'm I w ill llil lint, “llllllllllllilllllll ' vv‘x, . 2:: with 111% .,-.§2,:52§y£9-‘I-_.‘E“°°1feq. .. N0. 225. VOL. IX. jEPost Office at New? York. N. 1. atVSocond Closer Q M .ii in a ‘. “M ill ‘ 1 » gongrlght, 1884, by anu Aim . ‘,_,_ Aphids. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE 5 CENTS 5:] THE DOOM OF THE DANCING-MASTER. mama THE FIRST FIGURE. IN WHICH A HUNGRY WOLF SEEKS WHOM I HBALL DEVOUR. STEP l.~’rm~: comma or rm: wow. “ 11.41114: LAMBS. “ III—rum wow FEEDING. “ IV.—ruav or LAMBS. STEP 1. 0m: glorious summer's day a certain curcwoi-n, hatchet-faced, ra god rascal climbed half over a stile, leading sud only from a flowery meadow into a picturesque village street; and, taking his Scat there, gazed complacently down upon what was ho- fore very long to be the scene of hisdeath —a violent . and cruel death; and he Smoked his pipe as he did so. You could hardly have wished for a hotter plat-o . to look at. There was an old gray Norman Church, : overhung with ivy and embowered in rich lohage. its windows glazed with thick green nuhhled glass, its graves covered with m winds of daiflw. it“ grave- stones all awry and top 1mg over. ‘ There was an inn, \v th :3, horse-trough outside, and a wide-sprewiing oak throwing lng you, entle reader. to such com iany; hut, as you see, I are already intimated that e eventually (before wry long, too) will come to a had end. This ought to allay unnccvsmr)‘ hostile criticism. and. ‘ besides. dear ladies. he t'ornn-d u not ultogvther 1 unlpicturosquc ligure in this pretty rustic scene. is boots were wry queer: his coat—a tail—cout— wan out at elbows: the knees of his trousvrs Were worn threadbare. He was deslwrately tightly hut- toiwd up; and there could hardly li£l\t‘ het-n any doubt in the mind of even the moxl ore-dulous but that this was because he wow no >hirt beneath. But he had a rollicking way of \u aringhis hul- tered hat on one Nitlt- that sniuvd him immensely: and he wore a ragged red silk handkerchief round his . neck, which was altogutln-r wrong. yet remarkably becoming. But he wore, a shirt collar. lolwrahly clean, and showed a good deal of shirt cull with studs of much brillinncy. and llt‘ had 0. [lower in his button-hole. And he wore om- dirty lavender kid glove! He had long silky l‘ tosu-d wildly about. . had bright. dashing N. “ith perhaps"). gleam mi" 1 inadnvss in them in tnnrw. lh- had handsome fl‘ilr 3 turns. \\ ii h a ft’al'lt‘.~* , hum-st look. ll» hnd hocn sex- 1 cral times injail, and was an incorrigible viignhoud. a pleasant shadow upon it, and it couple of benches placed there for the accommodation of Lhimty souls —beast and man: and it was an inn. Seemingl altogether made up of able-en: a botched together any- ow, with huge stacks of chimneys on the roof. here was a curiously clumer stow bridge crossing a very sum 1 river, for which it was several silt-s too big, very old and moss-grown; and the lulling murmurof mill-v. at or might be heard not far off, sumo- where behind the trees. There was arow of odd little shops, and a. dozen or soot cottages, With portals half-smothered in honey- suckles and creeping jennles, and a row of huge trew enshadowedthe “causeway,” the crookedcst httln hit of pavement you could well have found within three hundred miles of the sound of Bow Bellfl. It was about five in the afternoon. The heat of the sun had subsided. The village street was at that mo- ment uite deserted, except by a articu arly noisy and demonstra- ively busy bee, who came buzzing £11115)“le past the ragged rascal‘s ea . Everything around seemed to speak to the weary wanderer of rent, and comfort, and man uillity. Here anyone might seek she ter from the cares and anxieties of the fevu-ish, struggling London life. Mes-t L"’l'- tuiny East Haggleford must lN' a. little heaven upon earth. it was nothing of the kind. It was the hardest, meanest, most pitifully narrow‘minded little p ace any‘ lover of his species, philanthro ica y dis:- posed, ever had the mis ortune to wander into. Among the thousand and one errors of a misspent life, the most fatal that this ragged rascal ever committed was coming here and trying to settle dawn. h a person was, however, no phil- anthropist, and was mostly con- cerned in looking after the interests of number one with assidulty. As to number two, three and so on, they were only intercotln tohlm as persons who were to fleeced when there was a chance. Our dust , travel-stained friend w in trugg nothing but a common fine . 1 f ashamed «introduc- Li .l unwind Ilium“ m, l You would have stared this fellow hard in the face, and he would have returned your inspection without flint-hing. Then you would have trusted him, and he would have cheated you to a dead certainty. When he had drawn a \\ hitf or two from his pipe, he found that the tobacco in its bowl was exhausted. and he knocked out the ashes u on the stile by hii side. as he sat there swinging his eg. “There!” he said, aloud: “I‘ve had my breakfast. I'll put away the breakfast things." He put away the pipe as he spoke. way. evidontly a humorist. When he had ut his pi )e away, he gazed again anxioust aroundJ him, am still spoke aloud. “After all.“ said he, “a good strong pipe is as satisfactory as a real men] 7 ahnod—and ('hvnper. What a quiet place this is!" It was, in truth. very uiet. Even thehoisterou: busy boo had now taken er departure. The music 1 He was, in his: Q of the mill-stream and the chirping of the birth He : union the. trees were the only sounds he heard, save t e tom-s of his own voice. He svemrd to be rather partial to these tones. and went on talking. "Whnt a wonderfully quiet little place! Some simple litllv spot this is, that the wicked pm- plo haven‘t found out yet. it might be the end of the world; but I shouldn‘t think it was the aharp end. The sort of place, now, where a poor. hunted~down wretch. like me. might spend a holi- dav in, A rare place for a roguc‘s holiday—out of reach of the tele- graph. unknown to the police. I might nettle down in a spot like this, and turn over a new l(-af,and become honest. These three. years past I‘ve been Sinl'YlIl all over the rest of the United King om, and I am aura I’ve given it a fair chance, I'd have set- tled anywhere if they would have let me." ' ; it was certainly rather an odd peculiarity about our rogue that he should ta ’9. the trouble to tell lies about himself to himself. He had- several other peculiarities, though, as we shall see when we come to know him better. “Upon my word," said he, after a pause, “ l have a and mind to ive this place atrial! he only ques ion is. how to commence, and shalll be- gin hungry? There must be some», thing: good to eat at the inn, if I have only money or credit. But I‘ve neither—that is to my, neither to spare. ‘ He, nevertheless, runmiaged over his ragged pockets, hopin that he might find, b some miracle, an overlooked shi ling in an out-of-the- waly corner. No such luckl ' he net contents of his pocket amouted to fonrpence-halfpenny, and the half enny was one more valuable for ossing purposes than for general circulation. It was a coin with two heads! However he really was dreadfully hungry. “His breakfast, half an, ounce of tobacco, had lasted all day, painfully eked out. He