"Be quiet, Alice," exclaimed her father, in
a low, impatient tone; "let the things be,
till I have done."

She immediately desisted, and stared at
him in astonishment. He had got the little
black box, with the perforated brass
ornaments open, and was fingering its contents in
a bewildered way; as if he could have
doubted the evidence of his senses.

"There were certainly three—three of
Downham's lives," said he.

"What is the matter, father? have you
lost something?" Alice asked.

"I don't know what I've lost: my head, I
think," he returned, sharply dragging across
the table a small ledger. He began to add
up column after column, and to do it several
times over; but each time with the same
results. There was the expenditure; there was
the income and subscriptions; and, in the black
box was the overplus; but the overplus
deficient five pounds—always five pounds—no
more, and no less. "What's the good of it?
I know there were three notes in that box
last Wednesday-week," said he, softly, and
laying a trembling finger on his lip.

Alice put the bread and cheese at hand for
his supper, and went off to talk to Mrs. Hart
for a little while; saying, as she closed the door,
that she would come in and see him again
before going to her own room. Mrs. Hart
lived in the girls' house across the courtyard,
within the gateway; and all her flock being
safely stowed away for the night, she was
sitting down by her fireside, to regale
herself with a cup of tea, as Alice went in.
Of course, Alice must have a cup of tea, too:
and over it, they began talking, first of one
thing and then of another, until they
mentioned old Nanny Liversedge.

"She says she has raised the money to buy
Willie's discharge, all but about ten shillings,"
observed Mrs. Hart.

"Then Mark must have given her something
handsome, I suppose," said Alice, a
good deal astonished.

"I don't know. Mark's very near; but
she had been to Mr. Elsworthy, and to old
Mrs. Cameron; they're charitable folks. And,
as she told me you'd given her five
shillings—"

"Just like her! I never gave her
anything of the kind. There's very little good in
Nanny. She thought to get more out of you
by that story."

"Then she was mistaken, for I gave her
just nothing at all. I said I should ask you
first; and she need not come to me again
until I sent for her."

While this talk was going forward in Mrs.
Hart's parlour, Peter Garnet was still poring
over the school accounts. He had pushed
his scanty hair straight from his forehead,
and looked like a miserable necromancer
detected in working some demoniacal charm.
All sorts of temptations were whispering
in his ears. At first sight, this default in his
accounts had not struck him in all its bearings;
and, when it did, it came upon his moral
sense with all the force of a crushing blow.
Why he might be dismissed from his situation
at Saint Ann's, after having held it
with credit, honour, and success for forty
years! He might be dismissed. Good God!
dismissed as a thief who had appropriated
to his own use, money entrusted to him for
the benefit of the school! At that thought
he broke out into a cold sweat, and clutched
at the little box with a terrible eagerness. The
habit of being respected and looked up to was
as strong with him as any other habit, and
the idea of losing it was maddening. But
where had the money gone? Who had
access to the place where the box was kept?
Why, only himself, and Alice, and old
Nanny Liversedge when she came to clean the
rooms.

There was no adequate solution of the
mystery. He must have taken it out
himself, and lost it. Still there was the
deficiency. Could he make it good? Not he; he
had never saved money in his life; he had
only been always just on ihepoint of beginning,
that Alice might have a little fortune when
he died; but he had not begun yet. His
last quarter's salary was all gone except a few
shillings, and his next would not be paid until
after the audit of the accounts on the
following Monday. By that time the default
would be known all over Broughton. There
was another way the tempting demon
suggested: the chance donations of strangers
and visitors to Saint Ann's were given to
him, and he had to render an account of
them to the governors. Was it not possible
so to diminish the amounts attached to each
name as to make up the missing sum? That
was a very subtle, because safe temptation.
Peter knew it was safe; and his staring eyes
fixed on the list of casual subscribers very
miserably. Should he do it? He had got
his hand stretched out to draw the paper to
him, when Alice suddenly reappeared.

"Why, father, you look thoroughly mazed
over those accounts!" she cried, coming up
to him anxiously, "and you've never touched
your supper. Go to it now. I won't let you
spend another minute over your work to-
night. Why, we shall have you ill, and then
what will happen?"

Peter seemed, as she said, mazed—lost.
He obeyed her as if he had been a little
child, and suffered her to put away both box
and papers in the table-drawer without
making any attempt whatever to prevent
it. She also saw him go off to bed before her,
and, as she was going herself, she said, "I cannot
think what ails him. I never saw him in this
way before; he looked as if he'd seen a ghost,
when I came back from Mrs. Hart's." She
thought over it a good deal before she fell
asleep, and hoped it did not mean anything
but that he was over-tired. Then the
poor tempted father was pushed out of her