PROBATION:

A TALE OF THE

LANCASHIRE COTTON FAMIfiE !

By MISS JESSIE FOTHERGILL,

Author of "Healcy," "Aldyth," "Tho First

Violin," et.e

CHAPTER XX.

'HE FIRST OF THE STOEM.

The year 1861 had closed in thick clouds and. a great darkness, with, the mutter of •war in the far West, and with the threaten ing of famine at home. The year 1862 dawned, but with a dawn so dark as scarce to bo distinguishable from profoundeat 'midnight.

Earth turned in her sleen for pain,

January, February, dragged. slowly by, and times only grew worse. Few chimmeys smoked, no workers tramped through the streets; faces were pinched, fires burnt low and meagre in the bitter weather; money was not forthcoming, clothes were few, pleasures were at an end. Men paused and waited, as it were, while the thunder growl ed nnd the first heavy drops of the storm began to fall, slowly and deliberately, and then faster and faster, till none coidd es cape the universal drenching. One bitter morning, iv the beginning of March, Myles and Mary Heywood turned out to their daily work. A furious, sting ing wind, and a driving, scourging rain, saluted them as they entered the long slop ing street leading to the factory. Myles pulled his collar up about his ears, and Mary folded her shawl more tightly round her, pulling it also further over her face. They walked in silence, and did not look at each other. In truth, both their hearts were sad as sad could be. They were entirely changed from the well-to-do, untroubled, noble-looking brother and sister who, six or seven months ago, walked home together in the August afternoon. AVhata hot, plenti ful blaze of sunlight then ! what cold 1 what wet, what inclemency of elements now! Tho contrast was pointed and searching, and went home to both. For months now, Myles's heart had been growing bitterer and harder, and more rebellious; ever since that evening on which Sebastian Mallory had come and interrupted his talk with Adrienne. He had not seen her often since then; but ou the few occa sions when he had done so, she was clianged. He had seen the change distinctly, had seen how her eye wavered and her colour clian ged under"his piercing glance, for he could look at her steadily now, without bashful ness, and with a gazo of desperate hopeless inquiry, which, ho thought, must bum her secret from her heart. With each visit, each conversation with her, he had grown more hopeless, more despairingly certain that what little part or lot ho had ever had in her life had now vanished—was done for evermore. Once, strolling aimlessly along, he had come out of a shop, and had been going to speak to her when Sebastian Mal lory had come up, smiling, and lifting his hat, aud fixing his eyes upon her face. Tho sight had been quite enough for Myles, who had plungod his hands into his pockets, and turned away with bitterness in his heart. Once or twice—he did not know how often—he had purposely and pointedly spoken to her of Sebastian, and nad oven asked her a question or two about her for mer acquaintance with him, and had watch ed cruelly and unflinchingly, to see how she took it. And she had taken it just as he had expected, with downcast eyes, a heightened colour, and a sudden confused silence. He had been satisfied with his experiment; now he had given over going to Mr Blisset's house, snyin" to himself: " If Bhe cares for us, and is worth any thing, she will come—she will come if it is only to see Mary. By this I shall know hor. 'If she comes, I'll keep quiet, and try to be satisfied with her—friendship. And if she • docs not come—l'll hate her ; no, I'll thiuk no more of her—l'll forget her, and rid my self of this plague that has been with me ever since I knew her."

Adrienne did not como ; days and weeks went by, and she came not, and Myles did not hate her ; he did not cease to think of her. His "plague" tormented him more grievously than ever, and his life was mise rable. His days were long; there was only half tho usual work to fill them. The weary afternoons and evenings were unutterably long. He sat at homo with his books open beforo him, and stared at them, and knew nothing about what was in them, while the cliimes played " Life let us cherish!" and Myles thought of the hundreds now daily augmenting, dwelling in the houses beneath those chimes, to whom, in their destitution, the tune must have Boomed a melodious mockery. " Life let as cherish!" while tho men aoross the Atlantic were locked in the deadly grip of war, jand the cotton manu facture in England yras coming steadily,sure ly, to a standstill. A few more throbs of its mighty pulse—a few moro desperate strug gles to break through the paralysis that was creeping over it, and then tho iron lungs, the great throbbing heart of it, its huge limbs, its vast arteries, would be quies cent for—who should venture to say how long ? It was a deadly prospect. With these various causes of distress gnawing perseveringly at his heart, the young man might well be silent, as he set his teeth against the wind, and stooped his head to shield his face from the rain.