must get somethin to eat now—honestly, if possible, ut he must get it. One wonders at. the courage and aiidacity—foolhardinesa is, pet haps, the better TONI—0f some des crate wretches like this. With h s hat flauntin cocked on one side of his cad and his hands thrust into the‘ imckets in his coat—tails, he swag» gored down the village street, hum- m (if you have no objection) an air roni ‘Trovatorefl‘ I hardly know howtobrin the ap-; pearance of this fellow clear ybefol'o your view. He wan not as mud I'll.” . it“, .. I“ THE DOOM OF THE DANCING-MASTER. E: '17-?" ,, ,, u Robert Mal-airs, and he had no black patch over his Dye; but yet he wm a little, like the Mecairo that Fmrhtor give us. Henry Irving's wonderful performance in a pla called “ Hu ted Down " would give you some idea of im; but (‘1 or Henry Irving or Henry Nuvillc Would easily realize thoi-liuructcr. What had he been '3 Not all his lil'o a jail bird, that was very certain. Had he over been a gentleman ? That was doubtful. Ho might have boon well-born; but ho had been a lamp, and the companion of swamps, his life through nearly. It was diillnult to think otherwise. Unless, indeed, he had had sumo grunt sorrow soinu timq, and that had suddenly changed the whole nature of the man. A sudden sorrow. What kind of sorrow? llad a w”. man’s love—a woman's huto-—nnything to do with it 1' Why, what sorrows in the world are there worth culling cirruws in which there are not woman‘s love or oman's hate mixed up? Had ha been a soldier? Ilo boro himself well, in lpito of his burst boots, troddcn down (lisnially at tho heels, and turned up ridiculously at the toes. th, lomohow, ho hardly walked like a soldier. Returned out his tors too much. Could it have been possible that ho had ever been a dancing-master? Well, them are more impossiblo things in the world than that. For instance, the chance of his over being rich enough to sell that little villagc up stick and stone—the chance of his over being powerful enough for those living,r there to cringe to him 5nd cry for mercy. th such things some to pass. [is little wotted of it, though, just now. Ono object in life had he. Ho was desperately hungry, and wanted 3 good dinner. “ I will dine," he said to himself~“ yes, I will dine. I’ll have one more right down wood dinner on tho ohoap, and then I'll start an hones life fair and square on a full waistcoat." Lot us see how he did it. STEP II. You would have made a very grcat mistake indeed if you had supposed that Ea t Ha glsford was a deserted illags. Had our rogue but ma 9 ac uaintance with it {on hours earlier in the day, he woul have been not a little annoyed by the hustle and activity there prevail- ln . There had been but one idea in the heads of the cons Insrcisl portion of East Hag 7leford ten hours ago, and that was that an uncommon y flue stroke of business was going to be made that day. And if you had asked bhc East Hagglofordians why it had not been made, Choy would probably have told you that there had been u. curse over the place, and that it had always been so. There was a very considerable amount of grumbling oing on all day long: and half through the night, in i t Hagglcford. here was Miss Em Pember, tho ‘ bumm hostess of the village inn (the si :1 represented I sat! and solemn groan dragon, seeming y breaking its hoort at not baing able to pick up a difficult step in the sailor'- hornpipci—thcrc was Em Pcmbcr, as happy and well-looking a spin-tor as you would wish to see, who was one of the chief grumblsrs. There was Mrs. chg. the grocersss, a cosy, comfort» bis-looking widow (without incumbrances), who be- wailod tho day she was born, or that her mother was born boi’oro lur. There was Mr. Pidgoon, the village barber. a prey to the profoundut melancholy, who sighed as be whetted his razor, and fixed you with hollow eyes, full of dis- .nl forcbodings, as he felt ths razor'l cdgo. That day there had been some steeple-chases just be- yond Wat Haggleford, distant about two miles from the picturesque village where my story opens. Bo- wwcou West Haggleford and East Haggleford the most bitter onmity existed. That is to say, the East was itofully envious of the West; but the West, being wioe as big, and six timcs as populous. did not trouble Its head very much about the envy in question. )mt wont comfortably on its own way, and made plenty of money. The West Hagglei’ordisns always had all the luck. In ho matter of the races it was just the same. i It was at West Haggloi‘ord that Lady Challico lived in I great, grand house, with a great park, all brand new- built. and laid out and planted with young trees the before her son, Charles Challice, came oi’ age. At t Hagglcford was the old country-scat of the Chal- lioos which they had abandoned; a wonderml old, nmblin house, full of pleasant associations of times long pas , the wooden panel on the staircase still show- lng the hole the Cromwells' gun-shot tors in it when a forty-eight hour tie a was maintainod, and bravely ro- sistcd by a Boyslist‘ Challice over two hundred years ago. Yet every room in that old house. and every one of the bugle trees clustering round it, had its story. ugh's {at or had been born, and had dial there. The - it Hagglefordians shook their heads, and threw up 1‘»: ham s, when they heard that John Challics's wid- _ was going to move away from it, and build a new uso at West Haggleford. As far as she was concerned, her removal was n’great loss, the villagers agreed, and the coming there of her sister no marked gain. One was proud and overbearing, but rich; the other poor and proud—a wretchedly un- latisfiactory mixture. The rich Mrs. Challice and her son now spent all their money at tho dotosted place, two miles off, in all man- ner of frivolous gayeties—among others, somo steeple. chases; and these must, of course, be held in the out- kirts of West Hag leford. although every living soul But Hag later was of opinion that some meadows h the imms Ito vicinity of the latter pl were much mxuiud for the purpose than the to which had 0'.“ However, there seemed just a ghost of a chance that servant, after all. I should be surprised at nothing in tho races. two miles distant, would bring custom to our county gentry—no. not if they were to come down East Haggleford that dcy; because, unless a new road at last on us other poor folks with a subscription to that had been along while in a half-finished state were keep them from going into the House! Something completed in time, East Haggleford would be on the , respectable, perhaps,—a one and three naughts, ch 7 " high road. i “If they do, then, they’ll have to put me down for Need it be said that, of course, the road was finished ‘ one of the naughts. That’s all I'll help them with." in a villainously slip-slop kind of style, and that cvery— { As may be judgod by the foregoing dialogue. the body went by it, giving the poor old, doomed village , county gentry were not held in high esteem by tho the cold shoulder, was: Hagglefordians at any time ; butjust now the two Had not things turnud out thus, really good times ladies talking were both very tired, and hot, and angry. were in store for the race-course company. Em I’cnibcr's It was sun-1y the worst possible time for our