structions, thought it better not to touch upon the latter portion of this speech, so she said: "And your business matters are now, I trust, satisfactorily disposed of, Sir Geoffry ?" "I hope so-I think so. I have pretty well made up my mind upon the course which I shall recommend to Mr. Irving, though I have not written either to him or to those gentlemen who have just left us." "And that course is ?" "To decline to have anything to do with the affair." "I am glad of that," said Madge, earnestly, "I am very glad of that!" "Indeed!" said the old general, looking at her knowingly. "Is your knowledge of the Terra del Fuegos Mining Company somewhat greater than that merely obtainable from my casual mention of it, or from reading out to me the variation in its shares as reported in the City article ?" "My knowledge of the Company is absolutely nil," said Madge, quietly, "but I am glad to find that you are going to dissuade your friend from entering what might prove at least a questionable speculation. Mr. Irving is a very rich man, I have heard you say, and no longer a young one. It is better in his old age that he should keep his riches-and his friends." "Very neatly put, Mrs. Pickering," said Sir Geoffry, with a laugh, "though I do not think Alec Irving would be likely to break with me, even though he lost money by following my advice. Our intimacy is of too long standing, and my recommendations hitherto have proved too successful for him to dream of that. However, in this matter there was a very large sum of money involved, and, as you say, it is better for him to keep what he has. There is nothing that one grows so fond of as wealth; a poorer man would stand the loss with far more equanimity." "Your recent guests will not be pleased at your decision," said Madge, watching him attentively. "Then they must be displeased, my dear Mrs. Pickering," said the general. "I have treated them with every courtesy and given them all they wanted, except my friend's money. And at one time, by Jove, they were very nearly getting that." They pleaded their cause well, then ?" They did, indeed. So well, that if I had not happily induced them to let me have the papers last night-I sat up reading them until daybreak, and am horribly fatigued in consequence-they would probably have succeeded in inducing me to recommend their venture to Irving's consideration. They are two remarkably clever fellows; the younger man especially Mr. Vane argued with immense apparent earnestness, and was wonderfully ready with his replies to all my objections." "And you think they will accept your letter as a final decision ?" "I do not say that! The stake is too large for them to give up all hope of winning it without a further effort. I should not be surprised if one of them, probably Mr. Vane, were to come down here again with more persuasive talk and more promising documents; but it will be useless, my mind is made up." "He surely would not come without apprising you?" asked Madge, in agita tion. "And even were he to do so," said the general, with a smile, "your arrangements for the domestic comforts of this house are always so complete, my dear Mrs. Pickering, that we could risk being taken unawares." Oh, yes of course, everything could be made ready for a visitor in a very few moments. It was scarcely with that idea that I asked. However," added Madge, disjointedly, "that will do when Mr. Vane arrives. Now, if you do not require me further, Sir Geoffry, I have my duties to attend to." "Very strange woman that," muttered the old general. "What has upset her, I wonder! She can't have been speculating with her savings, and investing in this mine? Of course not. It must be that she did not like being taken aback, and wanted everything proper and orderly by any unexpected arrival. She's not without pride either, as she proved by begging to be allowed to keep out of sight during the time of those fellows' visit. Didn't like to be recognised as the housekeeper, I sup pose. Strange that, and unlike her way in general. But all women are strange, I have noticed, and the less one has to do with them the better." The housekeeping duties which had formed Madge's excuse for quitting the general did not immediately engross her attention. She went straight to her sittingroom in anything but a peaceful frame of mind, and threw herself into a chair to cogitate over the announcement which had been just made to her. From what Sir Geoffry had said, there was a chance that on any day, without warning, Philip Vane might come down to Wheatcroft to pass another twenty-four hours as a guest be neath its roof. In that case she would However, I know that everything you do have no opportunity of taking the precau- always somehow turns out for the best, and tion to absent herself, or to secure herself so it happened in this instance. If I had against all chances of being accidentally come away from London, as I proposed to brought into his presence. And there was do, I might not have heard somethingevery probability of their meeting face to two things really-which may be of the face, and meeting under circumstances very greatest importance to me- -I mean to which would preclude any explanation on us. When I say "us," of course you will her part of how she happened to be there. understand, from what I wrote to you in my She had noticed that Sir Geoffry had been last letter, that I mean to Gerald and myscanning her curiously during the whole of self! Oh, Madge! I can scarcely tell you their recent conversation, and she feared the extraordinary things that have hapthat if she were again to request permission pened, the wonderful discovery which I to remain in seclusion during the visitors' have made. I don't know exactly how to stay, his evident suspicion might take begin to tell it; I know that properly I some more definite shape. She must for ought to keep my great secret for the last, the present, she thought, leave her actions but then, perhaps, you wouldn't have to be decided by the circumstances as they patience to read so far, so that I had better arose. Her tact, her luck, let it be called blurt it out at once. what it might, had never deserted her