While Marjr,i on her side, had cause enough and to spare of unhappiness. The poor girl's heart was full to bursting Of a dread tear tbat she had f orniany weeks now, .concerning which she had not breathed a word to anyone. "Tliat it should ha' begun just now!" she thought to herself ; "just when times is hard, and work is short, and I can not get him all he should have." She kept up a brave face; worked out her daily task at her looms, and her much harder, heart-breaking task at home ; had. caresses, and smiles, and tender words for Edmund, and a good face to turn to ]>oor Myles, in his gloom, which oppressed her faithful heart like a chill hand laid upon it She had her meed of consolation for Harry Ashworth, who said he was growing deafer and deafer. She had her own private asto nishment at Adriennc's long absence, but no thought that Adrienne meant any slight or illwill to her or hers.

Still, her secret cares had thinned her checks, and taught her lips to assume a sadder curve; and placed a line or two upon her frank, calm open brow, and lent a quiet pensiver.ess to her dark-brown eyes. It had always been a good face—now it had the dignity and pathos of well-borne sorrow. They entered the great gas-lighted room. Myles went off to his part of the mill, and Mary to hers. How hot and overpowering it felt, after the bitter rawness of the outside air ! She cast aside her shawl, and 3et her looms going, and in a few minutes the old accustomed roar of the machinery had somewhat soothed her; and her monoto nous, weary pondering over ways and means, and sharp, stinging fears as to some dread event hovering in the near future, had been somewhat dissipated by attention to her work, and the,chat,of a fellow factory worker, V

" I reckon west soon have to shut up shop here, Mary," said the latter, " I ycard Wilson say as how we couldn't hold out mich longer. ■ " Eli, what ?" said Mary, with a start, "eh, I hope not, lass. What mun we do, if we've no work?" The other girl shrugged her shoulders. " I've yeard say,. too, as if wo do have any work, it '11 be wi' Surats, and I mun say, I'd rayther have none at all. Iconno' work yon stuff." " I care nowt at all whether its Surats or'what it is, so as I've summat to do, and summat to earn," said Mary. "Thou may -worktwelve hours a day at Surats, and not earn above six shillin' a week," said her companion cynically; and then the conversation ceased, and Mary was left to her reflections. At eight they went home to breakfast, and at half-past they were at their work again, and continued at it until half-past twelve, when Wilson put his head into tho room, and called out: " All tho hands in this here room will please wait a few minutes in the big yard. I've got something to say to you." The same announcement had boen made in the different rooms, and the result was, all the hands were assembled, and waiting, some curiously, some apathetically, for the communication that was coming. Wilson jumped upon a lurry which stood in the yard, and in a cloar, distinct voice, read out from a paper he had in his hand this announcement:

" I hereby give notice that on and after Friday, March the^-th, this factory will be closed, owing to the present condition of tho cotton trado, in consequence of the American war. At the same time, as lam anxious to keep my hands together, and to save them as much as possible from dis tress, I undertake, for the present at least, nnd until other circumstances should make a change desirable, to furnish them with tho means of subsistence, and such of them as are my tenants will not be pressed for rent until tho times', mprovc. Each head of a family is requested to attend in the warehouse of this mill on the afternoon of Monday next, at three o'clock, when the conditions of relief will be made known, and the names and addresses of all in receipt thereof teken down. I request you earnestly, and with perfect confidence, to try, all of you, during this present trouble, to act together, and assist me in tho pre servation of order and the relief of distress. " Sedastian Malloky."

