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 words came over the wire as you have written them, Mr. Barker?"

"Just as sure as mortal man can be, I took them down myself. Not that I'm any Pope of Rome, Mr. Bigg, and above mistakes."

"No, that you bain't, Barker," said Reubens; "no more ain't we all. So long as the world is, so long will some of us go queer in the head when the weather's hot. Let's hope as there won't be no mistakes when our books is balanced upstairs. It 'ud be hard on a man to find himself in hell for the want of a bit of good summing."

"That's true," said the postmaster, and he said it very solemnly. "But I'll trust in the Lord's books, Mr. Reubens."

I listened to the two fools wrangling together for some minutes, and then it occurred to me that I ought to get back to the house again. I'd stopped long enough to put my foot into it pretty badly, and long enough to know that nothing but a miracle could marry Sir Nicolas Steele to Janet Oakley. It was bad enough when Heresford received the first telegram; but I saw—and I could have bitten my hand because I'd done it—that I had put him in the way of getting the second message, which must tell him as plain as a book what the matter meant. "Like enough," said I, "he'll be over here with the post to-morrow, and then where shall we be?" Upon my word, it was the crudest bit of business that I'd met with in the ten years I'd been man to Sir Nicolas Steele.

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 was quite dark when I came up to the White House. Old Mr. Oakley was snoozing in his arm- chair; Sir Nicolas was with Miss Oakley in the garden. I didn't mean to tell him any thing until he went up to bed; but he heard that I was back, and he sent for me to come out to the summer-house to him. When I got there, he was standing in the doorway of the arbor, with Miss Janet hanging on to his arm, as pretty a little thing as a man might find between London and Vienna.

"Well, Hildebrand," said she, "and I hope that you've brought me something nice from the post-office?"

"And I do wish I had, to be sure, miss," said I.

"Are they talking about Saturday in the village?" she went on, giving Sir Nicolas a good squeeze with her arm, as I could see.

"Doing nothing but talk of it, miss," I said. "There's to be fine doings down there when you're gone away. Mr. Oakley's a kind-hearted gentleman, I must say."

She didn't answer me now, but turned to my master, and cried:

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"What do you say, Pat?"—like the other, she always called him Pat, because he was an Irishman, I suppose. "What do you say? Don't you think that we ought to stop and see the fun? Doesn't the thought of a roasted ox tempt you? We could dance on the green, you know."

He answered her with a laughing look, and just touched the top of her head with his lips. Never, I think, was Sir Nicolas so far gone with any woman as he was with Janet Oakley, and I knew by his way that he'd fight strong before he gave her up.

"Did you find the letter I sent you for?" he asked me presently, and when he'd done looking at her.

"No, sir, I did not," replied I, knowing well that he meant to ask me about the telegram. "It seems to me that it's been delivered at the wrong address."

"Are we likely to get it back again?" he continued, meaning to ask me, "Are we likely to weather the mistake?"

"I fear not, sir," said I; and dark as it was I could see him bite his lip with vexation.

"What's it all mean?" cried Miss Oakley now. "Has that silly old Barker been losing your letters?"

"I fear he has," said Sir Nicolas, "or worse than losing them—he's been presenting them to other people."

"He's a dreadful person," said she, "so prim and old-fashioned. He always puts his gloves on to deliver a telegram. It's quite an event in his history. I am sure he enters it in his family Bible."

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My master laughed at this, but it was a cold laugh, and I could see that he wasn't so easy, though he had to put the best face on it.

"It doesn't very much matter at all, Hildebrand," said he; "likely the thing will turn up in the morning. Any way, it's not worth the troubling about now."

With this he turned away, and they went together toward the dining-room, Mr. Oakley calling them from the window. I did not see Sir Nicolas again until he came up to his bedroom, and then he had drank more whiskey than was good for him. It was always a way with him when he was like that to turn round upon me; but I knew him too well to take notice, and I let him rave as much as he liked.

"If it hadn't been for that cursed brother of yours, we shouldn't be in this mess," he whimpered when he began to undress himself. "Faith, to think how near we've been to it!"

He went on like this for a long time, and then began to tell me that he wouldn't leave the house.

"If I go—hang me!" said he, hurling his boots to the other side of the room. " Is it for such a one as him that I'm to be packing again? No, by Heaven! I'll shoot him first. D'ye hear that, Hildebrand? I'll shoot the man first! Who is he, to come barking here about my business? Will you tell me that, please?"

I didn't see fit to argue with him then, and when I had got him into bed. and put the razors out of his

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 reach, I left him mumbling to himself, and went back to my bedroom to pack my few clothes.

"Bigg," said I to myself, "you're going to make a journey to-morrow. It may be that you're going to Brussels, it may be that you're going to Paris—but go you must; and where the ready is to come from, you don't quite know. Nicky couldn't rake fifty together to save his life, and you haven't got a shilling to your back."

Things were now in such a state that this question of money troubled me more than any thing. Look where I would, I didn't see how we were to get enough to keep afloat for a week on the other side; and when I remembered that we should have to cut in a hurry, things seemed as bad as they could be. That we must go, I never had a doubt. Once Heresford was in the house, Sir Nicolas Steele would leave it smart enough. It remained to see if the man would come.

You may imagine that I didn't get much sleep that night. It was six o'clock in the morning before I closed my eyes, and then I overslept myself by an hour, not going into Sir Nicolas' room until half-past eight. The others were already up, and what should I see from the staircase window but Reubens, the constable, talking to Mr. Oakley and his daughter on the grass by the lake.

"Hallo!" said I; "what's brought you here? No good to us, I'm sure." And with that to give me a twinge, I went into my master's bedroom.

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He was already out of bed, waiting to be shaved; but I could see that he wasn't himself, for his hand trembled when I gave him his clothes, and he spoke very cool and calm like.

"Well," said he, "is it any letter you're bringing me?"

"Not a half a one, sir," said I.

"Then there's no talk down stairs as yet?" he went on.

"I haven't heard any," said I, "but Reubens, the constable, is on the lawn with Mr. Oakley, and they're busy talking."

"What can that be now?" he asked mighty eagerly.

"That's what I'm going to find out presently," exclaimed I. "There's a young chap in the village with more paper for us; perhaps he's come about him."

"So the hawks have scented us again," cried he, sitting in the chair to be shaved; "well, I don't care a crack for them. 'Tis this Heresford that's troubling me. If he's to come, Hildebrand, there should be word or message from him this morning."

"That's so, sir," said I; "if you hear nothing when the gong for lunch goes, you may make your mind easy."

"Otherwise, I suppose there's only one way."

"Only one, sir," said I.

He gave a great sigh, and let me shave him without a word. When I had done that, he bethought

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 him all of a sudden of something that had troubled me the whole night through.

"Hildebrand," said he, "it's badly off for money I am, let me tell you. I've not fifty in the world. I was looking for Oakley's check to his daughter to get through Saturday."

Now, when he said this, something came quickly into my head that was not there before; and when I'd thought of it a minute, I told him.

"One thing you're forgetting, sir," said I; "there's the things which Mr. Oakley give you—you wouldn't be leaving them behind."

"What things do you mean?" said he; "not the girl's wedding presents?"

"Well, not exactly those, sir, but the things given to you. Gifts are gifts, and not to be taken back, I think."

"You scoundrel," said he, springing up from his chair with his fist clenched, "would you make a housebreaker of me?"

"I don't know," said I, quite calmly; "but one thing I would do, Sir Nicolas"

"And what is that, pray?" cried he, standing white with passion.

"Keep you out of the hands of the police!" I replied, while I turned to put his things away.

What he did when he heard this I don't know, since I had my back to him. But he said nothing for a long time, and when he spoke there was no more bluster about him.

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"Hildebrand," cried he, quite quietly, "if you could find out what the constable's here for, it would help us, don't you think?"

"I'm going down to do that now, sir," said I; "there'll be time enough to pack your bag while you're at breakfast."

"To pack my bag—what do you want to do that for?" cried he.

"Against accidents," said I; "and while I'm talking about it, let me say that you'd be wise not to go far from home to-day."

He heard me out, and then turned away to the window. I could see that there were tears rolling down his cheeks, and I thought it was fortunate that one of us at least had more than the heart of a woman. But it wasn't the time to say that to him, and I went down stairs to find out, if I could, why the constable had come up to the house, and whether there was any message from Heresford. Lucky enough, I met Mr. Oakley on the landing, and I knew from his manner that we were all right so far.

"Ha, Hildebrand!" said he, "you're the very man I want to see. Reubens, the constable, has been trying to frighten me about those wedding presents down stairs. He seems to think there is a person in the village who is to be suspected. I tell him it is all nonsense. As if any one would rob my house!"

"Reubens has got hold of the wrong end of the stick this time, Mr. Oakley," said I, seeing in a

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 moment what was coming; "the man he's troubled about is clerk to Sir Nicolas' lawyer, I'm thinking."

He laughed very hearty at this, and leaned over the banisters to tell Miss Janet what I'd said.

"Janet, Janet," cried he, "Reubens' burglar is a lawyer's clerk. Did you ever hear such a thing? I mast tell that at the breakfast on Saturday."

"Was he thinking, then, of taking the gentleman in charge, sir?" I asked.

"Indeed and he was. And that's not all. He wants me to send the valuable things over to the bank at Melbourne, lest they should be stolen by what he is pleased to call a gang from London. Bosh! say I; there's no gang from London that will get in here in a hurry."

"That I'm sure they wouldn't, sir," said I, thinking it precious lucky that I'd hit upon such a good lie. It would never have done to let him be frightened into sending the presents away.

"I'm glad you're of my opinion, Hildebrand," said he next; "we're too busy for burglars just now. Is Sir Nicolas up yet?"

"He's coming down in a minute, sir."

He left me, and began to climb the stairs two at a time, like a man of twenty, and I could hear him muttering "Lazy dog! lazy dog!" because, I suppose, my master was late for breakfast. But I went on into the servants' hall, saying to myself that I'd never had a luckier thought than the one about that writ-server. If Mr. Oakley had listened to Reubens, and sent the

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 diamonds away, we'd have been in a pretty pickle. As it was, I knew he would leave them in the drawing-room, and, so long as they were there, we were not likely to want a railway fare.

