years of age, tall, spare, and lithe as a young man. His hair was steel-gray, face close shaven, skin browned by weather; his eyes light blue, calm and benignant in expression. 'I come to ask for something to eat for my horse and myself,' I said. Yes, sir,' he replied, expectorating deliberately. 'Come in.' With that he led my horse to a trough fed by a mountain stream; and afterwards put the tired animal into the stable, throwing before him some corn-cobs and a bit of coarse hay. Then we went towards the house. Sitting by the fire was a woman, of dubious age, fifty-five or sixty-five. Although the weather was so hot, she was crouched over the blazing logs. Her face was yellow-olive in colour, thin to emaciation, haggard and wan. Her eyes had a dreamy quietude in them, like those of a person habituated to soothing drugs. Her figure was gaunt as a skeleton, and scantily draped in a faded cotton gown; the outline of her long angular limbs being rendered more observable by an obvious lameness. In her mouth was a long and much used clay-pipe, the bowl black as ebony. She paused an instant in her puffing as I entered, then proceeded to smoke without the least embar rassment. In the chimney corner near to the mistress of the household stood a beautiful young girl of fifteen, tall as my host, slim as a poplar, with dark pensive eyes, pale olive complexion, and dark hair loosely gathered into a knot. She smiled a childish welcome, which had the effect of destroying the charm of her innocent beauty, for it displayed teeth repellently black. She did not reply to my inquiries respecting her health; for a sudden disquietude passed over her face; her dark dreamy eyes were suffused; she passed hastily to the door. Quick as light she extracted a quid of tobacco from her pretty mouth, and then returned to her mother's side. I tried to appear oblivious of these little incidents, and advanced to shake hands with a young man coming from an inner room. He was shorter and more squarely built than his parents and sister, but the contour of his face and his eyes left me in no doubt that he was the son of my host. A lump of tobacco was in his lower jaw, giving him the aspect of a man suffering from excessive gum-boil. He greeted me with kindly gentleness, and sat down. The interior of the house was extremely rude. Evidently, from its dilapidation, the cabin had been built many years. The logs were blackened by the weather; the floor was patched and uneven; and through many a cranny the sunlight gleamed. Four beds were visible, two in the general room where I was, and two in a little room half-screened by a curtain. The beds were clean, covered with patchwork quilts, but humbler than the couches of our superior peasantry. A few thoroughly uncomfortable chairs were scattered about; a round table was in the middle of the floor; a rough culinary bench was under the window near the back-door. The fireplace was a stony chasm, without grate, oven, or other cooking apparatus. A large pot, like that used by gipsies, stood upon the hearth. Such was the furniture of this home in the wilderness. I cannot say that the house was dirty, untidy, or in any way wretched. It lacked altogether that snugness and comfort that English people associate with home. There was no sign of poverty, of that pathetic confession of a desperate fight with circumstances, so often seen in the neat homes of the poor in England. And the family had no semblance of being 'hard up.' Mrs Harker was badly, meanly, scantily dressed, worse, indeed, than any labourer's wife in rural Britain. But she did not seem to be aware of it. Miss Harker wanted a new gown, better shoes, a competent hairbrush, and a general reformation in her ideas of attire, though evidently unconscious that she was at variance with correct standards of taste. The worthy Squire wore a pair of pants that had deserved retirement long ago. His shirt was coarse as sailcloth; and though clean, wanted the skill of an abler laundress than his household afforded. His Wellington boots, into which his pants were thrust, were hoary with the mud of years. Blacking is unknown in the Tennessee wilds, and is as superfluous as hair-powder. Shirt, pants, boots, comprised the whole costume of the Squire and his son; as gown, shoes, stockings, seemed to do for the ladies. Let no fastidious dame or scrupulous dandy find fault with such heretical notions of dress. I was myself at that time wearing simply shirt, trousers, and shoes, and feeling that these were a burden grievous to be borne. The temperature was ninety-eight degrees in the shade; in the sun, one hundred and twenty degrees. Teufelsdröckh might have learned something more of clothes-philosophy had he been Squire Harker's guest. The doors and windows were wide open, permitting a faint current of air to pass through the room; air laden with the perfume of azaleas, growing like rank weeds in the forest, and with the faint odour of the prairie-rose. A humming of bees and buzzing of flies came rhythmically athwart the pauses in the conversation. Outside, the intense white sunlight glittered on every reflecting surface; and the ineffable violet sky soared to an immense height. Across it, here