yet, and she would trust to its promptings on the emergency. As she rose from her seat, she was surprised at the sight of a letter lying on the. table. She had been away from the house at the time of the postman's arrival, and on he first return to her room her mind had been too much occupied to allow her to think of anything but the subject which immediately engrossed her attention. The letter was from Rose. Madge recognised that at once by its shape and size, though on taking it up she noticed that the handwriting, usually so round and clerkly, was tremulous and hurried. The word "immediate," twice underscored, was also on the superscription, so that Madge, alarmed, hurriedly broke open the envelope, and fearing that her sister was ill or unhappy, hurried through the contents. They were as follows: DEAREST MADGE,-I don't mind telling you that I was a good deal annoyed when I received your answer to my last, saying that you could not either meet me at some nice seaside place as I proposed, where we might spend my holiday together, or that you would not allow me to come down to Springside and see as much of you as you could manage. I was annoyed, dear, because I have been for ever such a time longing to be with you, and to talk to you, and because it seemed so hard that you should merely tell me "you could not," and "you could not," without going into any explanation. I know you think that my stock of common sense is not very large, and I myself am ready to admit the fact, only I don't like having it pointed out to me quite so plainly. Well, then, you must know that the old gentleman in whose house you are living, your master I suppose I must call him-don't be annoyed, Madge, you know I wouldn't pain you, but I am so bad at explaining these things-Sir Geoffry Heriot, that is the best way to put it, is Gerald's father. Fancy that, Madge; fancy your living in the same house with that old man, seeing him every day, ordering his dinner, and that kind of thing, and not having the least idea that he was Gerald's father. He seems to be a very horrid old person, with a most abominable temper. Not that Gerald will allow this for a moment, but I am sure it must be so from what he tells me about him. You know, Madge, we always fancied at Wexeter that Gerald was a gentleman's son, and that he had run away from home, and this appears to be the case. When he was quite a lad, just before he came to old Dobson's theatre, he had a terrible quarrel with his father, who treated him most shamefully, and turned him out of the house. I do not quite understand what the quarrel was about, but I am certain Gerald was in the right. The one thing which I remember in this story is, that Sir Geoffry had quarrelled with his wife as well as his son, and was infuriated against Gerald because he took his mother's part. It seems that Sir Geoffry, in early life, brought some terrible accusation against his wife, an accusation which Gerald, when he heard of it, imagined to be false, and was determined to disprove. He intended to devote all his time to solving this mystery, but he had his living to get, poor fellow! He had scarcely any leisure when at Wexeter, and what he had, he said, he employed in a different way. Why did Gerald blush when he said that, Madge? I don't think he was in love with me when we were in Miss Cave's lodgings; but he did blush, and looked quite strange when he men tioned it. do. Your clear head and common sense are sure to prompt the proper course, but the result must be, Sir Geoffry's acceptance of his wife's innocence, and Gerald's re storation to his home. However, he did find it out; and now You can do this, Madge, and I know comes the extraordinary part of the story. you will! You would have exerted yourHe discovered that his father had been self in any case, but you will exert yourself deceived, and had acted with the greatest more than ever now, for one reason which injustice towards his mother; and in his old I have kept till the last. I told you that impulsive way, which I dare say you will I was madly in love with Gerald, but that recollect, Madge, he determined on starting he did not make love to me. Now, Madge, off at once to see Sir Geoffry, and to lay he has asked me to be his wife. He first before him the facts which he had learned. spoke to me before that dreadfal visit to And he went! Without saying a word to Wheatcroft. Since his return he has asked me he hurried off to Springside, and ac- me again. He wishes us to be married, he tually made his way to Wheatcroft. Fancy said, and to commence our new life in some that, Madge! Fancy Gerald being actually foreign country. But I would not have in the same house with you, and neither of him go away while matters remain as they you knowing anything about it. Of course are between him and his father. Now you I didn't then know who his father was; he see the importance of the task I have inonly took me into his confidence on his trusted to you, and you will throw your return, or I should have told him about whole heart into it, I know. your being there. It seems to have been a dreadful business, Madge. Sir Geoffry flew into a towering passion directly he saw him. Would not listen to a word he had to say, and actually ordered the servant to turn him out of the house. It seems too dreadful to think of, after all Gerald's patience and suffering, to receive such cruel treatment from his own father! It was an awful shock to him. Since his return he seems quite a changed man. He has lost all that fire and energy which I dare say you will remember as characteristic of him, and does nothing but brood over the wrongs he has received. More keenly than anything he seems to feel the injustice which Sir Geoffry does him in suspecting that he had merely invented the discovery of his mother's innocence as a means to restore himself to his old position and his father's favour. If Sir Geoffry could only be brought to acknowledge how wrong that suspicion is, I am sure that half Gerald's misery would disappear. And Sir Geoffry must be brought to acknowledge it, and a reconciliation must be effected between father and son, and, what is more, all this must be done