It was now about a quarter-past nine o'clock. The morning post had come in, and I was sure there was no letter or telegram from Heresford—a thing I couldn't understand at all. "This man can't be so blind that he doesn't read the meaning of that telegram," I said; and yet it was strange that the morning passed and not a sign of any trouble could we see. Nicky himself, always ready to go up or down in spirits like a thermometer, was half-wild with joy about twelve o'clock, and you could hear his laughter all over the house. Then he went riding with Miss Janet, and when he came back at two o'clock, and there was still no word from Heresford, he looked like a man who had lost twenty of his years in an hour.

I shall never forget that day if I live until I'm a hundred. The times I walked to the lodge gates to see if any one was coming up the road; the starts I got every time the dogs barked and the bells rang. I was that bad by six o'clock that I couldn't sit a minute anywhere; and well as the thing looked, I positively dared not believe in our luck. "It can't be, it can't be," I kept saying to myself; "he must come; he will be here in five minutes, in ten; he will drive up before the clock strikes again." And this went on all the afternoon until six o'clock, the

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 hour when I had arranged to drive down to Melbourne to bring a few of our things up from the station; and still we were safe.

It was a relief to me to get away from the house, and to find myself alone. They always lent me the old dog-cart when I wanted to go to the town, and I said that night that I'd go by myself, for I had so many bags to bring back with me. We used to take about twenty minutes to drive into Melbourne in the ordinary way, but I shook the old mare up a bit on that occasion, for it was a quarter-past six when I passed the lodge, and I meant to get back a little after seven to help Sir Nicolas to dress. It seemed strange to me to find myself on a Derbyshire road at all, for I looked to be on the way to Paris long before then; and even as I drove along, I kept asking myself if it was me that sat there or another. I'd thought so much about the whole thing that I was almost stupid with it.

"It can't be; it can't be!" I said over and over again. "Heresford would walk a hundred miles to put a spoke in Nicky's wheel. He's sworn to hunt him out of every city in Europe, and he's a man of bis word. He must come."

I had made up my mind to this before I'd left the White House a mile behind, and I hadn't gone two miles down the road before time proved me to be right. It came about in this way. I had just turned into the lane which they call the chestnut-grove, and had given the old mare a cut with the

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 whip to send her along a bit, when, looking through the trees into the meadow, whom should I see but Lord Heresford himself, walking across the fields straight toward the White House. The thing was so sudden that for a minute I thought I had seen a ghost. But it was only for a minute. While my heart was beating like an engine, and something was singing away in my ears, I kept my wits; and almost by a sort of instinct I reined the mare back, so that she stood almost upon her hind-legs.

"Bigg," said I, "this is just a tight place. You've got to think, and lose no time about it. It's a race, Bigg, and the best man wins. He can't get up to the house in less than twenty minutes; you should be up in six. Cut for it, man; cut for it!"

I said this, and with the words on my lips, I whipped the mare round, and sent her flying up the road like a racehorse. I've handled some horses, but I never, to my way of thinking, put a beast along so fast as I put the mare that night. She was dripping wet when I drove her into the yard, and tossed the reins to William.

"William," said I, when he came out, "I've news for my master that won't wait. Keep the mare to. It won't be three minutes before I'm on the road again."

He opened his mouth at this, but I ran into the house, and bumping against the butler in the hall, I asked him where Sir Nicolas was.

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Rh ical productions. In 1814 he published his first great work, "Marionettheatret," which contained the two romantic dramas, "Don Juan" and "Pottemager Walter" (Potter Walter). The refined and noble diction in these pieces did not fail to attract wide attention. Three years later followed "Dristig vovet, halv er vundet" (Boldly ventured is half the victory), a study from Calderon, of whom Heiberg was so exceedingly fond that he chose him as the subject of his thesis for the degree of doctor; and in the same year he also published a romantic work on the myth about Psyche. His critical bent had already in 1815 vented itself in the above mentioned dramatic satire, "Julespög og Nytaarslöier," in which he rebuked, in a most scathing manner, the vagaries of the romantic school, especially Ingemann's idealistic dramas and the public who were wild with enthusiasm over them. This led to a feud between himself and Grundtvig, who assumed the defence of Ingemann, but was completely vanquished by Heiberg's sharp work: "Ny A B C Bog til Äre, Nytte og Fornöielse for den unge Grundtvig" (New primer in honor of and for the use and amusement of the youth Grundtvig).

After a journey abroad during which he visited his father, who still lived in Paris, he became Lector of Danish language and literature in Kiel, but after a few years he returned to Copenhagen, where the vaudevilles he published made great stir in æsthetical circles. The peculiarity of this kind of plays introduced on the Danish stage by Heiberg consists, as is well known, in the manner in which the words and music are blended into one, but still so that the music is the subordinate element, serving chiefly to give a lyric character to the drama. The models of these light, lively little plays were really taken from the French stage, but in Heiberg's hands the vaudeville was essentially changed and became an entirely new dramatic species, which Heiberg well knew how to use as a means for arousing that taste for local comical element which is peculiar to the very nature of the Danish people. The best among the vaudevilles are: "Kong Salomon og Jörgen


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"He's knocking the balls about in the billiard-room."

"And Mr. Oakley?"

"Oh, he's dressing!"

It couldn't have been luckier. I found Sir Nicolas bending over the billiard table; he laid his cue down when I burst in, and said:

"Well, what's fresh now?"

I told him in ten words.

"Good God!" said he; "and what are we to do?"

"Just this," said I, "get your hat and slip down to the bottom of the paddock. You can strike the road to Nottingham there. I shall be by in the cart in two minutes, and I'll pick you up."

"Is there no other course?" he stammered.

"Unless you wish to spend the night in jail," said I, "you must do what I say. You haven't ten seconds to choose—he's almost at the gate."

For a minute he stood to curse and stamp, while his face was as white as the paper I write on. Then he did as I told him; and when I had watched him cross the lawn, I slipped back into the hall and listened at the drawing-room door. The place was quite empty; of that I was sure, and there being no one about, for the others were dressing for dinner, I entered the room and looked round for the stuff.

"Gifts are gifts," said I, "and we've as much right to them as he has, especially to the shiners, which will go into my pocket. He may keep the

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 plate, and welcome—but I don't leave those stones behind."

It doesn't take long for a man to fill his pockets with diamonds. I was all bulging out with what I'd got; and almost before I'd realized the whole thing, I was back in the dog-cart again.

"Do ye bring bad news?" cried old William, tossing me the reins.

"Precious bad," said I, "and likely to be worse before morning. I'm driving to the doctor's. Let her go, William."

He gave her a slap with his hand and we bounded down the drive; the last thing I saw of the White House being the pretty face of Janet Oakley as she stood before the glass in her dressing-room. I wonder to this day that I didn't cannon the lodge gates, so fast I went; but luck was with me, and directly I was out on the road I looked for Sir Nicolas. He was standing there all right, but I had another shiver when I saw that Heresford himself had just come up to the stile, and was getting ove'r it. The two men were face to face an instant after, and then Heresford turned on him.

"You hound!" said he; "so you've come to kennel here? Indeed, it's lucky for them that I heard of you, Sir Nicolas Steele."

He was going to say more, and Sir Nicolas, I think, was about to hit him, for the man had a hand at his collar. Then I thought it time to act. Raising my whip suddenly, I struck Heresford across the face

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 with it, and he reeled back, half blinded, across the road. In the same moment my master made a spring for the step, and no sooner was he on it than I gave the mare a vicious cut, and she galloped like a wild thing down the road. But we could hear Heresford calling for help long after we had left him, and we never let the mare trot until dark had come down.

It was daylight next morning when the two of us walked into Nottingham, and so struck the Midland main line. We had left the cart a mile out of the town, turning the mare's head back toward Derbyshire, and letting her go where she pleased.

"Say what you like, sir," said I, "we've got to separate. You track north to Hull, where you'll get steamer to Southampton and so to Havre. I go direct to Paris, where we'll look to meet in a week."

"You think that they will follow us, then?"

"No. Oakley will hush it up for his daughter's sake."

"I could cut my throat every time I think of her," said he.

"You'll be better when you're on the sea, sir," said I; "and don't forget that the job's been worth a thousand to us."

"Will the stuff bring that?" he cried eagerly.

"Every penny of it," said I.

And with this I put him into the train for Hull.

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262 Hattemager," "Aprilsnarrene," "Recensenten og Dyret," and "de Uadskillelige," all of which were received with storms of applause on account of the genuine humor in the dialogue and in the couplets, of the charming melodies admirably adapted to the words, and of the really comical characters that occur in the plays. This great enthusiasm for the plays came, however, only from the public at large, which had been entirely captivated, for pretended critics did not fail to direct violent attacks against this new style of drama, but Heiberg utterly vanquished them in his excellent dissertation, "Vaudevillen som dramatisk Kunstart."

Of Heiberg's greater plays, "Elverhöi," is the most remarkable. Here, as well as in "Syvsoverdag," the style of the popular ballad has been applied in a masterly manner for the purpose of increasing the romantic coloring. In the fairy comedy, "Alferne," Tieck's fairy tale, "Die Elfin," has been dramatized with great art and skill. The Aristophanic comedy, "En Sjæl efter Döden" (a soul after death), is a strikingly witty satire on narrowmindedness, with bold indirect sallies against various prominent individuals and the prevailing tendencies in the literature of the period. In addition to many lyric poems and romances, he also wrote the charming cycle of romances called "De Nygifte."

Of all Heiberg's poetical compositions his vaudevilles have had the most influence on the development of Danish literature, and by them he gained his aim, which was to awaken in the people a taste for a local comedy, and thus he created the conditions by which the modern comedy was able to thrive in Denmark. But notwithstanding the high value of his poetical productions Heiberg unquestionably ranks still higher as a writer on æsthetics. From 1827 he edited for many years the weekly paper "Den flyvende Post" (the flying mail), and later the "Intelligensblade," and by the former especially he guided with marked ability, though not without a certain one-sidedness, the æsthetic development of the people. Heiberg was the first to proclaim the Hegelian philosophy in


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 By.