and there, swam rolls of snowy cloud, like pillows of carded wool. The remote firmament, the slow-gliding clouds, the hushing sun-glare, the droning insects, the quiet talk of my entertainers, the stillness of the forest, seemed all harmonious with the calm of a tropical noon. Hurry here was impossible, rapidity of thought an absurdity, rapidity of action suicide. Life was a wakeful dream, in which to smoke lazily, to exult serenely at the dawdling pace of Time hobbling along on padded sandals, were the only duties. My hostess informed me that she had long suffered from ague and rheumatism. She had taken all sorts of doctor's stuff, but with little relief. She rose to fetch the bottle containing her medicine, and then I saw how lame she was. Her left hip appeared to have lost its power of articulation. She moved with pain and difficulty, using a strong stick. I was very sorry for her, and we soon became confidential. In talking over remedies, it was clear that the quack was mighty in the land, and that Mrs Harker had suffered much therefrom. And the schoolmaster was feeble. The commonest news of the time was unknown to the family, or had filtered in by small drops of hearsay. All literary, scientific, or other culture was absent from this household. I was nonplussed at every step, having to begin de novo with almost every topic. But I thoroughly interested my friends, who began to look upon me as an extraordinary person, when I tried to explain the genesis of malaria and rheumatism. Diseases were accepted by the Squire's family as mysteries, which no knowledge could fathom, and which medicine could only mitigate. 'I guess you'll like to eat?' said Mrs Harker after a while.-'Get dinner ready, Susan.' This to the daughter. During the conversation, which was not interrupted, I observed how the meal was prepared; indeed, I could not help it, as it went on under my eyes. After throwing more wood on the fire, Miss Harker half-filled a tin bowl with Indian meal; into it was dredged some 'raising-powder;' water was added, and a paste made in a few minutes. The pot on the hearth was partly filled with hot ashes, and small lumps of dough placed on them; the lid was put on, and the bread-baking was in process. A kettle was placed on the fire, and while the water was heating, the coffee was ground. Afterwards, thick slices of bacon were cut from a rusty flitch, that looked like a section from a pineslab. A huge heavy frying-pan was filled with the bacon, placed on the fire; and soon the odours of the pan pervaded the room, effectually overwhelming the fragance of the azaleas and roses. Meantime, from a hidden storeroom, an up-piled dish of apple-jam was brought, and a strange-looking substance resembling creamcheese. A few cracked cups, plates, and small dishes, very heavy and thick, furnished the table equipage. The meal was soon prepared; and I took the place assigned me by my host, who immediately sat down on the one side of me, his son taking the other. I waited for the ladies to take their places; but they showed no disposition to do so. Feeling uncomfortable, I ventured to suggest that Mrs Harker should take my seat, which seemed surprise my friends. No; the women would dine afterwards. The Squire did the honours of the table in a generous fashion, piling my plate with bacon, filling my dish with jam, and press ing the hot cakes upon me. Miss Harker supplied the coffee. Her mother continued to smoke and talk in the chimney corner. The experience I had subsequently of Tennessee manners and customs showed that the Squire's family was much like others. In no instance did mothers and young children sit down with the father, elder boys, and myself. The old paternal system, which has almost died out in Western Europe, flourishes in the American wilds. No doubt, when strictly en famille, the members of the household eat together; but before guests, mothers and youngsters retire into that subjection out of which the race has slowly emerged. But there was no brutal ignoring of the feebler members of the family, no attempt to pass them by. Politeness towards the stranger and the devotion of the host to his guest, seemed to be the reason for this arrangement. I must say, however, that hospitality loses much of its charm when women and children become servitors and spectators instead of fellow-banqueters. And in the settled parts of America there is such an equality in the family, that I found the squatter's custom more singular than if I had been in another country. I had made acquaintance with American 'pork' prior to meeting it at my host's table. Its harsh fibre, its rancid fat, its want of all that is gracious in looks and in flavour, and particularly its immense demands upon gastric energy, were well known to me. But it was the pièce de résistance, and must be eaten. The cream-cheese turned out to be butter, such as would have made an English dairymaid stagger, and British buttereaters grateful for oleomargarine or other product of the chemist's workshop. Out of respect for its author Miss Harker, and at the pressing request of her father, I strove to do it justice, but failed totally after one trial. Few people in our islands are condemned