There was a short silence; then murmurs ; then, from some lips, an attempt at a cheer. Some girls and women were wiping their eyes with their aprons, and ono or two men waved their hats; exclamations and mur murs arose all around. " Eh, but that's reet down kind, that is 1" "Th'chap is a good sort!" "Well, we need not fear to clem just yet!" and so on. Tho gratitude was very real, if expressed with true Lan cashire reticenco and absence of effusion. But almost greater than the gratitude was tho gloom—the sense of shame and degra dation—the feeling that this was a draught too bitter for any amount of sugaring to sweeten, and that they had done nothing to deserve to have to swallow it. Sebastian had done wisely in committing to Wilson tho delivery of the message. Wilson seemed to the workpeople almost as one of them selves ; he, too, mus .suffer somewhat from this calamity. The humiliation would have been too intense had Sebastian read the announcement himself. He, like hun dreds of other masters, was making monoy—netting largo profits at this stage '. of the crisis. His piled up warehouses 1 would be emptied at profitable prices of the accumulated last year's over-production, while the impossibility of getting at tho stores,' of cotton which were undoubtedly reposing in large quantities in Manchester and Liverpool warehouses relieved him from the immediate expense of working and of paying wages. That part of the "panic, as it was and is always called by the work people, was one of unmitigated severity for the poorraan—for tho worker -capital added hugely to her stores. Yet every employer of any foresight was troubled to know what was to become of his workpeople during the great distress—such skilful, practised, dem anded, soft-fingered >vorkpeoplc as no other corner of the world could supply to him— workpeople whb, if they once got scattered, or emigrated, or separated from their labour, could not be replaced—the choicest of '. craftsmen and craftswomen. This was a hard subject during all the years of the cot ton famine. How- keep the operatives, together, provide for them, prevent them • from becoming demoralised by the enforced idleness, combined with the living on money J not earned by themselves? It was a pro- \ blem which, all must confess, was nobly solved. , At this precise time, though thedistross was daily augmenting in on appalling man ner, though each saw a greater number of factories closed entirely,' yet tho organised system of relief—that gigantic machinery whoso equal the world had never before seen—was not yet in existence.

Sebastian, after long consultations with Mr Suteliffe, had come to the conclusion, for tho present at least, to support his own workpeople, and the result of that resolution was the paper just now read out by Wilson.

Slowly, the hands dispersed. Mary Hey wood, seeing her brother near tho big gate, joined him there, and glanced rather doubt fully np into his face. Doubt rapidly chan ged to dismay; he was white as death; his lips tight-set; his great dark eyes abso lutely scintillating with passion. The words she had been about to speak to him died upon her lips.

" Thou go home, lass! I've a little busi ness to do lief ore I come after thee, but I'll not be long," said he, so quietly and calmly that her heart beat a little less rapidly, and without a word she obeyed, leaving him there in the yard, he conscious only of one puqM»e, and of a burning restlessness until that purpose should be accomplished. He waited by the gates, looking at no one, speaking to no one, until he saw that all the hands had filed out, and that Wilson was left alone in the office,' locking things up. A few swift, striding steps brought him inside tho little room. Wilson looked up, " Hey, Myles! Is that you ? Do you want something?" "Yes. I just want to tell you to take my name—and my sister's too —off the books. We shall not work here any more."!

"Oh but you will. This here is only a temporary stoppage, you know. Times must mend, though they look bad enough now, and Mallory's won't go to smash so easily." "_ shall never work here again, I tell you, nor Mary neither. Take our names off the books, if you please; and look you, Wilson, if anybody conies round to myhouso offering me relief in" a spasm twitched his pain-set lips—" the master's name—l'll kick him out—so you're warned." "My certy, Myles! You're mad to talk in that way. You've ne'er thought about it. How are you to live without relief ? And when such a handsome arrangement has been made "

" That's nothing to the point. Please to do as 1 ask, and remember, I'll keep my word."

He turned on his heel and left the yard. Wilson looked after him, watching the proud elastic figure, haunted by the remem

brance of the deadly paleness of the face, and the sombre, despairing gloom of tho eyes. Wilson acted as became a wary man.wr o did not choose to commit himself—shook his head and murmured : " Ay, ay, my good chap, but you'll have to cat humble-pie sooner or later—and why not sooner?" . Evidently, the characters of Myles and his easy-going old friend were fundamentally unlike. Meantime Myles, breathing rather more freely, and with a faint return of colour to his cheek, took Mb way home, feeling that now, if he met Sebastian Mallory, he could look him in the face as defiantly as he chose. There was something almost exquisite in the sense that though only a fow pounds stood between him and destitution, yet that lie was no longer in any way dependent upon Mallory. Arrived at home, he found the kitchen empty ; the dinner half ready (not such an abundant dinner even now, as it once had been), the table spread. He sat doirn moodily, and waited; and presently Mary came down looking very sad indeed. She had not been crying, but there was some thing in her eyes speaking of a grief and fear beyond tears. "Well, my lass, where's Edmund ? "Edmund's in bed, Myles." "In bed!" he echoed, looking up in some surprise. " Why, what ails him?'' " The same thing as has been ailing him this six week. I dunnot know what it may bo. Th' doctor calls it low fever."