Illustrated by René Bull.

sat up in bed. For two hours she had been trying to get to sleep, but without success. Never in her life had she felt more wakeful.

There were two reasons for this. Her mind was disturbed, and she was very hungry. Since first she had become paid companion to Mrs. Rastall-Retford there had hardly been a moment when she had not been hungry. Some time before Mrs. Rastall-Retford's doctor had recommended to that lady a Spartan diet, and in this Eve, as companion, had unwillingly to share. It was not pleasant for either of them, but at least Mrs. Rastall-Retford had the knowledge that she had earned it by years of honest self-indulgence. Eve had not that consolation.

Meagre fare, moreover, had the effect of accentuating Mrs. Rastall-Retford's always rather pronounced irritability. She was a massaive lady, with a prominent forehead, some half-dozen chins, and a manner towards those in her employment which would have been resented in a second mate by the crew of a Western ocean tramp. Even at her best she was no ray of sunshine about the house. And since the beginning of the self-denying ordinance she had been at her worst.

But it was not depression induced by her employer that was disturbing Eve. That was a permanent evil. What was agitating her so extremely to-night was the unexpected arrival of Peter Rayner.

It was Eve's practice to tell herself several times a day that she had no sentiment for Peter Rayner but dislike. She did not attempt to defend her attitude logically, but nevertheless she clung to it, and to-night, when he entered the drawing-room, she had endeavoured to convey by her manner that it was only with the greatest difficulty that she remembered him at all, and that, having accomplished that feat, she now intended to forget him again immediately. And he had grinned a cheerful, affectionate grin, and beamed on her without a break till bedtime.

Before coming as companion to Mrs. Rastall-Retford Eve had been governess to Hildebrand, aged six, the son of a Mrs. Elphinstone. It had been, on the whole, a comfortable situation. She had not liked Mrs. Elphinstone, but Hildebrand had been docile, and altogether life was quite smooth and pleasant until Mrs. Elphinstone's brother came for a visit. Peter Rayner was that brother.

There is a type of man who makes love with the secrecy and sheepish reserve of a cowboy shooting up a Wild West saloon. To this class Peter belonged. He fell in love with Eve at sight, and if, at the end of the first day, there was anyone in the house who was not aware of it, it was only Hildebrand, aged six. And even Hildebrand must have had his suspicions.

Mrs. Elphinstone was among the first to become aware of it. For two days, frostily silent and gimlet-like as to the eye, she observed Peter's hurricane wooing from afar; then she acted. Peter she sent to London, pacifying him with an invitation to return to the house in the following week. This done, she proceeded to eliminate Eve. In the course of the parting interview she expressed herself perhaps a little less guardedly than was either just or considerate; and Eve, flushed and at war with the whole race of Rayners, departed that afternoon to seek a situation elsewhere. She had found it at the house of Mrs. Rastall-Retford.

And now this evening, as she sat in the drawing-room playing the piano to her employer, in had walked the latter's son, a tall, nervous young man, perpetually clearing his throat and fiddling with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, with the announcement that he had brought his friend, Mr. Rayner, to spend a few days in the old home.

Eve could still see the look on Peter's face as, having shaken hands with his hostess, he turned to her. It was the look of the cowboy who, his weary ride over, sees through the dusk the friendly gleam of the saloon windows, and with a happy sigh reaches for his revolver. There could be no two meanings to that look. It said, as clearly as if he had shouted it, that this was no accidental meeting; that he had tracked her down and proposed to resume matters at the point where they had left off.


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Y journey was uncommonly agreeable: I found the baron a man of some sense, but little knowledge of the world. He had passed a great part of his life with|out stirring beyond the precincts of his own


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 Eve was indignant. It was abominable that he should pursue her in this way. She sat thinking how abominable it was for five minutes; and then it suddenly struck her that she was hungrier than ever. She had forgotten her material troubles for the moment. It seemed to her now that she was quite faint with hunger.

A cuckoo-clock outside the door struck one. And, as it did so, it came to Eve that on the sideboard in the dining-room there were biscuits.

A moment later she was creeping softly down the stairs.

It was dark and ghostly on the stairs. The house was full of noises. She was glad when she reached the dining-room. It would be pleasant to switch on the light. She pushed open the door, and uttered a cry. The light was already switched on, and at the table, his back to her, was a man.

There was no time for flight. He must have heard the door open. In another moment he would turn and spring.

She spoke tremulously.

"Don't—don't move. I'm pointing a pistol at you."

The man did not move.

"Foolish child!" he said, indulgently. "Suppose it went off!"

She uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"You! What are you doing here, Mr. Rayner?"

She moved into the room, and her relief changed swiftly into indignation. On the table were half a chicken, a loaf, some cold potatoes, and a bottle of beer.

"I'm eating, thank goodness!" said Peter, helping himself to a cold potato. "I had begun to think I never should again."

"Eating!"

"Eating. I know a man of sensibility and


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22 At Slindon Wood, near Petworth, Sussex, between the South Downs and the sea, which is seven miles distant, on the property of Major Leslie, there was in 1903 one of the finest beech woods in England, growing on chalk soil, of which I have particulars from Mr. C.H. Greenwood, and of which I give an illustration from a photograph sent me by him (Plate 6). Mr. Greenwood states that 634 trees were recently cut and sold in this wood, many of them being 70 and several 80 to 90 feet long to the first limb, and quarter girthing 20 inches in the middle. One tree now standing measures, without the top, 70' x 26" = 320 feet, and on one acre at the east side of the wood are standing 60 which would average 150 feet each, making 9000 cubic feet to the acre. The tallest tree is 90 feet to the first bough, with 21 inches ¼ girth = 275 feet. This is perhaps the largest yield of beech per acre of which I have any record in England.

In Windsor Park there are some fine old beeches, of which three are figured by Menzies. His plate 4 shows a remarkable old pollard at Ascot Gate 30 feet in girth, which he supposed to be 800 years old, and another, his plate 6, on Smith's lawn, of similar age and 31 feet 9 inches in girth. The third, Queen Adelaide's Beech, is a tree of no great size or beauty. It measured in 1864 8 feet 6 inches in girth, when supposed by Menzies to be 140 years old. In 1904 it had only increased 10 inches in girth. The finest beech now growing at Windsor—Mr. Simmonds, the deputy-surveyor of the Park, who was good enough to show it to me, agrees in this—is a tree near Cranbourne Tower, which in March 1904 measured 125 feet by 15, with a fine clean bole, but not equal to that of the Queen Beech at Ashridge.

The two largest beech trees, of whose measurement I have exact particulars, were both blown down in the heavy gale of September 1903, I believe on the same night. One of these was at Cowdray Park in Sussex, the property of the Earl of Egmont, and grew on sandy soil near the top of the great chestnut avenue at a considerable elevation, perhaps 400 feet. I saw it lying on the ground not long after, and obtained from Mr. Barber, steward on the estate, the following careful measurements:—

Butt 22 feet by 72 inches ¼ girth = 792 feet. Limbs measured down to 9 inches ¼ girth only, 43 in number, contained 924 feet 6 inches. Total 1716 feet 6 inches. Measured on the ground 21st September 1903.

The other was the great beech at Cornbury Park, of which I give a photograph taken after its fall (Plate 7), that gives an idea of its immense size. I saw the stump of this tree two years afterwards, and counted about 230 rings in it, which justify the belief that it may have been planted by Evelyn. Mr. C.A. Fellowes, agent for the property, had the tree carefully measured after its fall, and gives its height as 120 feet, girth 21 feet 4 inches. Cubic contents 1796 feet (nothing under 6 inches quarter girth being measured).

A magnificent beech growing in Studley Park, the seat of the Marquis of Ripon, was figured by Loudon, iii. 1955, and is there stated to have been 114 feet high.


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 domains, and consequently his manners were far from being the most polished; but he was hearty, good-humoured, and friendly. His attention to me was all that I could wish, and I had every reason to be satisfied with his behaviour. His ruling passion was hunting, which he had brought himself to consider as a serious occupation; and, when talking over some remarkable chace, he treated the subject with as much gravity as it had been a battle on which the fate of two kingdoms was depending. I happened to be a tolerable sportsman: soon after my arrival at Lindenberg, I gave some proofs of my dexterity. The baron immediately marked me down for a man of genius, and vowed to me an eternal friendship.

That friendship was become to me by no means indifferent. At the castle of Lindenberg, I beheld for the first time your sister, the lovely Agnes. For me, whose heart was unoccupied, and who grieved at the void, to see her and to love her were the same. I found in Agnes all that was requi-


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24 these branches is about 400 feet. Detailed measurements by Mr. Ramsay are given below. Newbattle Abbey, Midlothian, N.B. Measurement of the great beech tree, August 25, 1903, by Mr. John Ramsay.

Girth in feet, inches, etc., of trunk—

The ground measurement was taken by allowing the tape to lie on the roots as near to the uprising of the buttresses as possible, and is necessarily vague. The measurement at 6 feet up is the most correct, being taken on a line marked at intervals all round with white paint for future comparison.

Circumference of foliage fully 400 feet; diameter of foliage averages 130 to 140 feet; height, 112 feet.

The following are a few of the branches with the girth of them, and the girth of the branches springing up from the main branches rooted in the ground:—

No. 1.—Branch girth, 1 foot 10 inches, with two branches growing up from it; girth of both these new branches, 4 feet 5 inches each.

No. 2.—Branch girth, 1 foot 8 inches, having three branches springing up from it, one 5 feet 5 inches, one 5 feet 1 inch, one 23 inches by 1 foot 11 inches in girth.

No. 3.—Branch girth, 12½ inches, having three branches springing up from it, one 4 feet 7½ inches, one 24½ inches, one 4 feet 4 inches in girth.

No. 4.—Branch girth, 12 inches, with two branches springing up from it, one 2 feet 8½ inches, one 12 inches in girth.

