much faster than usual, and so shortened his
visit to the old woman, that he was home
again by a quarter past two. Ascertaining
from the servant who opened the door, that
the volume had been left by Mr. Rambert's
messenger, punctually at two, he ran up to
his wife's room to tell her about his visit,
before he secluded himself for the rest of the
afternoon over his work.

On entering the bed-room, he found it still
darkened; and he was struck by a smell of
burnt paper in it. His wife (who was now
dressed in her wrapper, and lying on the
sofa) accounted for the smell, by telling him
that she had fancied the room felt close, and
she had burnt some paper—being afraid
of the cold air if she opened the window—to
fumigate it. Her eyes were evidently still
weak, for she kept her hand over them while
she spoke. After remaining with her long
enough to relate the few trivial events of his
ride, Mr. Carling descended to his study, to
occupy himself at last with the volume of
the Times.

It lay on his table, in the shape of a large
flat brown paper package. On proceeding
to undo the covering, he observed that it had
been very carelessly tied up. The strings
were crooked and loosely knotted; and the
direction bearing his name and address,
instead of being in the middle of the paper,
was awkwardly folded over at the edge of
the volume. However, his business was with
the inside of the parcel; so he tossed away
the covering and the string, and began at
once to hunt through the volume for the
particular number of the paper which he wished
first to consult.

He soon found it, with the report of the
speeches delivered by the members of the
deputation, and the answer returned by the
minister. After reading through the report,
and putting a mark in the place where it
occurred, he turned to the next day's number
of the paper, to see what further hints on the
subject the letters addressed to the Editor
might happen to contain.

To his inexpressible vexation and amazement,
that one number of the paper was
missing.

He bent the two sides of the volume back;
looked closely between the leaves, and saw
immediately that the missing number had
been cut out.

A vague sense of something like alarm,
began to mingle with his first feeling of
disappointment. He wrote at once to Mr.
Rambert, mentioning the discovery he had just
made, and sent the note off by his groom,
with orders to the man to wait for an
answer.

The reply with which the servant returned
was almost insolent in the shortness and
coolness of its tone. Mr. Rambert had no
books in his library which were not in
perfect condition. The volume of the Times
had left his house perfect; and whatever
blame might attach to the mutilation of it
rested therefore on other shoulders than those
of the owner.

Like many other weak men Mr. Carling
was secretly touchy on the subject of his
dignity. After reading the note, and
questioning his servants, who were certain that
the volume had not been touched till he had
opened it, he resolved that the missing number
of the Times should be procured at any
expense, and inserted in its place; that the
volume should be sent back instantly without
a word of comment; and that no more
books from Mr. Rambert's library should
ever enter his house. He walked up and
down the study considering what first step
he should take to effect the purpose in view,
Under the quickening influence of his
irritation, an idea occurred to him, which, if it
had only entered his mind the day before
might probably have proved the means of
saving him from placing himself under an
obligation to Mr. Rambert. He resolved to
write immediately to his bookseller and
publisher in London (who knew him well
as an old and excellent customer), mentioning
the date of the back number of the
Times that was required, and authorising the
publisher to offer any reward he judged
necessary to any person who might have the
means of procuring it at the office of the
paper, or elsewhere. This letter he wrote
and despatched in good time for the London
post; and then went up-stairs to see his
wife and to tell her what had happened.

Her room was still darkened, and she was
still on the sofa. On the subject of the missing
number she said nothing; but of Mr.
Rambert and his note, she spoke with the
most sovereign contempt. Of course the
pompous old fool was mistaken; and the
proper thing to do was to send back the
volume instantly, and take no more notice of
him.

"It shall be sent back," said Mr. Carling,
"but not till the missing number is
replaced." And he then told her what he
had done.

The effect of that simple piece of information
on Mrs. Carling was so extraordinary
and so unaccountable, that her husband
fairly stood aghast. For the first time since
their marriage, he saw her temper suddenly
in a flame. She started up from the sofa, and
walked about the room, as if she had lost
her senses; upbraiding him for making the
weakest of concessions to Mr. Rambert's
insolent assumption that the rector was to
blame. If she could only have laid hands
on that letter, she would have consulted her
husband's dignity and independence, by
putting it in the fire! She hoped and prayed
the number of the paper might not be
found! In fact, it was certain that the
number, after all these years, could not
possibly be hunted up. The idea of his
acknowledging himself to be in the wrong, in