"The doctor !" he echoed again, more as tonished still. "What's the meaning of this, Molly?' " Eh, Myles, it thou d none been so wrapped up in summat all this time, thou migiit ha' seen as th' lad were fair pinin' She could hardly finish her words, but sat down upon the rocking chair, and cover ed her face with her hands for a moment, while lie looked at her with a haggard gaze. ' A hundred trifles came into his mind now, crowding quickly forward—Mary's pre occupatiou, Edmund's passive silence and flushed face—and he had never seen it. Brute that he was !

" And to-day he's that weak he can't sit up no longer," continued Mary, raising her face from her hands and looking sadly before her; " and I'm sore flyed he'll ne'er be strong again, that.l am." Then she rose, snd began to finish the few preparations for dinner, though sooth to say, no two people ever made ready for a meai with less appetite. She began to talk as she thought cheerfully. " When I heard Wilson read out as fac tory would stop o' Friday, my heart fair sank within me, when I thought 0' yon lad and us wi'out a penny to earn ; bnt oh ! I could ha' cried wi' joy afore hod done. Yon Mr Mallory mun be a reet good-hearted chap and our Edmund winnot clem now."

"Maryl" he exclaimed, starting up, and speaking in so strange a voice that she looked at him involuntarily, and saw again the look—the pale face, tho scintillating eyes—which had so terrified her an hour before at the mill gate. He stepped across the room to her, and grasped her arm " Never thou name such a thing again. I told Wilson to take my name, and thy name, off the books, and to send anyone round here poking if he dared. I'd die like a dog beforo I'd take a bite or sup from Mm, or let any of those that belonged to me do it." " Why whatever she began, but he went on, forcibly moderating his voice : "Molly, I never could havo thought to hear such a word from thee. Hast thought what it means? It means that we—seven hundred and more of us—shall go like beggars every day, and take that man's money, and eat his bread, and do nothing for it. Thou'rt mazed with thy trouble, he udded soothingly, " orthou'd never have dreamt of it." ' ■ V

"But how mun we live?" she asked, seeing only that they were Mr Mallory's workpoople, and that he prized their services, and, like a generous master, desired to help them until better times came round again. "Thou wert always so set against th' master, lad; but when we're like to starve, what mun we do ?" Neither Mary nor Myles, it may have been observed, made any mention of their mother, or spoke as if she could relieve them. Later in their distress Mary went to her mother and represented their situation. Mrs Hoyle saidsententiously that her money was sunk in her husband's business; and she had no longer any control over it, which was, indeed, true. She had put it entirely in his power immediately after marrying him, and it remained there, for toward the close of 1563 Mrs Hoyle, who had believed that she was doing well for herself in her marriage, died, of a rapid, sudden illness, and her money passed away from her children, and into her husband's hands for ever. .

" We're not like to starve yet," replied Myles to his sister's last remark. '' I've got over ten pounds put by ; it ought to have been more, but I wasn't as careful as I should have been ; and you've something of your own, 1 know. It's true we'd meant to keep it, but in these times we'll most of us have to use up what we put by." " Eh, lad !" answered Mary, with sor rowful enbarrassment "Mine were such a bit! And I've drawn it all out, for to buy yon lad his bits of things as he must have. Doctor ordered them, and I saw as thou were moithered wi' summat, so I didn't ax thee, but just used up my own bit o' brass. It's all gone—all but a few shillin's."

He dropped her arm, and turned aside. This, then, was the prospect—c sick brother to cherish, himself and his sister to support, the rent to pay, and a little over ten pounds between them and destitution. Undaunted though his spirit Avas, it was fain to stand appalled before these facts, until at last, turning round, he said; " I'D. think aboutwhatcanbedone, Mary; ten pounds will last a good while, andthou'rt so clever at managing, and all that." Marywassilent. She knew how quickly ten pounds would vanish where there was an invalid to be cared for ; and the regular weekly sum which Myles had haughtily re fused seemed, now it was out of her reach, to assume the proportions of. absolute wealth.