No. 5.—Branch girth, 1 foot 7 inches, with three branches springing up from it, one 2 feet 4½ inches, one 12 inches, one 18 inches in girth.

No. 6.—Branch girth, 2 feet 4 inches, with five branches springing up from it, one 4 feet 4 inches, one 3 feet 8 inches, one 4 feet, one 3 feet 4 inches, one I foot 11 inches in girth.

A similar instance of self-layering, perfectly natural, was to be seen in the Kew Gardens, where a very fine beech, though by no means such a giant as the Newbattle tree, was surrounded by a fence in order to protect it. This tree, however, having become seriously decayed, had its main stem cut down in 1904.

Among the best specimens I have seen in Scotland are those at Hopetoun House, near Edinburgh, the seat of the Marquess of Linlithgow, where I measured a tree 110 feet high, with a clean bole of about 50 feet, and a girth of 12 feet. At Blair Drummond, near Perth, the seat of H.S. Home Drummond, Esq., Henry measured one of 117 feet high by 16 feet 6 inches in girth, and at Methven Castle, the seat of Colonel Smythe, another which is 120 feet high by 17 feet 2 inches in girth. This tree divides into three stems at about 20 feet, and is the tallest of which we have any certain record in Scotland. At Gordon Castle is a very fine beech with spreading roots (Plate 10) measuring 95 feet by 15 feet 8 inches. At Castle Menzies, Perthshire, the property of Sir Neil Menzies, is a very fine beech, which is described by Hunter as a vegetable "Siamese Twins." Whether originally two trees or one is difficult to say, but it seemed to me to be from a single root which had forked a little above the ground and then grown together again, leaving an opening through which Hunter says an ordinary sized person might pass, but which in 1904 was smaller. At Inverary Castle is another example of an inosculated beech, known as the Marriage Tree, which, from a photograph published by Valentine, does not seem to be so striking as the one at Castle Menzies.


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 had been back in Paris nearly two months when the strange business connected with the golden egg came about. There was a time when I was very glad that my master had something to occupy his mind; but that was at the beginning of it. By and by, I thought much as the rest of them did; and whether to laugh or whether to cry I really did not know.

For my part, I was not sorry to be in Paris. All said and done, it's a city for a gentleman to live in. High born or low, good man or bad, you may find your company there so long as the guineas rattle in your pocket. And when you've spent your bit, you'll still find your company. That's the way of it—either rich or poor, but no betweens; and no need to show your family Bible before you're on nodding terms with your neighbors.

"If you'll take my advice, sir," said I to Sir Nicolas, the week after the Oakley affair, "you'll stop here until it's time to move for Monaco. Folks will be coming back from the seaside in a month or so, and meanwhile we'll do no hurt to rest a bit."

"Indeed, and I believe you're right," cried he, "

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 though what a man is to do in Paris these times I'd like to learn."

"You've more than a thousand pounds to spend, sir," said I, reminding him how well we had sold Janet Oakley's diamonds.

"That's so," said he, brightening up wonderfully; "there's a deal of spending in a thousand pounds. And I don't forget that Jack Ames is here. There should be fun while he stops, any way."

"Quite true, sir," replied I, "so long as you don't play billiards with him. Making bold to say it, he could beat you with his umbrella."

"No such thing!" exclaimed he. "I'll take fifteen in a hundred and play him for a monkey any day."

"I wouldn't, if I were you, sir," said I; "we've got to go steady a bit yet—don't forget that."

This made him serious, as any word about his position always did.

"Do you think they'll follow us?" he asked quickly, "or is it some news you've got in your head?"

"Neither the one nor the other. I've no news, and I don't think they'll follow us, sir. But this I do say, that I wouldn't let myself be heard of for a month or so, if you can help it. There's no telling what Heresford would do if it came to his ears that you were starring about."

"You're right there. I'm trusting that Oakley hushed the affair up. There's nothing about it in the English papers that I can see."

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"And there won't be, if we go on as we're doing now."

"Exactly; that's what I mean to do. Would I be advertising myself on the hoardings? Is it a child in long clothes that I am, Hildebrand?"

I said nothing, for it was plain that he was working himself up into one of his tempers. He'd been hard enough to bear with since we said good-by to Janet Oakley; but Sir Nicolas Steele was worth five hundred pounds a year to me, one way and the other, and you can stand a bit of temper at that price. I knew that he would think over what I said to him, and so it turned out; for a month went and he lived like a parson. Then, all of a sudden, came the business of the golden egg—and that's the story I write about.

The affair happened quite suddenly, as I say. He had been to Trouville with Jack Ames, and had lost a good deal of money, I knew. Ames was a long-nosed painting man, who lived on what he could get by finding fault with other people's pictures. He had nice manners, though; and I will say that he was a wonder with a billiard cue. Many's the mug he's skinned in this very Hôtel de Lille. I could have cried every time I saw my master going up to the billiard-room with him—and yet a prettier pair to play a four-handed match you'd never find. Ames it was who introduced Sir Nicolas to the theatricals of the Bouffes Parisiens; and what with giving dinners here and picnics there, the thousand we had made in Derbyshire soon looked thin enough.

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"Never mind, Nick, my boy," that Ames used to say when be came with some new thing in bis head—" never mind, Nick, my boy; we'll marry you to a rich woman one of these days. And then I'll buy your pictures for you, be hanged if I don't."

You see, the man knew where to get him; for if there was one thing Nicky Steele never could stand against, it was a compliment about the women. The most ordinary creature alive could turn his head with a word. I don't think a vainer man ever was born into this world. He'd clothes enough to stock a theatre; and when I saw him, as I did often, standing before his glass like a schoolgirl dressing for her first party, I could have laughed in his face. If ever Jack Ames wanted money of him, he'd wheedle him with some story of a female who was after his beaux yeux, as he called it. And there wasn't a woman he knew who didn't flatter him outrageously, and laugh at what she'd done when his back was turned.

Well, it was by some tale of a woman that Ames got him down to Trouville; he paying the expenses, you may be pretty sure. The pair were away about a week, and when they came back, I knew that a good deal of money had been spent. He was very down in the mouth, and talked about going to try his luck in America, and other stuff. He got to work on the champagne, too, and I began to have the old trouble with him.

"What am I doing here?" he raved. It was the

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 first night he was back from Trouville. "What's to become of me, Hildebrand—me that was born a gentleman? Is it in a garret you'd see me die? I haven't fifty pounds in the world, as the Lord is my witness."

"Now, don't you think of that, sir," said I. "You're not the man to die in any garret. Have a little patience, and we shall hear of something. Luck's never failed us yet, and it's not going to now."

"That's what you're always telling me," he wailed. "Luck—what's luck done for me? Is it lucky I am to have no friend in the world? The devil take such luck!"

I put him to bed—we were then staying in the Hôtel de Lille, over on the south side of the river, which corresponds to our London Surrey side—and next morning he slept late. It had been arranged that he and Mr. Ames should breakfast together in the hotel, and then go for a day down to Fontainebleau—à la campagne, as the French call it. I had called him at nine o'clock, but it was ten o'clock before he got up; and while he was dressing, the waiter brought up one of the funniest parcels 1 have ever seen. It was very small, very neat, done up in very bright blue paper; but more strange than any thing else was its weight, which was extraordinary for such a little thing.

"It seems to me, sir," said I, "that somebody has been making you a present of a few bullets. I never handled any thing like that in my life."

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He took it in his hand and weighed it.

"What the deuce can it be, Hildebrand?" exclaimed he; and with that he cut the string, while I pretended to be busy with his clothes. But I saw him open the box, and when he got through a deal of tissue paper, he came to a little golden egg, quite the size of a plover's egg, and exactly like one in shape.

"Well," said he, "if that isn't rum! Who the blazes will be sending me this?"

It certainly was a funny thing, and when he passed the egg on to me, I was just as puzzled as he was. There it stood, a plain bit of gold—as you could tell by its weight—and not a mark or sign to make the giver known or to tell why it had been sent.

"Perhaps there's a letter with it, sir," said I, "or one will follow it."

"Is it gold, do you think?" he asked next.

"It should be, by its weight; but I'll put a drop of acid on it and see, sir."

It was gold right enough. The acid showed us that; yet when we had made the test, we had done nothing to answer the question, Who sent it?

"Who is it, now," he kept saying, "that is sending me golden eggs? It would be a woman most likely. Of course that's it. There'll be some message or letter to follow this. No one would be such a fool as to send the thing anonymously. Didn't I tell you that our luck would change. Bedad! it's changed already. I'll have a bottle of champagne on this, Hildebrand; it should be worth that, any way."

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"Better wait a bit and see, sir," cried I; "though it's a queer present, I do say."

Well, it was no good talking to him; he was that excited about it already that he would have had the wine if his last guinea had bought it. I've known him before now to crack a bottle of champagne when he found a horseshoe in the road; and he always was one to be up or down like an umbrella. The least thing would send him laughing or crying; and this queer present, coming at a time when the money was very low, was quite enough. By the time I'd got the champagne he was singing at the top of his voice. What's more, the golden egg was open, and as I put the wine on the table I caught sight of the portrait of a woman lying in the heart of it.

"So, sir," said I, "you've found out all about it?"

"Yes," said he, coming to a stop suddenly, "it's only a locket, after all. Open the fizz, will you? my mouth's like a sandhill."

Now, it seemed to me queer that he should be so silent about it, but he never did talk to me when a woman was in the case. And it wasn't for me to say any thing when he held his tongue. So I uncorked the wine, and was pouring him out a glass, when Jack Ames opened the door and walked straight into the room.

"Halloa," said he, "at it already, Nicky, my boy! What's fresh now, then?"

"There's nothing fresh that I know of," answered

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 Sir Nicolas, quickly closing the locket; "is it ready to start ye are?"

"As ready as yourself. You're not going to leave the liquor like that, surely? Man, it would be a crime!"

"Get another glass, Hildebrand," said my master now, " and when you've done that, fetch me fiacre."

I went to do his bidding, and when I had filled Mr. Ames' glass I left the room and shut the door after me. But I took good care to clap my ear to the keyhole, and then I heard them talking.