to 'corn-bread;' and I sincerely congratulate them. It is altogether wanting in the charm and the sustenance found in our staff of life. Perhaps were it fermented and baked like our wheaten bread, it might be more agreeable and nourishing, The cakes prepared by the hands of my young hostess left much to be desired, not for me, but for herself and family, who had to eat them three times a day for life. The apple jam was neither sweet, sour, nor savoury the completest neutrality in preserved fruits I had ever_tasted. Sugar is dear in the United States, and many other plants besides 'cane' are utilised for obtaining saccharine matter. One of these is sorghum, much cultivated in the South; and I suppose my hostess had preserved her apples by this means. Coffee strong, fragrant, and abundant, was the refreshing and invigorating item in the dinner. Its excellence atoned for a multitude of culinary foibles and failures; and though unsupported by sugar, cream, or milk, it was a tower of strength in itself. Coffee plays an important part in frontier-life, and will advance in estimation as whisky recedes. A generation of farmers, squatters, and pioneers is growing up to whom alcohol is objectionable in any form. A solid rock of opinion is rising against strong drink in every part of America, and I found it nowhere more pronounced than in the Tennessee Highlands. Coffee gives all the stimulant the climate requires. Dinner being over, the Squire and I went out to see how my horse was faring; then we went to see his tobacco-field, about which we had talked during the meal. Outside the house, everything was as untidy and neglected as within. Under a shed lay a rusty plough, traces, chains, harness, and other gear. A broken wagon was slowly disintegrating in one corner, a mud-splashed rickety buggy in another. An ancient loom was in an empty stall. Corn-cobs, maize-litter, and rubbish from cowhouse and stable, were lying in the yard in every stage of decay. A dismantled snake-fence had once separated this yard from the peach-orchard; but storms and rot had made many gaps, through which gaunt hogs prowled at will. Neglected as the trees were, they were thick with fruit, promising a crop that would have made a little fortune in Covent Garden. But the largest proportion of the peaches was destined for the Squire's hogs. About fifty magnificent apple-trees were in another orchard, literally bearing as much fruit as leaves. Such trees are impossible in England. The Squire was not enthusiastic in his admiration of peaches and apples, listening to my remarks upon the coming harvest with genial indifference. Beyond the orchards was a field of maize, so roughly cultivated, that the hogs might have made the furrows, except that there was some attempt at straight and continuous lines. A few days' work had sufficed for ploughing and sowing; a few days' labour would gather the corn; then the Squire's duties as a husbandman would be fully discharged. Near the maize-field was the tobacco-patch, covered with vigorous plants, upon which the owner glanced with a complacent eye. Beside them was a long strip of cotton-plants revelling in the sun, but sorely hampered with weeds. Cotton was grown to supply the family wants, the women picking, spinning, weaving, dyeing, and making the garments. About half an acre of potatoes completed my host's cultivated land. It is not considered impertinent to ask a landowner in America the extent of his possessions; and in reply to my inquiry, the Squire told me he owned about eight hundred acres. Not one hundredth part of this was tilled; but that did not strike Mr Harker as uneconomical. Vacancy of mind, deficient exercise of the imagination, and loneliness, tempt many of these women to seek the soothing delights of tobacco. The perfidious anodyne becomes a tyrant necessity, and damages the health, ruins the beauty, and increases the torpor of soul. America is said to be the land of faded matrons. But from my own observation, I believe improper diet, especially the invariable 'hot biscuit,' does more damage to face and figure than the rigours of climate. Bad water, malaria and various febrile diseases do great mischief to form and colour; but rough and ungraceful homes are greater foes to female loveliness. I have seen ladies of middle age, who have lived in superheated rooms amid the excitements of New York's perfervid existence, confirmed topers of ice-water and devourers of 'candy,' who were nevertheless quite as well preserved as English ladies of the same age. The fact is, women need the society of their own sex more than men. Body and mind degene rate for want of sympathy, criticism, and emulation. Six months' residence in Cincinnati would have developed Miss Harker into a brilliant young lady, as incapable of chewing a 'quid' as of cannibalism; and the same environment would have cured her mother of the languors and vapours which oppressed her like an atmosphere of carbonic acid. The progress of civilisation in America, in another half-century, will render the fate of women wholly free from the privations endured by Squire Harker's worthy wife and What surprised me most was the absence of a kitchen garden. No salads, no cabbages, no beans or peas, none of the herbs cultivated by the peasants of Europe. And not one culti-charming daughter. vated flower, save the rosebush by the front-door, and that appeared to be an accident. A ragged, ignored vine scrambled over a corner of the house, the only natural embellishment. VALENTINE STRANGE A STORY OF THE PRIMROSE WAY. ING YOU, SIR, ONE HOT DAY LAST SUMMER, Such was the home of Squire Harker, a justice CHAPTER XXXIII.