ragged brain limi‘ hatched a gigantic dinner scheme, and she i rogue to choose for the perpetration: of the little rob- had voukcd some immense joints, drawing public notice ’ bory he moditatod. thjust now, at this critical 1110‘ to the important fact by a placard of bar own penman- l ment, be came strolling down the road, scanning the ship. in which she spelt dinner with one u, in fine. bold, l preparations for his entertainment with much com- ltouian characters. placency. The grocvl‘ess had also pasted up apaper, half obscur- Misguidad roguol ing a legcud set forth upon a small square OI wood be- I heath, to this Uflctlti 1 PROVISION STOREJ EM I M A I‘ E G G STEP III. Mn. humans was the first to notice the advent of tho shabby stranger. and be con templath him critically. wherein it will be seen the artist niisoalruluted the It scoined to Mr. Pidgcou thut he might possibly be spare at his command, and tacking the first syllable of! equal, in apecunisry sense. to a penny bottle of the Jemima's name on to tho description of her place of“ famous ginger beer, but that it he stopped a long while bueiness, enshroudcd the whole in mystery, so that per- ] lounging about all over the Oriental Suloon whilst sons who saw it for the first time took it to be " somcut , drinking it. his custom would bring no credit upon the foreign." : establishumnt in the opinion of problematicul passen- On her bit of papcr Mrs. Pogg inscribed a promise of] by some time home. tea and crosses, which really ought to have had a ‘ One. thing was very certain. A person of his dissi- pleasant sound to weary wayvfarers. But perhaps, Mr. 5 pitted appearance was not at all liko to care for wishy- I’idgoon. the barber, had soared highest, to fall farthest, washy tea ; and as to dinner, the thing was very clam-1y and got the biggest bump. quite out of the question. He it was who had conceived the grand notion of on How often the clcvcrest of us are out in our cg}. Oriental Saloon, for the sale of ginger beer—(after all, culationsl it wants a noble mind to grasp greatness); and he went The ragged rogue passed tho tea and crosses by ton- in wildly for a whole gross, making and corking it him- tcmptuously, it is true ; but ho never even looked at self—a labor which took (-1050 upon a fortnight. during the Oriental Saloon. 0n the contrary, he walked which he cut down the hours for his regular business, straight towards the inn. and flung himself carelessly and dismissed customers in tho shaving and hair-cut- down in a chair set in front of a table, on which a white ting lines if they turned up mal a propos. cloth had been very carefully spread since ten o'clock Tho only drawback to all this, as I have before stated, in the morning. was, that the traffic went the other way (the new road), Miss Pember and Mrs. chg coming forth from tho and missed East Haggleford altogether. hostel just at that moment, the ladies eyed the stranger Thus it came to pass that just one hour before the with some suspicion; and, whilst the latter retreated ragged roguo arrived upon the scene, the heart of com- to her grocery store. the former approached him with mercial East Haugleford was sad and heavy, and bittor a little toss of the head, and, pointing to some benches discontent prevailed. at a little distance, said, " Will you please to sit there 1 Perhaps the general sense of injury attained its (‘11. This table is for dinner." max, when a far-ofl' burst of cheering reached the ears " I should like to dine," remarked tho shabby mm, of the poor barber, languishing on a bonch in the in- "if you have no objection." most recess of his Oriental Saloon; and he, rushing " The charge for dinner," said Miss Pember, curbing madly forth, clambcrod on the stile, and found that the her impatience, "is half a crown ; and for that you can voices were those of the van-loads of holiday-makers, have a choice of joints, and eat as much as you like. going home down the new road, hooraying vociferously. Dino for tomorrow and next day, too. if you choose." And every one of these he could not help reflecting. "I shall have to make up for yesterday and 00-day might have partakon ofa bottle of his nger beer. bcforo I begin," the rogue reflected; but he only signi. In the bitterness of his heart, there am, Mr. Pidgeon tied his approval of the proposed arrangements by I burst out with all the strength of his lungs into—" H00 bland smile and a bow of the head. rav l hooray l hooray l" Miss Pember was puzzled. Her customer was no. The voice brought out Miss Pember and Mrs. Pogg. at all the kind of person she had expected, yet it would both much astonished. Then Mr. Fidgeon descended not do to ofi'end him ii’ be really had the money in his from his perch, and gave one more feeble hooray in a pocket—and it most likely would disgust him if she most dismal tone of voice. asked him to pay in advance. " Hooray, by all means,” said Miss Pember snap- “I don‘t at all like the man."sho thought, to bog. pishly; " but, for my part, I don't happen to see any- self. " But then, surely, no one with such a hat would thing to hooray about. I'm glad Mr. Pidgeon does, would ever have the impudenco to orders dinner be though; ain't you,Mrs. P i" could not pay forl Perhaps his shabbiness is cccon. “ Very l" answered Mrs. egg, shortly. "P'r'sps Mr. tricity. One never knows. These sporting man are so Pidgeon is like some other folks—he's very easily peculiar." unused.” Satisfying herself with this conclusion, Miss Pembsr "That's true,” rejoined MisscPsmber; "and that's hustled about; for, with thcexception of an old woman. them that don't suffer for it, may be In not been able, servant, she was alone in the house-Jim pot-boy outlet as yet. to see what particular good the steeple-chases have having quarrolad with her early in the morning, and done to East Ba gleford. They’ve brought down a lot left for the races. She therefore brought out the din- of nasty,low ri -ra!f, that I’ll allow; but‘they won't ner herself; and her customer's eyes wandered alter. put it penny place into any honcst, hard-working body's nataly, with evident approval, from her neat flWm to poo c .' “ Thers was never a truer word spoken than that, Miss Pcmber. It’s precious little ood anything got up by them Challioes does us. Oh, car. no i vWe're not the new town, we're not. It was Mr. Pidgeon’s idea, if I'm not very wrong, that we should do something,wasn't it? I hope you will find your ginger boar go off, Mr. Pldgcon, according to your expectations." " ' i " Thank you, Mrs. Pegg,” said the barber, much hurt. " I dare say they will go of! pretty well." At that instant, two bottles did go oi! all by them- selves—a feat several other badly-corked bottles had performed before then, during the day; and while Pldgcon ran away to look after his damaged stock. the two ladies laughed loudly at his misfortuns.' They, however, had not quite bad out their grumble yet, but returned to the inn bar-parlor to continnovit. “There's too much steeple-chasing and horse-racing about that young Charles Challice, in my opinion, Miss Pomber." said Mrs. Pegg. sitting down, the bctter to enjoy a glass of something comforting. "Ho 11 go to the dogs if my lady does not watch him closely. Yet his father