"Jack," said Sir Nicolas, "there's the strangest thing happened that ever you heard of. I've had a present, my boy, not half an hour before you came in. Look at that now, and tell me what you think of it."

There was silence for a while after this, and I supposed that Mr. Ames was looking at the locket. But Sir Nicolas was the one who spoke next.

"Did ye ever see a sweeter face?" he asked. "Isn't it curious that it should come to me like that, with not a word or a letter? Indeed, and I think it's a very pretty mystery."

Jack Ames spoke now.

"You've the right to consider it that," said he; "do you happen to know who the lady is?"

"No more than the dead," replied my master.

"Then I'll take leave to tell you. She's the Baroness de Moncy, the wife of the late Ambassador to Portugal. Her husband died four years ago, and

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 left her three hundred thousand pounds. Nicky, my boy, it's a lucky day for you. Where the devil did she see you, may I ask?"

"How should I know that, when I hear her name now for the first time? But you're joking with me, Jack."

"Me! truth, I'm not, as you'll soon find out for yourself. Eh, gad, Nicky, I can hardly believe it, though I'm right glad about it, old man, and here's my hand on it!"

What more he said I didn't hear, for it was time to get the cab for them, and they went off together in a few minutes, Sir Nicolas being that full of himself that his hand shook when he emptied his glass. As for me, I didn't know whether I was on my head or my heels, and stood for a long time acting like a fool, I make sure.

"The Baroness de Moncy," said I, "and worth three hundred thousand! Well, if this don't beat any thing. To think that he cut that Derbyshire lot to run into a thing like this. Did any one ever hear of such a thing?"

The affair was a blank mystery, and that was all about it. That a woman should send her picture to a man she had never seen was not the least wonderful part of it. It was the rum way she sent it, with- out note or word. I've seen a good deal of women one way and another, and they do act in a surprising manner sometimes, I must confess. But that one of them, who was a baroness, should send a gold locket

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 with her portrait to Sir Nicolas Steele, fairly beat any tiling I'd ever heard of.

"Who is she?" I kept asking myself, "the Baroness de Moncy? I've heard the name somewhere. She isn't in Paris now, or I should have known of it. He must have met her at Trouville at a masked ball or something. He couldn't have known her, but she knew him—and here's the reminder. Did ever a man have such luck?"

With this in my head I went to his private drawer, where he'd put the locket away, and I had a good look at it. The thing weighed heavy enough to be gold twice over; but it was not until I had fingered it for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour that I found out how to open it. You did it by a press of your hand upon the top of the egg, and then it flew open sharp, like a matchbox. The portrait, which might have been called a miniature, I suppose, lay deep in the heart of it. It was the picture of a girl perhaps of twenty-six years of age, and I must say. that the prettiness of the thing fairly took my breath away. I'm not one to say much about the looks of Frenchwomen as a whole, but this creature was beautiful beyond compare. If I'd have hunted Paris for a month I could not have found her like—not one so elegant or with such hair tumbling about her shoulders as that picture gave her. And when I remembered that Mr. Ames had said she was worth three hundred thousand pounds, I could have cried at the luck that had come to us.

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26 able beeches are mentioned, of which one at Edenbarnet in the parish of Old Kilpatrick, Dumbartonshire, is said to be 140 feet high; but the measurements of many of the trees in this compilation are so unreliable that I cannot believe them without confirmation.

J. Kay, in ''Scottish Arb. Soc. Transactions,'' ix. p. 75, mentions a tree in the Beech Walk at Mount Stuart in Bute, which in 1881 was 120 feet by 11 feet 9 inches, with a clean bole 60 feet high, and contained 450 feet of timber.

In Ireland the beech is probably not a native tree. According to Hayes it was first introduced at Shelton, near Arklow, where, in 1794, there were beech trees as much as 15 feet in girth, and many carrying a girth of 10 feet for more than 40 feet high. Another growing at Tiny Park was 16 feet 3 inches in girth, and continued nearly of that girth for 36 feet. Hayes also mentions, as an instance of the rapid growth of the beech in Ireland, "several at Avondale, which were transplanted within thirty years on a swelling ground at that time much exposed to storm, are now (1793) from 7 feet 6 inches to 6 feet 6 inches at a foot from the ground, and continue nearly of that size from 8 to 20 feet in height. Of two which were planted in a richer soil near the river, and are now (1793) just fifty-four years from the mast, one measures 9 feet round, the other 9 feet 6 inches."

The finest beeches in Ireland, probably, are those occurring at Woodstock (Co. Kilkenny), the seat of E.K.B. Tighe, Esq.—a property which is remarkable all round for magnificent trees of many kinds, and which is in the possession of a family that for generations has been deeply interested in forestry and arboriculture. The measurements of many trees have been taken periodically for nearly a century. The best beeches on this beautiful property occur in the meadow land by the River Nore, close to the village of Inistioge. The following table gives an interesting series of measurements of these beeches:—

The measurements up to 1901 are from the foresters' records; those of 1904 were taken by Henry. The beech A3, has a great bole, dividing into three limbs at 18 feet up, and is a very wide-spreading tree. C7 is pressed on each side by two lime trees, and is narrow in shape. The most remarkable of all is B5, which is probably the tallest beech in Ireland.


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 refinement ought to shrink from raiding his hostess's larder in the small hours, but hunger's death to the finer feelings. It's the solar plexus punch which puts one's better self down and out for the count of ten. I am a large and healthy young man, and, believe me, I need this little snack. I need it badly. May I cut you a slice of chicken?"

She could hardly bear to look at it, but pride gave her strength.

"No," she snapped.

"You're sure? Poor little thing; I know you're half starved."

Eve stamped.

"How dare you speak to me like that, Mr. Rayner?"

He drank bottled beer thoughtfully.

"What made you come down? I suppose you heard a noise and thought it was burglars?" he said.

"Yes," said Eve, thankfully accepting the idea. At all costs she must conceal the biscuit motive.

"That was very plucky of you. Won't you sit down?"

"No, I'm going back to bed."

"Not just yet. I've several things to talk to you about. Sit down. That's right. Now cover up your poor little pink ankles, or you'll be catching"

She started up.

"Mr. Rayner!"

"Sit down."

She looked at him defiantly, then, wondering at herself for doing it, sat down.

"Now," said Peter, "what do you mean by it? What do you mean by dashing off from my sister's house without leaving a word for me as to where you were going? You knew I loved you."

"Good night, Mr. Rayner."

"Sit down. You've given me a great deal of trouble. Do you know it cost me a sovereign in tips to find out your address? I couldn't get it out of my sister, and I had to apply to the butler. I've a good mind to knock it off your first week's pin-money."

"I shall not stay here listening"

"You knew perfectly well I wanted to marry you. But you fly off without a word and bury yourself in this benighted place with a gorgon who nags and bullies you"

"A nice way to speak of your hostess," said Eve, scornfully.

"A very soothing way. I don't think I ever took such a dislike to a woman at first sight before. And when she started to bullyrag you, it was all I could do But it won't last long now. You must come away at once. We'll be married after Christmas, and in the meantime you can go and live with my sister"

Eve listened speechlessly. She had so much to say that the difficulty of selection rendered her dumb.

"When can you start? I mean, do you have to give a month's notice or anything?"

Eve got up with a short laugh.

"Good night, Mr. Rayner," she said. "You have been very amusing, but I am getting tired."

"I'm glad it's all settled," said Peter. "Good night."

Eve stopped. She could not go tamely away without saying a single one of the things that crowded in her mind.

"Do you imagine," she said, "that I intend to marry you? Do you suppose, for one moment"

"Rather!" said Peter. "You shall have a splendid time from now on, to make up for all you've gone through. I'm going to be awfully good to you, Eve. You sha'n't ever have any more worries, poor old thing." He looked at her affectionately. "I wonder it is that large men always fall in love with little women. There are you, a fragile, fairy-like, ethereal wisp of a little creature; and here am I"

"A great, big, greedy pig!" burst out Eve, "who thinks about nothing but eating and drinking."

"I wasn't going to have put it quite like that," said Peter, thoughtfully.

"I hate a greedy man," said Eve, between her teeth.

"I have a healthy appetite," protested Peter. "Nothing more. It runs in the family. At the time of the Civil War the Rayner of the period, who was King Charles's right-hand man, would frequently eat despatches to prevent them from falling into the hands of the enemy. He was noted for it."

Eve reached the door and turned.

"I despise you," she said.

"Good night," said Peter, tenderly. "To-morrow morning we'll go for a walk."

His prediction proved absolutely correct. He was smoking a cigarette after breakfast when Eve came to him. Her face was pink and mutinous, but there was a gleam in her eye.

"Are you ready to come out, Mr. Rayner?" she said. "Mrs. Rastall-Retford says I'm to take you to see the view from the golf links."

"You'll like that," said Peter.

"I shall not like it," snapped Eve. "But


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28 The principal centres for beechwood furniture in England are at High Wycombe, and Newport Pagnell in Bucks, and the price of clean trunks in these districts is from 1s. to 1s. 6d. per cube foot standing, according to the situation. Beechwood is also used largely for making saddle-trees, and in consequence of the great demand for these during the South African war, went up to a very high price in 1901, when I was offered 1s. 4d. a foot standing for beech trees which in ordinary times would not be worth more than 8d. or 9d. a foot. Being easy to split it is, where there is a demand for firewood, easier to dispose of the branches and rough parts of the tree for this purpose, but the amount of waste is much greater in the beech than in some other trees, unless grown in thick woods. For more minute particulars of the characters and uses of this timber. Stone's Timbers of Commerce, p. 231, and Loudon, pp. 1959–64, may be consulted with advantage.


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 "the luck that had come to us," but it is not to be thought that I lost my head over the business. I was not so young as to take all that a man like Ames said for gospel truth. Indeed, I spent the remainder of that day in the cafés and brasseries round about the Hôtel de Lille, trying to learn what I could about the Baroness de Moncy. The result was not such as I had looked for. A few knew of her by name as a lady of great wealth, who had a country house at St. Germain and another at Trouville. One man at the Café Rouge thought that he had seen her, but could not remember any thing about her looks. The tale was that she had given up society after the death of her husband and had gone to live in seclusion. But there seemed no doubt about the money part of it, and that was what chiefly concerned me. So long as there were guineas to rattle, what did it matter if a painter had laid it on thick, so to speak. We could put up with plenty of that if the price was right.