—I HAD THE PLEASURE OF MEETof the peace, an intelligent man, a sober, industrious American citizen, in whose veins ran the impulsive, domineering Anglo-Saxon blood. Sequestration from society, the infatuations of a hunter's life, want of culture, had made him indifferent to the hopes and ambitions of his age. He had his compensations in such health and vigour as no city dweller can know; he had, too, a peace of mind that passes the understanding of this restless age. He bore his sixty years with greater ease than many an Englishman half the number. He enjoyed the present hour calmly, and looked with absolute undismay at on-coming age, confident in himself and trusting in Providence. But it was different with his wife and daughter; theirs was the fate of the squaw, mitigated by the tendency of the race. Life for them and others similarly situated, was a narrow and unembellished drudgery, though not of killing hardship. Rude and monotonous diet, which suited hunters, destroyed all the graces and sapped the vitality of the women. Rarely did they quit the precincts of the house; there was no change of scene for them, save the leafing and unleafing of the forest. They had work enough to keep the mind from stagnating, but not varied sufficiently to excite invention, not severe enough to rouse slumbering energies. Fancy had no exercise, and thus speech was ungraced by the common elegancies of language. By the way, it is remarkable how taciturn and slow of utterance the backwoods people are. GERARD, grasping Hiram tightly by both arms, faced him beneath the gaslight. Hiram, scarcely understanding as yet who had got hold of him, faced Gerard. The two looked at each other curiously. 'I reckon, mister,' said Hiram, 'that you've made some sort of error.' Gerard seemed to be of that opinion too, if his face were trustworthy. As to who Hiram might be, he had not at that moment the remotest notion. 'Perhaps I have,' he answered, with a touch of dubious sarcasm in his tone. We shall see.' He released Hiram, and warned him. 'Stand there. If you attempt to make a move, I'll throw you out of the window.' 'Then,' responded Hiram, 'I will not attempt to make a move. Your diggings air too lofty.' He kept his eyes on Gerard, but stooped for his hat, warily, and having secured it, brushed it with his elbow, and set it on, a little on one side. Gerard, regarding him, stepped sideways to the letter-box and took out the packet. He knew by the look and feel of it what it was; but he was in a mood to do strict justice. He opened the package, therefore, and found the half-crown in it, and the inscription on the paper, as before. Journal 'Now,' he asked, tossing the half-crown on the table, and looking dangerously at Hiram, 'who set you to do this? Don't prevaricate with me, or I'll break every bone in your body. Tell me who sent you here with these insolent messages.'-Hiram returned no answer, but held him with his glittering eye, watchful of every movement.-' Out with it!' cried Gerard. 'Keep your hair on,' returned Hiram, in a tone of soft expostulation. You're in no hurry to get bald.'Gerard made a swift motion towards him. Hiram made a swifter in retreat. The two being on either side a round table of considerable size, it was not easy to get at close quarters, unless both were so minded. Hiram in his flight contrived to possess himself of a poker, and held it in an attitude of defence ; improvised and amateurish, but unpleasant for an assailant to look at. Gerard, even in his heat of anger, recognised the loss of dignity inevitably accruing to a chase around the circular table, and stood still, devising means of approach. Hiram took advantage of this pause, and prepared to offer suasive counsel. "This is not a reception,' he began, 'calcalated to feed the enthoosiasm of affection. At that second, Gerard vaulted the table, closed with him, and wrested the poker from his grasp. Hiram, more fortunate than in their first encounter, eluded his hold, but left a portion of his coat behind. Look here!' said Hiram from the other side of the table; you ridicalous madman. What do you mean by it?' 'Who sent you here?' cried Gerard again. 'Nobody sent me here.' 'What do you mean by dropping these confounded things in my letter-box three nights running? Who are you?' if 'Now,' responded Hiram, in soothing tones, this is reasonable. If you'll put that poker down and listen to reason, I'll explain. And you won't, and will insist on strife, I ain't goin' to let you maul me how you like-mind that. I'm loath to hurt you, and bein' a sensible man myself, I am not hungry to be hurt. You don't know me?' 'I don't know you from Adam.' 'I am not Adam. I had the pleasure of meeting you, sir, ten miles from Brierham, one hot day last summer, when you paid me this identical half-sovereign for carrying a note to Valentine Strange, Esquire.' 