had all the virtues, if you are to believe his tombstone in the churchyard." “ It’s very well. Mrs. Pegg, to talk about training up s child in the way it should go. Fine ladies haven't the time. You must hold the reins yourself, it seems to me, it the cart is to keep out of the ruts." “ My fine madam's nephew did not keep out of the rats, if report speaks truly. did be? They say it was nothing but his wildness and extravagance that has made Mrs. Challioe’s sister-in-lsw as poor as she is.” “A selfish. cruel young wretch! I believe it's too true; and see them now. The daughter is just homo Rom board-school, if you please, where she’s boon brou lit up a tine lady. lsarnt music and French, and such he useless faldirals! And what's her prospects, I should like to know ? " “Perhaps she will go out {or a govsmcss or upper her cap and ribbons, and pretty pink and white lacs. “ Who keeps this tavern '2” he asked, as he cut him- self a huge slice. “ You've an easy time ofit, mydou', I should think, if it's often as quiet as this 7” " I keep it myself," she answered, tossing the cap and ribbons slightly. " You've been to the noes, I sup- pose ? Been lucky today 1" " I'm lucky to have so charming a hostess, and such uncommonly good boei," he answered, with his mouth hill. “ Will you give me apint of your best ale i" She brought it, and poured out a glass. " How it sparkles l" he said enthusiastically; " you'v. left the light of your eyes in it. for certain.” “After all, he has the manners and the language of . gentleman," thought Miss Pcmber, whilst she blushed. “Will you take some sweets, sir—some cherry-pic ?" "A little cherry-pie will just suit me,” he “plied—- “ and a taste of cheese, perhaps; and then I shall get on very nicely. By the way, now. have you I bottle of port wine in the house that you can recommend ?" “ Port wine i" thought Miss Pember. " He 1. . en. tleman, that's quite certain 1” And she hastens: to execute the order, whilst the shabpy one put the pastry out of sight with the same celcrity with which he had disposed of the roast beef. When she returned, he was lolllng back in his chair. with a countenance indicative of extreme satisfaction. " This seems to be a sleepy sort of village you'vo got here. Not much of it, and I should say uncommonly select." - "It's large enough to starve in, sir," replied Mil. Pomber. " That's what most of the folks do." . " Do they. now 7" retorted her customer, with NI mouth full or bread and cheese. " I ought to think in" self lucky. then. so far. Trade bad. eh " ‘ “About as bad as it can be, Insure on. Wham!!- ou'rc the first diner I've had to-day. 0 1°“ b.‘ love that ‘P" ‘ ~' - ' the noble sirloin of cold roast beef, and back again to . .4. w‘._‘4_4!‘___ “i -h - J. ' name's Challice, of course. like her mother’s. l "~I-_.A¢4. ,1, ., . s'uv‘ -. . ,, 'said Miss Pember. with a sneer. . seated that smokin THE DOOM 014' THE I).i.\’(fl,\7t-.ll.l.VTER. The rogue suspended his hand, in the act of cutting another slice of cheese. and suffered momentarily from a twinge ofconscience. “ If she only knew," he thought. " I wonder how far my little capital would go towards the expenses? An uncommonly good glass of wine," he observed, aloud. " There's no one to drink wine down in these parts i” “A pack of ginger- bread gentry, with long pedigrees, and twopencohalf- penny in their pockets l" "Thatg worse than me by twopence," he thought. " You're quite right, ma'am," he said. " I can‘t stand paupers with long pedigrees, myself. They're like po- tato plants, I've heard it said; the only good belonging tothem's underground." " You may well any that,” observed Miss Peniber, with an approving smile. “You’d think very little of our gentry if you knew them. You're a stranger down here. From London, perhaps?" " Yes ; from London, and other places. Traveling. to see life and character, without any fuss about appear- shoes." The landlady went on, without pausing to criticise this statement. " There's our lord of the manor. Mr. Charles Challice. He never spends a shilling in East Hagglciord. Indeed, if half what is said is true, he's squandering most of his fortune away on the racocourses, while his mother spends the other half keeping up a fine house and a pack of idle, over-fed servants. Then there's the poor Mrs. Challice, as we call her, who lives, or starves down there at The Grange, keeping up a kind of state and appearance, according to what I’m told, that would make you weanigh die of Ian ghing if, ~ you could only see it. Wax candles set upon the table, and can't afford to ll ht them l Silver dishes, and sprats for supper; an her daughter, Miss Harriet, if on please, brought up to the some silly sham, educa< ed at a fashionable Chiswick hoardingschool, taught French, and music, and dancingl Ar‘n't you well, sir '1 It's the pie, p’r'aps '2" “All rightl It’s nothingi You said Miss Harriet Challice, did not you ‘1" “ I did not say any more than Miss Harriet : but her There's Challices and Challiccs down here; the country’s full of them, and the church-yard, tool You don’t know these parts ?" “ No. I had no idea that she—I mean that they lived here. I heard the name on the race-course. I fancied. but was not sure. It is not every common name in other parts of the country." "it’s common enough here, though," said Miss Pem- ber. “ That’s the old Grange, where she and her mother live—that tumbledown old red brick house you see half-way down the hill-side, peeping through the trees. The young lady only came back from school yesterday. She’s pretty enough, for those who like that pale, pasty-faced kind of womanl Is that your taste, sir i” “ Yes—no." He was no longer listening to what she said. He had risen from his seat, and, mounted on a bench, was star- in hard in the direction in which she had pointed. Pember had thus a better opportunity of getting height of her customer's personal appearance: and if she had at first doubted him on account of his hat, she on ht to have doubted him much more now the whole of is miserable wardrobe, and more especially his de- plorable boots, were fully exposed to view. It was not a wise thing of him to stand up there exhibiting his rag; and tatters in the broad light of day. at he was thinking no longer oi the small trickery and cunning of arogue's life. A chancespoken word had brought back to him the memory of a time he had almost deceived himself into believing that he had for ever forgotten. " What brought me here i" he murmured, between his set teeth. “ What curse was on me when I set my face this way? I must go at once." But that was far easier said than done, whilst Miss EmPember, brimful of uneasiness and distrust, stood looking at him. He passed his hand across his forehead, on which large beads of perspiration bud burst forth. and, with a mighty efiort, dropping back into something of his old freo-and-euy style, asked for one of Miss Pemher's choicest cigars. “ A good one, please ; and when I've finished my wine, and had a smoke, I'd like to pay, for I must be getting ofi'." Had Miss Pember thought of it, she might have sug- would spoil the taste of the fine old port she had jus served him with, and thus, if her eccentric customer were already abankrupt, she might at least have saved one sixpence. However, she went silently to execute his order. 