It was seven o'clock when I got back to the hotel. I saw at once that a letter lay on the table—a dainty little note in a big feminine scrawl; but before I'd

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 time to look at it, in came Sir Nicolas and Jack Ames, and with them that pretty bit of goods from the Bouffes Parisiens, Mimi Marcel by name. They were in all in rare fettle, especially my master, who read his letter and then would have it that they should dine with him. I don't know that I ever saw him in better spirits in my life, and it wasn't until nearly two in the morning that I got him to bed. But he was ready to talk at that time, and talk he did like one o'clock.

"Bedad!" said he, "I don't know that I'll go to bed at all this night, Hildebrand. Was there ever such a lucky devil born as I am? And only yesterday I was thinking of cutting my throat!"

"I'm glad to hear you've good news, sir," said I.

"Good news! and that's all you would call it? Why, man, my fortune's made—made, I tell you! I'm to meet her to-morrow night at the Café de Paris. To-morrow night—think of that! And I was dancing with her at Trouville, and thought no more of her than of a grisette out of a drapery store—though she did say that I should have her picture. Oh, it's a famous turn, for sure! I'll be married within the month." He went on for a long time like this, throwing his clothes about the place, and behaving as if he wasn't right in the head; nor do I believe he was at such times. There are some men who can't stand Fortune when she runs with them. He was such an one, and there's many a good thing he's spoiled for want of a

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30

A tree attaining 100 feet in height and 13 feet in girth; branches massive and forming an oval crown, which becomes flattened at the top in old trees. Bark smooth, grey, or dark brown, and marked by longitudinal, narrow, pale-coloured fissures, which are very characteristic.

Leaves deciduous, compound, 1–3 feet long, imparipinnate, with 7–9 (sometimes even 20) pairs of leaflets, which are either opposite or nearly so, shining above, pale and glabrous (occasionally slightly pubescent) beneath, and unequally divided by the midrib. Each leaflet is stalked, ovate, or ovate-lanceolate, acute or acuminate at the apex, cordate or truncate at the base, entire in margin, except that near the base there are 1–4 pairs of glandular teeth. Stipules absent. The leaves appear late in spring, and exhale when rubbed a disagreeable odour which renders them distasteful to animals. They fall off late in autumn, absciss layers being formed at the base of the leaflets as well as of the main stalk; the former usually drop first.

Flowers appearing in July and August in large panicles at the summit of the branchlets, either unisexual or hermaphrodite; but as a rule the trees are practically diœcious, and those bearing staminate flowers give off an objectionable odour.

Fruit, 1–5 keys, resembling those of the ash, linear or oblong, membranous veined, with a small indentation above the middle on one side, close to where the seed is located; and the wings on both sides of the seed are slightly twisted, so that the fruit in sailing through the air moves like a screw. The keys are bright red or purplish brown in colour, and are very conspicuous amidst the green foliage.

Seedling: the cotyledons appear above the soil on a caulicle about an inch long and are foliaceous, coriaceous in texture, oboval, obtuse, shortly stalked, entire in margin, and pinnate in venation. The stem above them is pubescent, and at a short distance (about ½ inch) up bears two leaves, which are trifoliolate and long-stalked, the terminal leaflet being lanceolate, acuminate, and entire, the two lateral shorter and toothed. Higher up ordinary pinnate leaves are borne. Plate 15 shows a seedling raised by Elwes from seed ripened on a tree overhanging Dr. Charles Hooker's garden at Cirencester in 1900; sown November 26, germinated under glass in May 1901, and photographed on August 28 of the same year, when it measured about a foot high; the roots, which were very succulent and brittle, were 13 inches long. The seedlings were planted out in May 1902, and grew very rapidly, attaining 5 feet in height, but did not ripen their wood, which was killed back in some cases nearly to the ground. They are now (January 1905) 4–6 feet high.


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 bit of balance. I found it best not to take any notice of him when he was all cock-a-hoop like this; and I used to get him into bed as quickly as possible and leave him to talk to himself. You could hear him singing half the night through sometimes when he'd had a bit of luck; and on this particular night I don't believe he slept a wink. He was up and dressed long before the time for me to take his hot water, and he left the hotel at nine o'clock to go over to Mr. Ames' rooms. I saw no more of him all day until he came in to dress at seven o'clock; and he was then in one of his silent tempers. He didn't say one word to me about what he'd done, not a word about the meeting at the Café de Paris, nor of what time I might expect him bade But he put his clothes on as though his life depended on it, and went off in a fiacre when the clocks were striking half-past seven.

"All right, my man," said I to myself, when he was gone, "you hold your tongue now, but I shall hear enough and to spare about it when you come back by and by with the liquor in you. Meanwhile, I might do worse than take a stroll and see where you get to."

I had thought of doing this all along, for somehow I never could bring myself quite to believe in what I'd seen or heard. That there was a screw loose somewhere I was certain; and yet, if you had asked me to put my finger on the place, I couldn't have done it, not to have saved my life. Not that there

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 was any thing strange in a Frenchwoman running after Nicky Steele. I hadn't lived with him for all these years not to know that. It's wonderful what a bit of a handle to the name will do for a man in Paris; and that Nicolas Steele was a baronet, all the judges in the land could not deny. Nevertheless, I got no real grip on the truth of Jack Ames' story about the Baroness de Moncy, and that's the plain fact of it.

It was nearly dark when I left the Hôtel de Lille and crossed the river by the Pont du Carrousel. Paris was pretty full, though it was only the end of September; and when I came up by the Palais Royal there was a number of people sitting out to have their dinner in the open. I'd made up my mind that I'd ask for Sir Nicolas at the Café de Paris, but without going in to see him; and this I did. But they told me that he had only just looked in for five minutes and had then left.

"Did he go alone?" I asked the man, who was about as civil as he could be.

"He went with a gentleman," was his reply.

"With a gentleman—you don't say that?"

"Certainly; they met here and left together."

Now, I didn't want to let him see that this astonished me; but, if I must tell the truth, it took the wind clean out of my sails.

"Who can it be that he's met?" I asked myself; "and why's he gone off with him? What becomes, then, of the story about this woman at

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 Trouville, whose picture he's got in his drawer? Is it any plant of the police that he's walking into, like a fox into a trap? Seems to me something like it."

It may sound strange to hear it, but that was the first time such a notion had come into my head. Directly it was there, I could no more get rid of it than cut my hands off. It set my brain going like a clock, and I began to run over all the affairs we'd been in for the last two years, and to ask myself which one would bring us to a quarrel with the police of Paris.

"It can't be Oakley," said I, "for he's not going to make public property of his daughter's misfortune; that I do know. And it can't be Margaret King, for there's no extradition when a woman cries. And it isn't the Dublin Club, because you can't lay hands on a man in Paris for holding too many aces in Dublin. No, we're safe enough here so far as I can see; and yet—and yet"

The fact was that I could make nothing of it. I must have walked about Paris that night for an hour and a half, turning it over and over in my head, and yet getting no forrader. When I stopped at last, I was before the Grand Café; for what should I see there but Sir Nicolas Steele himself, sitting down before a dinner-table, with no others for company than Jack Ames and Mimi Marcel. There was no doubt at all about it. There he was as large as life; and what's more, he seemed as happy as a schoolboy

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 just come out of school. And at that I shook my head and went straight home.

"Bigg," said I, "this beats you, and no mistake. Just you leave it alone and go on with your work."

Well, I tried to do as I said I would, and at midnight Sir Nicolas came home, talkative as usual, but with all his wits about him. He hadn't quite the spirits of the night before, though you couldn't call him depressed; and he went to his bedroom at once.

"Hildebrand," said he, "it's better quarters than a fifth in the Hôtel de Lille we'll be occupying this day next month."

"Indeed, and I hope so, sir," said I.

"Oh, but I don't hope so at all," he went on; "I make sure. We'll be in the Trouville then, and no need to think about the bill. Bedad! it's bills that make half the trouble in life."

"There never was a truer word than that, sir," said I.

"Isn't it me that knows it—me that has enough blue paper to furnish the whole of this same hotel? But I've done with that—done with it for good, thank God!"

I said nothing in answer to this, for I saw that he only wanted to be left alone to go on talking, and, sure enough, he began again before a minute had passed.

"It's her brother that is setting himself against me," said he; "a bit of a man I could crumple up in

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 my hand. That's why she doesn't want to be seen here in Paris in her own name. She's staying at the Scribe, and calls herself Mme. Grévin—she that is able to buy up the Rue de Rivoli and half the boulevards as well. Oh, but there'll be fun to come, man—fun to come."

"You had a pleasant evening, sir?" I asked at this point.

"Pleasant enough," replied he, "so far as it went. There was me and Mr. Ames dined at the Grand Café."

"Not at the Café de Paris, then, sir?" said I.

"No, not at the Café de Paris," said he; "it was her brother that kept her. He came unexpected from Trouville. But we'll have better luck, Hildebrand, on Friday, mark me. Oh, it was a great day entirely that sent me from Derbyshire to Paris."

With this he rolled into bed, and I put his light out. So far as I could make out, he had been to the Café de Paris, and had there heard that the lady was prevented from meeting him by her brother's arrival from Trouville. This sounded fair enough, yet what I wanted to know was how he came to dine with Mr. Ames and that laughing little bundle of goods, Mimi Marcel. But he never said a word about that, and next morning he was as silent as ever; nor did he open his lips to me until the following Friday, when at seven o'clock he left for the Hôtel Chatam, where the second appointment was made. What was my astonishment to see him back in an hour, and

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 with him no other than Rudolphe Marcel, the brother of the little witch Mimi.