'Well?' 'Well. You may remember I told you that you had given me the only streak of luck I had ever had since I landed on these shores. You may recall likewise, that I remarked that if ever you were in a real hole, you might do worse than apply to Hiram Search.' 'Well?' This reiterated inquiry began to assume a dogged and threatening tone. I am beginning to see,' continued Hiram, that thistles are my proper diet. I own up, straight, that if anybody had offered me help on the sly like this, I should have rode rusty with him. But if you think that my half-crowns are so plentiful that I can afford to play jokes with 'em, you are prob'ly a greater ass than I am. Mister, let me lay it out straight for you. You helped me, when you was that squeezed in with money you could hardly move. Then I happened to read in the papers about Garling I won't distress you if I can help it-then you happened to come and dine at my employer's restaurant-I was that mudheaded- Well, now, between man an' man, you can't ask more. I'm sorry I offended. You can call me anything you like, if it relieves you. I deserve to be kicked, though I should not, as a friend, advise you, or any man to kick me. I apologise with all my heart; and if you fancy that I am mean enough to have offended you willingly, you do me a greater wrong, sir, than I have offered you.' There was positively a real dignity in Hiram's tone as he concluded. His manner was conciliatory, frank, independent, yet submissive, as became his apology. But Gerard was an Englishman, and was not going to be conciliated all on a sudden by any man alive. Couldn't you guess, you blundering idiot,' he said roughly, that you could do nothing more offensive, nothing more insulting?' He was very favourably impressed with Hiram, or he would not have bestowed a word upon him. The other felt a sort of amity in the rough words and tones, and half unconsciously advanced to meet it. Let me make my excuses as clear as I know how,' he said. 'It's partly the smallness of the sum that aggravates the natural feelings of the British aristocrat.'-Gerard laughed outright, his first laugh for six weeks. It is indeed,' said Hiram. "Seriously now, it is. There never was anything I tried to do with my fingers I couldn't manage, worse or better; but in respect to feelings, I haven't got a sense of touch at all, and that's a fact. But now, look here! I am real grieved, but- Look here! Don't you mind me because I can't grease it and make it run smooth, and scent it and make it smell nice. You helped me, and you told me a lie when you did it. Yes, sir. Says you: "I've got no silver, dern it all;" and I saw the shine of silver in your purse. Then says you again: "I suppose you don't earn half a sovereign so easy every day;" and you put that rather harsh, to save my feelings and make me think it wasn't charity. I've thought of that often; and I've said to myself: "Send that man round to me if ever he's in trouble, and I am game to my bottom dollar." I have not your sense of touch, sir, in these matters, but I was deeply grateful, and I've had a liking for you ever since. I took а foolish way of showin' it, and hurt your feelings. But now, I've apologised, and you have looked over my clumsiness, and now-clean straightI'm worth five pound. Is half of that any use to you?' My good fellow,' said Gerard haughtily, 'you are quite mistaken in supposing that I am in want of money. If I were, I should find other means of getting it, than by taking your earnings from you.' He was somewhat touched, in spite of his hauteur. Perhaps he was a little loftier in manner because he was touched, and did not care to show it. He read incredulity in Hiram's face; and to put an end to his doubts, he sent his hand into his pocket and drew out a mingled handful of gold and silver. 'I am not in immediate danger of starvation,' he said lightly and in a kindlier tone.-Hiram felt the friendliness of this revelation, instinctively. He did not stop to think it out, but he knew that Gerard would rather have submitted to any misapprehension, than clear it in this way unless at the bidding of an impulse altogether friendly.- You are a good fellow, Search,' said the gentleman, reaching out his right hand. "You misunderstood my position-that was all.' Hiram pushed out his lean claw at arm's length and executed a solemn shake-hands. 'I am glad to see,' he answered, that I am not such an ass as I thought I was. You laughed just now when I called you an aristocrat. But I was not mistaken.' Gerard laughed again. This open expression of opinion is a little embarrassing, Mr Search.' I beg your pardon,' said Hiram gravely; 'I will not offend again. I have not your sense of touch, sir. I am not an educated man, and I am not acquainted with the ways of society. But I will not offend again.' 'What have you been doing since I saw you last?' asked Gerard, anxious to atone for his misunderstanding of Hiram's gratitude. The man's downright simplicity and truthfulness attracted him. Hiram began to tell his story. Neither of them noticed that the outer door had all this time been left unfastened, until, in the midst of Hiram's narrative, a great hammering began upon it, and Gerard arising to open it, met Val Strange and the lawyer in the lobby. 