'Now or never—then was the time to escape. Mr. Pldgeon was deep in the recesses of his Oriental Saloon; 4 Mrs. Peg was drinking her own tea and eating her own creases, n desperation, in her own back parlor; the coast was seemingly quite clear, and Miss Pemher would be absent for another minute or two. He was active and swift of foot. Half a dozen strides would bring him to the stile. He would be down the field and through the thicket beyond in two minutes. This project was no sooner conceived than he began to put it into execution. He cast a hasty glance towards . the in door, and made a-stride in the direction of the stile. Then he came to a sudden standstill at the sight of two ladies, who, having noiselessly emerged fiom the short avenue leading to The Grange, were now within a few feet of-the spot where he stood. As though a pietoloshot‘had struck him, he staggered back ; andrsther falling into than seating himself upon "nheneh an shortgaistsnee from the table whoreon he had dined, he sat staring at“ the youngest lady as nah she were a ghost. ,1 .,, ,, - . ._,, And,in truth, no apparition from the other world thus suddenly appearing could have frightened him more. STEP IV. Mnxwms, the two ladies, all unconscious of the sensation which the sight of one of them had created, walked towards the stile, on which the youngest loant —-a slim, pale, graceful girl, dressed in mourning, with large eyes, that fixed themselves upon the far distance, dreamily—rathor an unhappy face for one so young, but without the discontented, half pocvish look that the elder lady almost always wore. There was evidently more of pain than pleasure in the daily life of Mrs. and Miss Challicn at The Grange. The younger lady, coming fresh from school, at which she had passed all her holidays for the last three years, had perhaps been shocked to find her mother so changed, her home so altered. Perhaps she had ex: pressed her thoughts in words, for the elder lady now spoke querulously, as though in answer to something that had been said. “ Things are not as they used to be, Harriet," she said 2 " and I have partly told you why. I may tell you all, some day, if the trouble cannot be got over, and the worst comes. But there's plenty of time for that." " But, mother," said the girl, anxiously, " why not do so now? Can I be of no help to you ?" f “1Every hclp, perhaps, if you are not an obstinate 00 l" “ Mamma,what a thing to say ! Have I ever disobeycd you in anything?"———nnd the tears rose to the young girl’s eyes. “ Oh, how unlike all this is to what 1 ex- pected to find i" “ All what 'I" retorted the old lady, peevishly ; and then, adopting a coaxing tone, as she saw that her daughter was cryin —"Thcre, there i " shc' said ; “ you are a. good gir , of course. Yes, yes, my dear 1—— yes. yes l Don‘t make a scene, for heaven's sake l Home of these village people may see us. Who is that man who is staring so, I wonder “I” The young lady dried her tears hastily, and looked at the rugged stranger wistfully. “ He is very poor, perhaps, anl also hungry, and too proud to beg—like us, momma. shall I give him the few pence I have here ?" “ We have no pence to waste, Harriet. Do nothing of the kind. He is an idle, worthless follow, I am sure. Come, now, let us go on. We shall be too late to meet your cousin coming back from the race. Come along ; and, pray, do not cry any more, and make a fright of yourself—the very first time you meet him, too i" The elder lady moved forward, saying this. and the younger followed her a short distance, then turned, came quickly back, and approached the rogue, holding sixpence between her fingers. She looked at him quic ly and nervously. in want ?" she said. t‘ilN-no," he answered, in a low tone. gazing intently a er. “ Have we not met before? " N-no." " Take this, please ; I am sure you ”—-—- She did not finish her sentence ; but thrust the money upon him, and retreated hastily in some confusion. He stood silent and motionless. his eyes resting on the little silver coin—s worn sixpence it was—s “lucky” one, with a hole in it—fer full a minute, and then his breast began to heave, and his eyes filled with on- wanted tears ; and all in a tremble, and weak as a child, he sank back into the seat he had risen from to meet her as she approached. h“ She had forgotten me i" he said. " I am glad of t at 1" Miss Em Pember came out now with the cigar and the bill, an elaborate combination of illegible hiero- glyphics and incorrect arithmetic. " Thank you," he said—“ that’s right ; I’ll pay you in a minute." He did not notice that Miss Em Peniber's fate worn, anythin but a complacent expression, but rather dis- trustful y ran over the various dilapidaticns in his poor, worn-out wardrobe; nor did he see that, instead of returning to the inn, she kept close at hand, also beckoning to Mr. Pidgeon, whose head at that moment appeared at the shop door, to come and speak to her. Neither did he see that a party of heavy-looking, half- tipsy rut-«tics, evidently returning from the races, were slouching up the village street, and others, a little further oil‘ in the meadows, approaching the stile, on which he had, a while ago, sat and rested himself. ‘ No: he had no thought for anything that was passing around him. Listlessly he crumbled up the unpaid bill, puffed unconsciously the unlit cigar between his teeth, and peered into vacancy. He was far enough away from East Haggleiord and its petty cares and strifes. He was two years younger— only two years younger—hut what a change there was in him since then i He was not then rich, but be had no occasion to turn chest. to get a good meal. Only two years ago, but what an alteration 1 Had be spoken his thoughts aloud, he might have said something like this: " I am rejoiced she has for- gotten me— uite forgotten me—but, oh, how well I know her i t is the some sweet face, but looking sad- der now, that turned my head then—two years ago; and it was just now--whcn she stood here—4s it was then, so close to me, and yet so far away! She could not now read the heart of the poor, ragged outcast, whose hungry eyes were following her so longingly; so, in the old time, she never wasted a thought upon the presumptuous fool who sacrificed his life for the love of her i v m" 3e11, she has clean forgotten me; I am. glad of D " But why have I not forgotten her i How the deer " Are you I seem to know you." I master 1 helpless, they dragged him-sway in triumph. old days some back to me i I can see now uite plainly the old school-room looking out upon he garden. There are the young girls sittin under the shadows of the trees. There I, a poor penn less nobody, with my pitiful, my disgraceful. ape-like trade of dancing- Therc, too, is the lynx-eyed governess who found my secret out! Is she alive new, I wonder, still carrying on her old trade of toady and snwk '2 How i loathe her memory 1 “ And there, there, the center of the group, with her young, beautiful countenance turned away—so beauti- ful, i thought it, and think it still; so musical a voice I thought it, and think it stilll i am a worse fool now than thou! " It seems like yesterday, and yet an age ago, that