The two dined together in our own coffee-room, and then went over to play billiards with Jack Ames until twelve o'clock. It was two o'clock when Sir Nicolas went to bed, and he was so silent and snappish that I knew he'd been losing money. And what was worse, he never opened his lips to tell me why he had returned so unexpected from the Hôtel Chatam. That he had failed to meet the Baroness de Moncy I felt sure—yet how it had come about, or if he had received any letter, I never learned.

Now, it seemed to me, when I went to bed that night, that we had drifted into a very queer place. He had been spending money like water since the morning he received the present. 1 knew that there was precious little of his thousand pounds remaining. Of course, I'd had my bit—a matter of five hundred—out of what we took in Derbyshire; but money is money, and what I'd got was locked away safe enough. How he was going to get on in Paris without a guinea in his pocket, I didn't see; and this affair, upon which he reckoned, seemed as much in the clouds as ever. I had begun, in fact, to believe that he was running after a shadow altogether, and to that belief I should have stood if the next morning had not brought a turn as sudden as it was unlooked for; and one that made me fear not only for his purse, but for his life. It came about this way:

Sir Nicolas got out of bed at twelve o'clock, still

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 rather short, and in what I call a "brandy-and-soda" temper. He dressed himself carelessly, and crossed over the road to the gardens of the Café" Rouge to get his déjeûner. Five minutes after he had gone there came a letter for him; a little bit of a note in a feminine hand, such as he had received often since the intrigue with the woman at Trouville began. I knew well that he'd make a fuss if he didn't get this billet doux at once, so I ran across the road to the café, just as I was, without hat or any thing. I found him sitting at a marble table, reading the morning's Figaro; but what should happen but that, just as I was beginning to talk to him, up stepped another man, a squat little party with a bushy black beard, and stood glaring at him over the table.

"Sare Nicolas Steele," says he, speaking funny-like and with a lot of French words in between that I couldn't make head or tail of—"do I spik to Sare Nicolas Steele?"

"You do," said my master, looking up at him over the paper.'

"Then I take leave to smack your face," says he; and, as I'm a man, he bent over and struck Sir Nicolas on the right cheek with his glove.

Now, if there's one thing more than another that you don't find an Irishman take quietly to, it's a blow on the face, be it ever so light. And Sir Nicolas wasn't different from other men. No sooner had the Frenchman touched him than he sprang up from his chair and rushed at him like a bull.

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"Is it for smacking faces ye are?" says he, white with passion. "Then I'll take leave to join in with you!" and with that he sent the table and chairs flying, and I believe that he'd have killed him if some of us hadn't got in between the pair of them and held them apart.

As it was, he tore the Frenchman's coat from his collar to his hip, and the man's shirt looked like an old envelope. But he kept as quiet as ever; and when the landlord had come up, and there was a big crowd around the pair of them, he says quite calmly:

"Monsieur, my name is Eugene Grevin, and I am to be found at the Hôtel Scribe."

"Sir," says my master—and I never saw him look more dignified, "my friend shall call upon you at once."

Suddenly as the thing had been sprung upon me, the end of it was not less sudden. The Frenchman who called himself Grevin bowed to Sir Nicolas, Sir Nicolas bowed to him; and away they both went, the one to fiacre waiting for him, my master to his hotel. But I never saw him more excited, and the way he ordered me about was a thing to hear.

"Hildebrand," said he—and he couldn't rest in one place a minute, "I'll tear the throat of him. It's to him that we owe all this trouble and delay—him and no other."

"Then you know the party, sir?"

"Know him, the paltry scoundrel! and what would

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 I be if I did not know him? He's the brother of the Baroness de Moncy. And it's to-morrow morning that I'll shoot him like a dog. Run now to Mr. Ames and tell him that he must come to me at once. I've need of him, and there's no time to lose."

Well, I left him drinking absinthe, and ran away to Mr. Ames' place just as fast as my legs could carry me. My head seemed so full of thinking that I was worse than one dazed, and all the houses danced before my eyes as I raced down the street.

"Good Lord!" said I, "that it should have come to this—him risking his life with pistols, and all for a woman who sent him her picture in a locket. And what if he's shot—what then, Bigg? You're not likely to tumble into a place like this for many a year; and you'd miss him, that you can't deny. Again, suppose he isn't shot, but kills the man? Where do you stand then? In Queer Street, I fancy, and the sooner you're out of Paris the better."

This is what I thought as I ran along to Mr. Ames'. If we shot our man, there'd be a hullaballoo which must be heard in London; and then who could tell where we might find ourselves? And what would the woman whom all the fuss was about do? She couldn't well stand by a man who had shot her own brother. Please God, we'll only wound him, thought I, and get away to Trouville while he's in the doctor's hands.

I found Mr. Ames dressed in a shabby old coat and standing before a big picture. He heard what I'd

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 got to tell him before lie took his pipe from his mouth, and seemed to take it very serious.

"I'm coming along with you now," said he; and then he asked me a minute after, "Does he know any thing about pistols?"

"The devil a bit, sir," said I; "he can't abide 'em." "And he's worse than a cow with a sword," said he next.

"Never had one in his hand that I know of, sir," I answered.

"Well," said he, "it's a bad job, and if he's alive this time to-morrow, he's a lucky man. Help me on with my coat, will you, now?"

I did as he asked me and we hurried back to the Hôtel de Lille. Sir Nicolas was pacing up and down the courtyard, and directly he caught sight of Mr. Ames, he began to talk to him.

"Jack," cried he, "ye've heard the news that I'm to go out with him?"

"Truth, I have; and a pretty mess you seem to have made of it."

"Mess, d'ye call it? Didn't he come here and strike me in the face? 'Tis lucky for him that I forgot to twist his neck."

"Then there's no question of apology?"

"Be hanged to your apology! Is it a coward ye think I am—me that would fight any man in France?"

"But what will Carlotta say?"

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"What can she say, when it's for her that I'm meeting him? Wasn't it he who prevented her coming last night? Wasn't he the man who stopped her when she was to meet me at the Café de Paris? The devil take your apologies!"

"Then I'm to call on him?"

"Certainly ye are, and to have Rudolphe Marcel with you. There's no other that I know who would do it for me."

"He has the right of weapons," said Mr. Ames here.

"And don't I know it? What's it to me whether he's the right of weapons? Won't I kill him any way?"

Mr. Ames shook his head, and the two went off, walking arm and arm, to the house of Rudolphe Marcel. I saw them next at seven o'clock, when they were all dining at the Café Rouge, but Sir Nicolas never came home until midnight, and then he was more like a beaten child than a man.

"Hildebrand, Hildebrand," said he, "ye'll be burying me to-morrow, for sure. I'm to fight at dawn."

"Is that so, sir?" said I. "Well, sorry I am to hear it. There was never any good done yet in this world by blowing a man's brains out, and there won't be, I make sure. I wouldn't fight, if I were you, sir."

"Wouldn't fight—hark at him!" cried he. "Wouldn't fight—me that is the ninth baronet with forefathers big in history! Is it the chicken of the

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 family I'm to be? What would she say of me if I refused him? No; by Heaven, I'll cut his throat."

"He hasn't chosen pistols, then, sir?" I asked next.

"Indeed, and he has."

I didn't want to hear this, for a duel with pistols looked like to be the death of one of them. But before I could say any thing he was rambling on again.

"If it pleases God that I'm killed," said he, "you will send the letter that I'm writing to the Baroness de Moncy at the Hôtel Chatam. My clothes you may keep, Hildebrand. Ye've been a good man to me, and I'll not forget to say so on paper."

"I do hope it won't be as bad as that, sir," said I.

"’Tis as God wishes," replied he, pious like, "and I don't forget I was born a Catholic, though I'm no credit to my religion."

"May I ask where you're to meet him, sir?" said I, trying to turn him from thinking of it.

"In the garden of a house at Vincennes, at six o'clock," he answered. "We'll be private there, and no police to interrupt. You'll not forget to wake me at five?"

I promised that I would not, and he sat down to his desk in his shirt-sleeves and wrote two letters. One he addressed to the Baroness de Moncy; the other was a character for me, and I couldn't have had a better one, not if I'd been the angel Gabriel. It made me queer to read it though, for all said and

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 done I liked Nicky Steele; and there's few men in this world that ever I did like. But that wasn't the place to say so, and as the night went on, I had just as much as I could do to manage him. He'd been drinking cognac, you see, and there was a time, about four in the morning, when his courage left him, and he broke down like a woman.

"Hildebrand, Hildebrand," he wailed, lying on his bed, with his clothes on, "where will I be this time to-morrow? What's to become of me immortal soul? Is there no one that will bring a priest to me? Am I to die without a friend in the world—not a friend, by Heaven!—me that was born a Catholic?"

He went on like this for a good half hour; but I gave him some more drink, and about half -past four he began to doze. As for myself, I never closed my eyes, but sat there beside him, while the cold white dawn came creeping along the streets, and Paris bestirred herself to begin another day.

"Good Lord!" said I, looking down on his pale face, "to think that this time to-morrow your body may lie under the ground, and I may be loose on the road of life again, and all for the shadow of a woman who may mean nothing at all, and whom, like enough, you may never see again. Well, well! we've seen some queer times together, Sir Nicolas Steele, that we have; good times and bad times, days when we've not known where our dinner was coming from, and days when we could have taken a bath in the guineas. And now, it's come to this, that you're

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 making yourself a pot-shot for a bit of a French chap I wouldn't soil my boots with. Did any one ever match that?"

All this was bothering me, I needn't tell, while I sat and watched him during the half-hour he slept. When I awoke him at last he seemed all the better for his doze, and was quite cool and collected, dressing himself up as smart as if he was going to Longchamps or Auteuil.

"Hildebrand," said he, "what bit of money I have is banked with Hébraie, as you know. It 'll serve to pay up here if any thing happens to me. All the little things are for you."

"Don't you think of that, sir," said I. "Just you keep your nerve, and shoot straight. I don't doubt you can hold a pistol as well as he can, if it comes to that."

"My fathers could, any way," he exclaimed, drinking up the coffee I'd brought him. "Is the cab at the door yet?"

"It's just driving up, sir," said I.

