works," I replied, with, a nervous gulp:
feeling that all was over.

It was now Mr. Sandford's turn to be
discomposed; but be soon recovered himself.

"And you come here, sir," he said, red
with anger, "to ask my consent to my
daughter's union with an illegal and a
pestilential nuisance!"

"Mr. Sandford," I began to reply,
deprecatingly:

"Go, sir," he interrupted with irritating,
though pathetic, dignity; "go; you have
polluted my home. You have made the ark
of my declining years unbearable; but you
shall not rob me of my child!"

"You decline my offer?" I inquired with
considerable spirit; for I now felt indignant
and aroused.

"Good morning, sir!" he said, with a
majestic wave of his hand. "Good morning!"

In the passage I came full in the arms of
my beloved and anxious Emma, who had
evidently been listening.

"O Edwin," she exclaimed, "is papa
indeed inexorable, and are we to part
thus?"

I could not trust myself to speak; but
fled from the place.

                            VII.

SCARCELY knowing what I did I rushed to
the works. The men were all on duty, with
Steevens, the manager, and my friend, the
inspector.

"Boil!" I shouted, in my excitement.
"Boil like mad!"

My two managers looked at each other,
and then looked at me; but they made no
remark.

"Pile up," I continued, " mountains high,
and let no copper in the place be other than
a cauldron of bubbling stench."

"You are aware, sir," replied Steevens,
"that we are already threatened by the
inhabitants with proceedings for creating a
nuisance?"

"And especially by one Mr. Sandford,"
interrupted Mr. Nickel.

"Gentlemen!" I exclaimed, becoming
more excited on hearing the name of that
obdurate parent. "You are the managers
here; but I am the master. Boil, I say, to
the utmost verge of your power!"

The order was obeyed without further
remonstrance; and, in half-an-hour the
neighbourhood must have been sickening under
our repulsive activity. What was my design?
I hardly knew. Perhaps to storm my
enemy into compliance? To reach him I
was compelled to annoy the innocent; and,
while I gloated in imagination over his
sufferings, I was painfully conscious that my own
Emma must be affected by the same poisonous
vapour.

At this thought a momentary weakness
impelled me to stop the busy nuisance; but I
checked it at once, when I remembered the
contempt I had met with. The smoke rose
higher and higher, and rolled in majestic
volumes of effluvium over my enemy's villa.
I was amply revenged; and, as the works
became unbearable, I began to feel dizzy, and
turned my steps in the direction of home.

                              VIII.

THE excitement had preyed upon my health,
and I was not able to leave my residence
for several days. At the end of this time I
went once more into the world, and wandered
by a mysterious impulse towards the Downham
Road. I approached Mr. Sandford's villa
with no definite design. I had not determined
to call; but I was curious to see the place. A
mild flavour of the works still hung over the
neighbourhood; and I judged, from this, that
my instructions had not been neglected. When
I reached the villa, my heart sunk within
me; for I found the shutters of every window
closed, except those of the kitchen. A dreadful
thought suggested itself. Could I have
caused a death in the family 1

Regardless of everything, I hastily rang the
bell; and it was answered by an old
charwoman.

"Is she—is anyone dead?*' I asked,
breathlessly.

"Lauk-a-daisy, sir," she replied, "you give
me quite a turn!"

"Is anyone dead in this house?" I
repeated.

"No, sir," she replied, in a nervous manner.

"Why are the shutters closed, then?"

"Well, sir, I don't know who you may
be—"

"Why are they closed ?"

"Becos the fam'ly couldn't stand them
stinkin' works, an' they've gone out o' town."

"Madman," I muttered to myself; "I
have driven them into exile."

I asked the old woman where they had
gone; but, of course, she could not tell; for
the address, as usual, had been written on a
piece of paper which she had lost or mislaid.

"It's some town as begins with a P," she
said.

"There are five hundred such towns!" I
replied.

                               IX.

A DAY of misery and a night of restlessness
were recompensed by an announcement
which I read the next morning in the second
column of the Times:—

EDWIN G—z—le.—The Chain Pier every morning
at nine. The air on the Downs is bracing, but
it has no charms for me. Better the smoke of a
hundred b—e b—ng factories if thou wert only
near. EMMA S.

I read with eager and dazzled eyes, and I
could not doubt that this paragraph was
meant for me. The pointed mention of the
Chain Pier and the Downs, directed me to