dear old, unhappy life-Aha hopes, and fears, and fooL ish longings for what could never be i Then the half- Hpoken word, the intcrcoptud letter, the scorn, the ox- pulsion, the disgrzwo 1 Th» hnrd, honest work of years shattered at a blow, and all tlm world against me, and me a rogue and a. vagaboudl A pretty end to an illu- sivo dream 1 Yet I am dreaming still i " Oh, what curse was on me when I came here? But the world is wide enough i I will go away agalnl I shall forget her eaaily enough, as I have done! I will not utay another instant in this hateful place! I— How about this dinner ?" “ Did you call, sir ‘2" askcd Miss Pembor. looking for something, were you not l" The rogue hung his head. He had no courage left. lie faltei'ed, but could find no words. " I gave you the bill just now. Shall I take for what you've had '1‘" 0h, miserable, shame and degradation! Was there any hole or corner the conscience-stricken wretch could creepinto? lie at that moment felt the deepest con- tempt for himself", and the paltry fraud he had perpe- trated, that ever living creature was capable of feeling. And why was that 'i A while ago he would have laughed at the bare idea of any one entertaining such a sentiment. He would have felt no fear of the danger of his situation should things have turned out awkwardly. But all his courage was clean gone now—Ill his powers of knavery at an end. He would willin ly. at that moment, have signed away a year of his life, if any one would, in exchange. have discharged the din- ner hill. “Now, if you please," said Miss Pember; " I'm waiting.“ " I am very sorry, but "— Miss l’ember flushed crimson, and she raised her voice to a shrill pitch. “1 don't know whether you're sorry or whether you’re not. but I want to see the color of your money. You've eaten and you’ve drank of the host. Please to pay—that's all I ask l" ‘ Several of the inhabitants of the village returned i‘romdthe races, had reached the spot now, and gathered rcun . “ Can I s ask to you privately?" the rogue said. "No!" iss Pember retorted. "We've no secrets between us, that I know oil I want payment for what you've had, ihat's all i" “ I have no money." he asped. “No money i" scream the landlady. " You swin- dling vsgabondl But I'll show you there's ways of treating such as you in these parts, that you msyn't know of in the place you come from.” "My good lady, pray don't be violent! Iwill pay you all right if you let me owe it you for an hour. on are, oi’ course, aware that legally. it is only a com— mon debt 1" “ We don't want any splitting of straws here—do we, Mrs. Pember‘l" put in l’idgeon. “If he don’t pay up at once, we'd best see if we can't learn him a lesson 1" "Thou't reet there, Master Barber!" chimed in a bystander; “and send him to school in the horse- pond to learn it 1" An approving shout greeted this proponition. and another man joined in with, “ Duck him, lads! He‘s one of them welshlng chaps from Lon'on, he is! See him with the thimble-riggers mysen at t’ races—him as Master Goodman lost a pound to. Let's duck him, I say i" The rogue sprang to his feet and cleared a space round him with s. sweep of his right arm. He did not look much like a coward now, or one easily to be ill-treated. But the country folks were no cowards either ; and what was more, several of them had drunk co ions po- tstions of utron ale. Two rushed on him, an his fists fiew out like lightning, rolling them over in the dust. “ Take care i" he cried, fiercely. “ I’ll make short work of some of you, ii' you lay a hand on me i" But the blood of the others was up. and heedin not the warnin , they rushed upon him again in a d . He foughtfit is true, with the fury of a mad bull; but what could he do against. so many? In three minutes they laid him low; they dragged him, torn and bleed- ing. and covered with dirt, towards the stagnant pond in The Grange read: some of his tormentors roaring with laughter, some gasping for breath, and swearing with rage. Alike to his cries for mercy, mixed with savage cum: and vows of vengeance, they paid no attention. He was now uite powerless in their hands—his strength ant —sn most indistinguishable mass of rags and emu. writhing feebly. What curse had been on him when he came there; and what miserable shame and degradation to suffer before her i For she was there, sure enough. In all the wild con- fusion. and through the fierce struggle, he had seen her and her mother standing on the outskirts of the crowd. He saw her now, u, hoarse with shouting, wholly . \ " You were "" '\ "i! \ THE DOOM OF THE DANCING-MASTER. THE SECOND FIGURE. IN WHICH ANOTHER WOLF COMES I'ROWIJNG. STEP l.—r:x1'r mis'r wonr. ,, II.—nx'rnn srzcxmn wou‘. ,, I]I.—TlIE ill-3002“) wou! AT WORK. ,, IV.-—-s.xrr sitcom: wens. STEP I. Miss Hsmusr CHALLICE had not stood by a silent s tutor ofthis violent scene. She was no poor, flimsy, ce-papcr heroine, as we shall presently see. She saw the poor wretch, powerless and bleeding, in the hands of a score of strong men; and her sympathies, like those of every true woman, went without a mo- ment's reflection. on the side of the week. She recognized, in the glimpse she get of him, dis- figured though he was by the struggle, that he was the man on whom she had bestowed her charity a short time before, and, freeing herself from her mother's p upon her arm, she ran swiftly towards Em Pem- dor, and asked what was the matter—what the man had ne ? “ I hope they won’t be too rough to the fellow," Em said, with an uneasy consciousness that she was speak- ing rather late in the day. “ No, no—they must not do it 1" Miss Harriet exclaim- od. “ How dare they 7—are there no police 7" “ Well, as to the police," said the landlady. hesitating in her merciful intentions as the recollection of her wrongs returned to her,-—" eighteen shillings clean gone, and with such cool impudenco, too i If the con- stable had been anywhere where he could have been got at, which he never is”— " Did the man steal the money 7" " He stole the money's worth. With all the efl‘ront- cry in the world, he ordered a dinner fit for the Lord Mayor, and then had no money to pay 1" " And it was only for that! You must stop them! Call—call as loud as you can ! You shall not lose spen- ny, I promise you that. I would pay you now, but I have not the money in my pocket! But I will pay you, I promise you ! My name is Challice ! That is my ma- ma coming this way! You know her 1" "Harriet, Harriet! What is all this 7” the old lady asked, in an injured tone. "Don't tell l”Miss Harriet said, hastily, to the land- lady; " but do what I say ! Quick, quickl They will kill him, I am sure they will! Those cruel wretches !" she exclaimed to her mother. " Do you see 'f The cow- ards—the cowards—I would have them all whipped to oath i" " Harriet! for goodness sake," her mother expostu- lsted, " do not speak so loud. We are unpopular enough here as it is, and I’m sureI do all in my power to conciliate them. Let them do what they like. What does it matter? We have surely troubles enough of our own, without concerning ourselves with those of every ragged vagabond !” 