The cab, in which were Mr. Ames and Mr. Marcel, drove up while I talked to him; and they came bustling out and insisted on taking a liqueur together before leaving. I thought they both seemed in mighty good spirits, seeing what they were after; and Sir Nicolas thought so too.

"Well, boys," said he, "it's gay ye are, I must say. Did ye buy the pistols, Jack?"

"No need to do that," says Mr. Ames. "I brought a case of my own. And as for being gay, Nicky,

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 you'll be shouting loud enough in half an hour, you mark my words."

"I have my doubts," says he, quite gloomy like; and then out they all went, while I climbed on the box, and we drove away toward the old Pont Bercy.

There weren't many people about the streets, for most of the working folk had gone already to business; but the air was crisp and sharp, like it is in early autumn, and the river was foaming up in little bits of waves, which did one good to see. By and by, we came out in the Rue des Buttes, and so crossed to the Cours de Vincennes, stopping at last before an ugly old house surrounded by trees, which were already losing their leaves. The next minute the gentlemen were on the pavement, and my master, pale, and a bit weak about the knees, as it seemed to me, went into the garden with them.

Until this time there had been no one to say me nay when I chose to follow the party. I had ridden on the box without asking any one, and I was going after Sir Nicolas into the garden, when an old white-haired footman tried to shut the gate in my face.

"Be hanged to your impudence!" said I, getting my foot in the way and giving him push for push; but it was a minute before I had the best of him, and while I was still pushing there was a shout of laughter came from the garden.

We found the party drawn up in a circle on the lawn. For some time I didn't know whether I was awake or dreaming, for what should I see but a

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 capital breakfast spread under the trees, and twenty or thirty finely dressed women just holding their sides as though they would die of the spectacle. As for Sir Nicolas, he was standing before them with a look on his face as if he could strike them all dead where they sat. And talking to him was Jack Ames and a little, clean-shaven chap that I recognized as Louis Regnard.

"Permit me," says Jack Ames, bowing very low, while all the others went on with their laughing, "to present to you the Chevalier Eugene Grevin, alias M. Louis Regnard of the Theatre du Vaudeville. The Baroness de Moncy is yonder, resting under the trees. She is known sometimes as Juliette Vauloo, of the Théâtre de l'Opéra Comique."

"Hoaxed by !" says Sir Nicolas; and with this he fairly bolted out of the garden.

What did they make out of it? Well, reckoning the three dinners he stood Jack Ames while his head was full of the picture, and the dinner that he gave to Rudolphe and Mimi Marcel, and all the champagne that had been drunk during the week, it wasn't a bad thing; to say nothing of him playing billiards with Ames. The egg they sent him wasn't worth a sovereign. It was lined with lead.

And that reminds me. I heard of the real Baroness de Moncy the other day. She hadn't set foot out of Portugal for three years, and is a white-haired old woman, much troubled with rheumatics.

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To Helen

 * "To Helen", a poem by Edgar Allan Poe ("I saw thee once—once only—years ago")
 * "To Helen", a poem by Edgar Allan Poe ("Helen, thy beauty is to me")

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 Mrs. Rastall-Retford is paying me a salary to do what she tells me, and I have to earn it."

Conversation during the walk consisted mainly of a monologue on the part of Peter. It was a crisp and exhilarating morning, and he appeared to be feeling a universal benevolence towards all created things. He even softened slightly on the subject of Mrs. Rastall-Retford, and advanced the theory that her peculiar manner might be due to her having been ill-treated as a child.

Eve listened in silence. It was not till they were nearing home on their return journey that she spoke.

"Mr. Rayner," she said.

"Yes?" said Peter.

"I was talking to Mrs. Rastall-Retford after breakfast," said Eve, "and I told her something about you."

"My conscience is clear."

"Oh, nothing bad. Some people would say it was very much to your credit." She looked away across the fields. "I told her you were a vegetarian," she added, carelessly.

There was a long silence. Then Peter spoke three words straight from the heart.

"You little devil!"

Eve turned and looked at him, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

"You see!" she said. "Now perhaps you will go."

"Without you?" said Peter, stoutly. "Never!"

"In London you will be able to eat all day—anything you like. You will be able to creep about your club gnawing cold chicken all night. But if you stay here"

"You have got a wrong idea of the London clubman's life,"


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To Helen (Poe, "I saw thee once—once only—years ago")

 * The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe/Volume 2/To Helen


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 said Peter. "If I crept about my club gnawing cold chicken I should have the committee after me. No, I shall stay here and look after you. After all, what is food?"

"I'll tell you what yours will be, if you like. Or would you rather wait and let it be a surprise? Well, for lunch you will have some boiled potatoes and cabbage and a sweet—a sort of light soufflé thing. And for dinner"

"Yes, but one moment," said Peter. "If I'm a vegetarian, how did you account for my taking all the chicken I could get at dinner last night, and looking as if I wanted more?"

"Oh, that was your considerateness. You didn't want to give trouble, even if you had to sacrifice your principles. But it's all right now. You are going to have your vegetables."

Peter drew a deep breath—the breath of the man who braces himself up and thanks whatever gods there be for his unconquerable soul.

"I don't care," he said. "'A book of verses underneath the bough, a jug of wine, and thou'"

"Oh, and I forgot," interrupted Eve. "I told her you were a teetotaller as well."

There was another silence, longer than the first.

"The best train," said Eve, at last, "is the ten-fifty."

He looked at her inquiringly.

"The best train?"

"For London."

"What makes you think I am interested in trains to London?"

Eve bit her lip.

"Mr. Rayner," she said, after a pause, "do you remember at lunch one day at Mrs. Elphinstone's refusing parsnips? You said that, so far as you were concerned, parsnips were first by a mile, and that prussic acid and strychnine also ran."

"Well?" said Peter.

"Oh, nothing," said Eve. "Only I made a stupid mistake. I told the cook you were devoted to parsnips. I'm sorry."

Peter looked at her gravely. "I'm putting up with a lot for your sake," he said.

"You needn't. Why don't you go away?"

"And leave you chained to the rock, Andromeda? Not for Perseus! I've only been here one night, but I've seen enough to know that I've got to take you away from this place. Honestly, it's killing you. I was watching you last night. You're scared if that infernal old woman starts to open her mouth. She's crushing the life out of you. I'm going to stay on here till you say you'll marry me, or till they throw me out."

"There are parsnips for dinner to-night," said Eve, softly.

"I shall get to like them. They are an acquired taste, I expect. Perhaps I am, too. Perhaps I am the human parsnip, and you will have to learn to love me."

"You are the human burr," said Eve, shortly. "I shouldn't have thought it possible for a man to behave as you are doing."

In spite of herself, there were moments during the next few days when Eve felt twinges of remorse. It was only by telling herself that he had no right to have followed her to this house, and that he was at perfect liberty to leave whenever he wished, that she could harden her heart again. And even this reflection was not entirely satisfactory, for it made her feel how fond he must be of her to endure these evils for her sake.

And there was no doubt about there being evils. It was a dreary house in which to spend winter days. There were no books that one could possibly read. The nearest railway station was five miles away. There was not even a dog to talk to. Generally it rained. Though Eve saw little of Peter, except at meals and in the drawing-room after dinner—for Mrs. Rastall-Retford spent most of the day in her own sitting-room and required Eve to be at her side—she could picture his sufferings, and, try as she would, she could not keep herself from softening a little. Her pride was weakening. Constant attendance on her employer was beginning to have a bad effect on her nerves. Association in a subordinate capacity with Mrs. Rastall-Retford did not encourage a proud and spirited outlook on life.

Her imagination had not exaggerated Peter's sufferings. Many people consider that Dante has spoken the last word on the subject of the post-mortem housing of the criminal classes. Peter, after the first week of his visit, could have given him a few new ideas.

It is unpleasant to be half starved. It is unpleasant to be cooped up in a country-house in winter with nothing to do. It is unpleasant to have to sit at meals and listen to the only girl you have ever really loved being bullyragged by an old lady with six chins. And all these unpleasantnesses were occurring to Peter simultaneously. It is highly creditable to him that the last should completely have outweighed the others.

He was generally alone. Mr. Rastall-Retford, who would have been better than nothing as a companion, was a man who enjoyed solitude. He was a confirmed


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 remained in Paris for some weeks after the affair of the golden egg before there was any thing happened to us worth writing about. When the luck changed, if you call it luck, it did so sudden, and the strange adventure of which I now propose to speak was upon us all in a minute. I date it from the moment when I heard that Michel Grey, Sir Nicolas' American friend, was missing, and that not a soul in Paris could throw any light upon the circumstances of his disappearance. The man had vanished like a phantom, leaving no word, no message, no letter. The city had taken him from our sight. Whether he were alive or dead, in France or out of France, a willing absconder. or the victim of the assassin, neither friend nor enemy could tell. He had gone like the night, and had left us to face the problem as we might.

That it was a problem for us, and that we could not begin and end with his going, I never had a doubt. He had been seen about with Sir Nicolas for the best part of a month; my master's game with his sister, Dora Grey, was known to all the town about;

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 there wasn't a servant in the hotel that didn't understand where the hate between the two men came from. And, to cap all, the man went away at the height of it, and we were left with the girl, and with all the talk that followed his disappearance.

Until this moment, I had looked upon the whole episode as a handsome turn of fortune. There were many weeks after the strange hoax of the golden egg when my master never put his nose outside the Hôtel de Lille. In all the years I've known him, I can never remember such an upset as that business was to his health and to his energy. He seemed just like one stupefied, with no taste for work and no taste for play. The little money that he possessed dribbled away pound by pound, until I had to find what was wanted even for his daily living. He no longer earned any thing at the billiard table; he scarce read the newspapers. There were days when he never got up from his bed; days when he did not open his lips to man or woman. And I do believe that he was never so low, or in such a queer way, as upon the evening that brought him face to face with Dora Grey, and gave a turn to his life which he was to feel for many years.

She came to the hotel quite sudden—an auburn- haired, blue-eyed little thing, with the fairest skin woman ever had, and a way with her which was wonderful to see. The name down in the visitors' book was "Dora Grey of Boston," and just above it, I saw written, "Michel Grey, artist." But I didn't mark

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