'Mr Lumby,' said the old lawyer, directly he set eyes upon him, let me congratulate you! We have recovered everything that villain Garling ran away with. You are a wealthy man once more.' This was a burst of singular indiscretion for so discreet a man; but the old boy had had the news pent in him for ten minutes; he had been a dear friend and old schoolfellow of Gerard's grandfather; he had been his father's adviser this thirty years past or nearly; and he was more puffed out and explosive with joy and triumph than a legal authority of threescore years and ten can endure to be with safety. The result of the communication thus made was alarming; and Gerard, beneath the little gaslight in the lobby, turned so pale, and made so blind a clutch at the doorpost, that the lawyer caught him on one side, and Val Strange on the other, and led him back into the room, where he sank into a chair, hid his face in his hands, and sobbed hysterically. 'Really, my dear Gerard,' said the little old lawyer, standing over him, patting his shoulder, and trying to cover his own error by disregarding the effect it had upon the other, we must have a little jollification on the strength of this discovery. Really we must. Perrier-Jouet must flow for this, sir. Pommery-Greno?-the lifeblood of the Widow Clicquot?-what shall it be?' All this time, he was patting and smoothing away at Gerard's shoulder.-'Mr Strange,' he cried, not ceasing this friendly attention for a minute, 'we ought to have supplied ourselves upon the way. It is all due to our friend Mr Strange, under Providence, that this amazing discovery was made, Gerard. Your friend Mr Strange is answerable for it.-Come, come, come; you'll get up and say "Thank you" to Mr Strange, surely. A quarter of a million is worth saying "Thank you" for. Come, come, come.' Running on thus, to cover Gerard's confusion and his own, he patted and soothed until Gerard raised a pale face and looked around him. 'What hit me,' he said, 'was the thought of the poor old governor. If it all came back, it would be too late for him.' 'No, no, no!' cried the little lawyer. 'Let us hope not-let us hope not. Let us trust in Providence. He will recover, and spend many happy years, I trust-many, many happy years. And that ancient lawyer, in spite of his face of parchment, and the legal inner dust of fifty years, sat down and wept for joy. In all his threescore years and ten he had known no greater grief than the fall of the great House. A placid equable life of threescore years and ten, with a little lovemaking in it, so far back that his old love's grandchildren were common-councilmen, and nothing to mark its even tenor since those far-off days, but two strong friendships. The two dearest friends he had ever had were Gerard's grandfather and father. Why should he not feel a touch of sacred, friendly joy again? But the old man's emotion killed Gerard's; so far as show was concerned at least. The two young men shook hands with each other and with the lawyer; and he, conscious of human frailty, made great efforts, and pulled himself together, and the three sent out for wine, and made bright speeches, and tried to be merry-with the ghosts about them. Constance for Val's ghost. Gerard's father with wrecked intellect and blighted life for the old lawyer's. Both for Gerard, and his pale mother seated between the two. And so the wine ran dull somehow in spite of its sparkle, and suddenly Gerard, in his attempt to be gay, bethought him of Mr Search, and made inquiry for him. Hiram had disappeared. Hiram indeed was by this time in his own lodgings, pulling at the black clay by the side of a guttering tallow-candle. 'I am glad of his luck,' he said heartily; and it's a sort of weight off of me somehow that Mary's father has dropped that ill-got load. I'd have liked to have congratu lated him; but I daren't stop for a word. It might pay a waiter too well to look honest, to congratulate a millionaire, when you've just lent him seven-and-six pence.' When a second bottle had been opened, and one libation poured to Fortune, the lawyer took his leave, and the two young men remained together. Val was very bitter inwardly, and Gerard's thanks were wormwood to him. Gerard was all gratitude and grief and hope, a very compound of contradictory emotion; Val, all rage, watchfulness, and despair. In his weakness, he was for a moment enraged at his own fealty to honour. Why should he have played such a card as he held into Gerard's hands, until he was sure of his own end? He was keenly on the watch to draw forth or catch the news of Constance's whereabouts. He half despaired of winning now, for he had cast the winning card away, and so for once he drank deeply, talking the while with a feverish attempt at gaiety, and pushing the conversation, whenever he could, in the direc tion of Gerard's hopes. For a long time, nothing came of this, but at last Gerard said: 'I shall cross to Paris to-morrow, after seeing the gover nor.' 'Ah!' responded Val, with well-concealed inte rest. What is going on there?' |