4 But Harriet was not listening to these remarks. She was eagerly following with her eyes the moveuwnts of Em Pember, who was now most energetically entreating the inch to abstain from further violence—assuringthem at the same time, vehemently assuring them, that it was all a. mistake, and her bill had been paid. “ Whether you’re paid or not," one man cried, with a savage laugh, " he must be ducked for his welshing st the races, if he's not for anything else. Hero, lads, bring him on this way! We'll swim him in the mill- strsam; there‘s more room there, and we'll have better fl... , Some one had fetched a rope, which was passed with n slip-knot over his haul, and pulled ti htly under his chest, holding down his arms. Then, alf lifeless, he ‘wsze raised upon the parapet, and pitched into, the wt r. The case of this luckless rogue seemed desperate in- deed, unless help were straightway sent to save him. But just as the waters closed over the victim’s head, a party of horsemen rounded the corncr of the village street. coming up the road that led to the race-course ; and seeing that something of an exciting nature was taking place at the bridge, came forward at a more rapid pace. I " Harriet, Harriet!” exclaimed Mrs. Challice ; " that is your cousin, the one in front. For goodness sake, put your hat straight ; and how you've burst your glove, and how hot and red you are !” Strange to say, without pausing to attend to any of these matters. Miss Harriet si nod to the foremost horseman to stop, and, in a ow breathless words, untreated him to rescue the culprit from his tor- mentors. " You are my cousin Charles I I am Harriet Ohallice l I have no time to speak to you now ! Those wretches are killing that man I You must stop them ! They will listen to youl If not. beat them with your whip -tramp!o them under foot 1" ' The person addressed was a tall, powerful young man, with broad shoulders. flaxen hair, and a sun- burnt face—not too wise-looking, perhaps, but cer- tainly handsome, according to the ordinary scooptstion of the term. He seede not a little surprised and puzzled by the somewhat startling speech addressed to him, and he smiled and opened his eyes ; but he wasted no time in musing to consider, spurred on his horse, and gallop- g into the crowd, shouted to the ringleaders to de- sist from their sport. It was possible thst had Mr. Charles Challioe been un- known to them. he might hay. failed in his pu so, and that he and his party, another gentleman sn two boon roughly handled; but, goons, might even have . r the sigh of his boo, one in the annulled out, " Here's the young Squire! Drop it now, lads ; there’s been enough oi_this 1" But one or two, however, were for questioning the young Squire's right to interfere. “ He's got to do with them that's brought before him in the Court-house—not hero." “ We’re justices here! Who’s to stop us P” " Well,” said Mr. Challice, “ I mean to stop you, either by fair words or otherwise ; and there are some here that'll be on my side. Come, let the man go : and split this crown-piece among you, over there, at the 'uroon Dragon.’ " The five shillings settled the matter, and paid the rogue’s ransom. Released from his perilous position- for, during the purlcy, he had been suspended about I. foot from the surface of the water, twirling ignony round and round, like a trussed i'owl roasting at the end of a string—tho poor man's “Jack”—hc now stood in the midst. a deplorable object, his clothes torn from his back, and such and rags as yet covered him, soaked through, and ,clinging to his body. One of the old burst boots he had lost altogether, and one of his white cuffs, with a trashy brass stud in it still, hung upon the wrist of an arm from which the sleeve had been torn from the elbow, disclosing the fact that the cuff and collar composed the whole stock of linen that the shabby stranger had worn. "I don't know what- you have been guilty of, man," said the Squire; "but if you will acceptawell-moant piece of advice, you will get out of this as quickly as may be, and don‘t show yourself again for some time to come." The half-drowned rat made as though he would speak, but his voice failed him ; and without saying a word, he slank away, leaving in. thin trail of” water on the dusty road, which showed for some thirty or forty yards what direction he had taken, and then was lost in the grass on the road side. STEP II. HAVING played his part of gallant defender, Mr. Charles Challice now returned to the place where the ladies were waiting, and, alighting from 'his horse, gave it to his groom. The elderly lady was profuse in her apologies. "Idon‘t know whatever you can think of Harriet! She is so impetuous, so self-willed ! Although you are first cousins, a little more ceremony surely was necessary!" “I don’t know, aunt !" he answered, laughing. think not. There was hardly time.” _ “We should have let the man be drowned while we were making pretty speeches," the girl said, half laugh- ing; "and we can make them now instead, if neces- sary.” "ch ; oh. yes, to be sure !" Charles Challice an- swered, blushing as he spoke. He was slow and sure, and did not exactly follow some of this. His cousin was quite anovelty in the girl way, according to his experience—a novelty, though, which he thought be rather liked, but had not quite made up his mind yet upon the point. Presently he would be able to think it over; and, in the meanwhile, to hide some smsl! amount of [confusion he suffered from, he hastened to introduce his friend. He, Captain Everest, was some eight years Challice's senior. They were both in the same regiment, but Challice was yet quite fresh at his soldicring ; his uni- form was hardly crossed, and there were no scratches on his sword. The other had been on active service, and had smelt powder. Hot suns had bronzed his features, which wore a somewhat weary air. Most ladies felt hem the first s great interest in Captain Everest, which was, however, a sentiment he only half returned. It was most unusual for him to manifest any desire to make new acquaintances. Chal- lics said afterwards, " I never knew you talk so much, Jack 1 What on earth were you saying?" "I don't remember saying anything worth repeat- ing," Everest replied. Challice would himself have liked to talk to his new- found cousin, but the elder lady had prevented this by s masterly stroke of generalship, and possessed herself of the young Squire's arm. She was, in truth, fearful lest some outspoken word from the girl might mar his first impression of her. As it was, she thought to herself, “What could he think of Harriet’s strange. excited manner? So unlike what he must be used to in girls! But she is so unlike girls! It is very hard that it should be so! I don't know what I have done to deserve it! One child has well-nigh broken my heart, and now the othorl-—now the other 1" But she let little of this secret misery be seen in her manner, save that she was. perhaps, rather nervous and excited. Her life had, for some years past, been s weary struggle against heav odds. There was in her look, one might have fancie , a kind of dread expects. tion of something coming, which was visible when she was first introduced to strangers. The rich Mrs. Chal- lice, at the Hall, thought that her late brotherdn-lsw's widow was a little mad, or very eccentric. The death of s