and a shiver ran through her from
head to foot.

He sprang to his feet, and snatched the
smelling-salts from her work-table, thinking
she was going to faint. She put the bottle
from her, when he offered it, with a hand
that thrilled him with the deadly coldness of
its touch, and said, in a whisper:—

"A sudden chill, dear—let me go up-stairs
and lie down."

He took her to her room. As he laid her
down on the bed, she caught his hand, and
said, entreatingly:—

"You won't go to London, darling, and
leave me here ill?"

He promised that nothing should separate