by you, Madge! Yes, by you! I have not told Gerald one word about your being at Wheatcroft; I thought it better not. So that whatever is done will come upon him as a surprise. I will not attempt for an instant to suggest what you should Your loving ROSE. A pang shot through Madge's heart as she read the concluding lines of this letter. "Gerald about to be married-and to Rose," she said, dreamily, letting the letter drop from her hand. Then rose up before her mental vision the old crescent at Wexeter, round which she and Gerald Hardinge had walked on that well-remembered night. His words rung again in her ears. "You know how I love and worship you, my darling! How, since the first hour I saw you, I have been your slave, never happy but when near you, and having no other thought but of and for you." And now he was going to be married to Rose! Madge bent her head upon her breast, and her muttered words, "I suppose it is all for the best," sounded very hopelessly. JUST PUBLISHED, THE EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR ENTITLED SLAVES OF THE LAMP. Now ready, price 5s. 6d., bound in green cloth, OF THE NEW SERIES OF ALL THE YEAR ROUND. To be had of all Booksellers. The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors. Published at the Office. 26, Wellington St Strand. Printed by C. WHITING, Beaufort House, Duke St.. Lincoln's Inn Fields. understand all things, yet he knows the sound of a curse when he hears it. And he has certain ideas linked inseparably in his mind curses and sorrow, and the name of Simon Finiston. As for Sir John and Lady Archbold, the varieties in their lives have been many since the day of that wild visit to Monasterlea. Her child in health by her side, Lady Archbold had set herself to work to make up for the little time that had been lost; to forget her sorrow; and to enjoy her life. She had got her own way, as she had always been accustomed to get it, and she no longer believed it possible that Fate or Heaven could have ever meant to venture to contradict her. She had long assured her husband that the motion through the air had alone cured their Katherine; that doctors were humbugs, and priests impostors. That wary old man had known very well the effect of fresh air on such a patient! Yet to be sure they owed it to themselves to seem grateful. They had gone, no doubt, to ask a favour, and, after all, the favour had been granted. Lady Archbold frowned when her husband attempted to check her in her haughty discourse, which criticised pretty equally the doings of both heaven and earth. But she made no objection when he spoke of sending a present to Monasterlea. Some one there must get a gift from their hands. So a present was sent to May with Miss Archbold's love. It was a valuable workbox of Indian carving, with fittings of filigree silver. The little girl had been a nice little girl, said Lady Archbold, and Katherine had pronounced her to be highly agreeable. She was really deserving of such a handsome box. And the present was accepted, after some hesitation on Miss Martha's part, and was duly installed as an ornament in the parlour at Monasterlea. But May did not hoard it among her treasures as she would have done had Katherine not slighted her dead uncle. She did not rub it all over with a loving touch, nor gaze at it with delight, as she often did afterwards with Paul's black cross. The box took its place as an ornament of the house, and was admired, and nothing more. Lady Archbold's plan of self-indulgence included the over-indulgence of her daughter. Katherine was allowed to do anything she pleased, to have all she wished for, to love and entertain herself with any one she fancied, to dislike whom she chose, and to punish whom she disliked. She was Lady Archbold's only child, and it was good enough work for the world to amuse her with the best it had to give. Had she been less beautiful, her father would have perceived sooner what in the end he had to see. He had to admit that the girl was growing up ignorant and unruly. She would not learn or obey. Her passions were boisterous, her covetousness unbounded. Her appetite for praise, for amusement, for display, and power, were alike insatiable and intolerable. She was becoming irksome even to her parents. So Katherine was at last taken from Camlough, whence many weeping governesses had departed in their time, and was placed at a boarding-school in England. But even then all the trouble was not over. Whatever might be the reason, Katherine Archbold did not remain long at any one school. Mistresses were too harsh, companions too exacting, or Katherine was unmanageable and selfish. Sir John and Lady Archbold found the whole world in cruel conspiracy against their idol. At last they took her abroad, and placed her at a fashionable Parisian school. Here, after some time, there were no longer complaints of her. Here, after two years, she was found a woman fully grown, with her beauty quite developed, a thousand fascinations and accomplishments acquired, and with manners as silken as her hair. Again Lady Archbold was triumphant over Fate. Her efforts had vanquished yet another threatened disappointment. The father and mother exulted over her, and carried her away, glorifying her to the fullest satisfaction of their pride. They decked her, and flattered her, and bowed down before her. And after some months of travelling up and down in foreign countries, they took her to London and presented her to the world. And then there came more travelling and visiting among English friends. A home, however noble, being hidden behind Irish mountains, was not likely to be soon sought by Miss Archbold. It was just about this time, when Katherine was dancing out her first season, and while May Mourne, a young woman of another sort, was waxing towards a healthier maturity, that old Tibbie made a move at Tobereevil, which was destined to have an influence on the lives of the two girls. The miser was sick. What was the matter with him no one knew outside the gates. For Simon would not hear of a doctor, and Tibbie undertook to cure him. True, it was said that Tibbie knew more of the rank and poisonous growths that were |