much-loved son had probably affected her brain. She was now making a score of excuses for the non- appsarance of herself and her daughter at the races. " Harriet was so tired after I. journey home yesterday, and had a bad headache. Besides, she had nothing prepared to go in. Dear Charles, you know what girls are at her age—what mountains they make out of mole- /hills in such matters! Poor thing. too ! I know shots disap ointed!" " y mother wished me to ride round this way, and ask you to dine with us to-night. Will you com. 1’" “ My dear Charles, how kind of you! I thought you mightcometbutlam so so I It will be too late, "I won’stit? It will be impossib cl I us so sorry i" "Why impossible ?" Challicc asked, much surprised. " It will not take halfan hour to get there, and we do not dine till half-past eight. You must come." "I should be so glad to do so, for my dear child‘s sake—she has seen solittle, shut up at school all (.lln'br years—but, you see, my coachman is not at home." .11" My groom can drive you; he is the steadiest fellow ve." “ No, no; I‘m afraid not. Everything is so unfortun~ ate! Edwards has taken thu- horse away with him.” “ But, my dear aunt, here is the groom's horse. She will run in harness, and take you as quiet as a lamb. l bc-lievo you do not want to come i” “ What an idea, Charles 2" the old lady said, evidently racking her brains in search of some fresh obstaclr. " But I am so sorry; and. the fact is, I am engaged l" "Engaged !" ho repeated, rather incredulously; for this excuse seemed to come oddly after the others. She did not notice it, and rambled on. r' " I have all day been expecting my man of business from London; and I must be in to see him,for be is sure to come. Ah 2 that is he i" There, sure enough, at the turn of the road, was the man of business in question—or, at any rate. a person who had the appearance of being a man of business—an elderly individual, short-necked, and rather over-stout and overrosy. with nothing of at all an alarming look about him; yet, most certainly, the old lady, at the sight of him in the distance, turned deadly pale beneath her rouge, and the hand resting on Challice's Inn shook as with palsy. But Charles Chulh’ce was not very uick st see! some things; andjust now he had an idea in his h which was quite large enough to fill it, " See here, aunt," he said. " If you have really bush uses to attend to, let me take back my cousin with me. I will take the greatest possible care of her, and my mother will drive her over here again in the morning. We have a dance. I think she will enjoy herself." Had the proposition been made a few minutes earlier. most likely it would have been met with a score of ex- cuses. As it was. she seemed, somehow, scarcely to understand the words that were being spoken, and briefly gave her consent; then hastily disengaging her- :elf from her nephew, bade him and the others goodp ye. Harriet, who had not heard what was taking place, looked at her mother in astonishment, until Challico explained. " Oh, you dear msmma, how kind of you 1” she cried. “ May I really go ?” “ Yes, dear—yes; and make haste. keep your cousin waiting." They were now in front of The Gran go, and the young lady ran forward, in a flutter of delight. " You know your way to the stables, Charles," the old lady said, in a tone which seemed to imply that he and his friend might go there, and leave her alone. When they had done so, she raised her hand, and beckoned to the man of business, who had stood silent where she had at first seen him, a few yards dis- tant. and who now readily followed her into the house, and into a dark, dreary-looking. Oak-paneled parlor, the door of which she closed behind them. But Captain Everest had not followed his friend to the stable without castings. curious look towards the rosy-faced man, and the rosy-faced man's eyes followed him with seeming interest. Perhaps they were wondering where they had met before; or perhaps they knew each other very well, but did not care to keep up the acquaintance out oi busi- ness hours. The Captain dropped his eyes. and the rosy man. whose name was Benson, stroked his chin with his gray Lisle-thread glove, and very faintly smiled. You must not STEP III. WITH the same anxious, exolted manner on her, the old lady bade her man of business take a seat, and, going to s clipboard in the corner of the room, brought outadecanter, about a quarter ms of sherry, an a very small wine-glass. which she filled with s tremb- ling hand. By the side of this she placed a green des- sert-dish, containing half a dozen mixed biscuits of un- tempting appearance, having evidently been long cup- boarded. Mr. Benson, pressed to partake of these luxuries, took a sip of the wine, and made a wryish face at it, but rejected the biscuits altogether. " What a lovely day we have had ! ” she said. “ I have been waiting an hour for you nearly," he re- plied, “ out in that dusty road." " Why did you not come in and sit down ? 'l'ho servant should have asked you." "She didn't anyhow | ” An awkward pause followed this, which was broken by a tap at he door. Miss Harriet, in snlncrsdibly short time, ad dressed herself. and was ready to start. The mother, with a confused spology to has visitor, came out into the p o. The girl looked very pretty just at that moment. or eyes sparkled with pleasure ; her ordinaril pale checks were slightly flushed. To tell the trut . half the dispatch shown in her toilet arrangements was due to the scantlness of her ward- robe, snd she now wore the same dress in which sh. had been walking, with some triflinglsdditions hastily added. It won a well-worn black s k, elegantly fash- ioned. She looked very grscoful and retty in it, however and only women would have noticed that it was not quite what s yoga? lady's dress ought to be. Ken would have noti he: ilguro only, and passed an on ad on. 'Ihe $2...- hsrdly looked st her. Bhowssfsnrlshly anxious that she. and Challioc. and the other gontlo man, should go sway. . {x - self! THE DOOM OI" TIIE' DANCING-MASTER. m. " That's right !—that's right i " she said. Are they bringing the carriage round ? Yes, i hear thcm. You must be very careful. mind—very careful 1 Don‘t chatter about anything here i Don't let that woman— your aunt—draw you out; you understand? What al while they are l My poor head is splitting l Ah ! . here they come! Goodbye, Charles ! good-bye, Cup» _ tain ! You'll take great of her ! Good-bye, dear 5 1 Heaven bless you ! " Curiously enough, they noticed little or nothing ofj hcr cxcitomont, and she wavod hor handkerchief until they had rounded the turn in the road. Then of a - sudden she became curiously changed—grim and gray. She entered the house, with a sigh, walking heavily. h At the door of the room whgre Mr. Benson awaited hcr . return, hor inannor changed again, however, and sho ‘ entered with a smile. ' " Now, sir," she said, " I am at your sort-inc." “ I am quite at yours, madam,” rrvplie ! ilh' other, dryly. "l have iii-en so sonic timo.” “I cannot tell you how Very inl‘l') I am to have kept you; the more so as"—— “ Well, time is inonuy with me, Mrs. Uhallice. I ship in to you get into the way of not being particular to an hour or two when you live in those world