"Myles," she said, "I know thou mun have some reason for what thou'rt doing, but Tve no grudge against the master. I don't see why I shouldn't take the relief and help a bit thou needna know nowt

about it." ;•. , '' Mary 1" He paused, choked back some passionate emotion, and looked at her. There rushed over his mind, as by an inspira tion, the conviction that what he had said, what he had proposed to do, was a mean ty rannical way of making others suffer for his own private grudge, filary's mind was to be kept on the rack as to ways and means. Edmund's comforts were to be stinted, _or stopped, because he, Myles, hated Sebastian Mallory, and, knowing his sister v> ould obey him, despotically said, "You will take no help from him." Certainly, to know that Mary and Edmund were subsisting upon Mr Mallory's bounty, while he was idle, would be anguish almost as keen as to sit down and subsist upon that bounty himself; but anguish, it seemed, prevailed a good deal in the world. It had. to be borne by some people. What right had he to shift his portion upon_ the shoul ders of a loving woman and a cripple boy? He cried shame upon himself. His cheek

flushed, and he hesitated no longer. He had begun to speak passionately; he finish ed calmly. " I had not thought of that. You are right, Molly. You'd better do so. It will be bad for me to bear" (how bad his pale lace and drawn lips foretold), "but it's best so. This is a great trouble -that has come upon us, and we must be as great as we can to meet it, I suppose. I shall look out and see if I can find anything to do—perhaps away from here. I'm suro it's the best thing I could do. It's a great mistake my being here at all." . x ... This speech, with the misery and bitter ness underlying its acquiescence in her wish, seemed to freeze Mary's heart within her. She could not understand it,,yet it seemed to foiebodo evil and misery and woe toher. She looked at Myles, in whose whole attitude was something* alien and strange. For a moment a fearful weight and foroboding op pressed her; then, breaking suddenly loose from it, she ran Up to him with a cry of love, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him eagerly. "Eh Myles, hush, hush! Thou munna talk like that. I'd clem sooner nor take a penny from anyone thou didn't like. It were only that I were quite dishoartenod like wi' wondering what I were to do in these hard times, now yon lad is so poorly. But for thee to go away and leave us—the best brother"—a hug— "ay, the vary best, a lass ever had—my certy, don't «ay nowt about it again." She was half laughing, half crying. As for Myles, the clasp of her warm arms about his neck seemed to'unstiffen it; the pres sure of her face upon his breast appeared to loosen a load of pent-up feeling. He put his arm round her waist and kissed her soft brown hair again and again, and once more the feeling rushed over him that tliis was true hearty love, and that he was a fool to distress himself for that other love, which would never be his.

"Don't take on so, there's a dear lass. Do just as you like about the relief. Say nothing to mo about it, and I shall know nothing. There's a reason why I can take neither bit nor sup from young Mallory—a reason I can't tell you, and that will never be removed. A crumb of his bread would choke me."

" Why, has he done thee any wrong ?" " None at all, and means me no wrong; it's what they call circumstances, Molly. They come rather hard on a fellow sometimes; that's all. Come, the dinner must be well nigh cold. Let's have it, and then I'll go up and sit wi'poor Ned a bit." It was a dark prospect which opened before them ; yet, after this conversation, they both felt lighter of heart, and better prepared to meet it.

CHAPTER XXI.

" KATHE SCHLAGEM." Sebastian Mallory, Mr Sutcliffe, and Wilson, holding a council of war together late in the afternoon of that eventful day, discussed the means to be taken for the pre servation of order and the best distribution of relief. ,"',""•,',', Sebastian, in the course of the debate, asked how many exactly there were to be rclicYccL. ' Wilson ran his eye along some long lists of names and addresses. " The number of hands is seven hundred and thirty, sir, all in all; but it's with the ! heads of families we shall have to deal. About a dozen won't require relief, and four have taken their names off the book altogether." . •'Which are they ?' asked Sebastian. " Frank Mitchell, weaver ;..he's got a brother in Canada, who offered to pay his passage out if he'll go and help him on his farm ; so soon as he heard work was stopped he decided to go. Tlmt's one. Myles and Mary Heywooa " '7 * ; "What? Any reason given for their leaving?" asked Sebastian quickly. •' '• Well, sir, relief would be a hard nut for Myles Heywood to crack, at the best of times. lie's uncommon proud, and he came up to me, after I'd read your notice, and told me very stiff indeed to take his name and his sister's off the books. I did hexpostulate with him, but he were quite determined/ V

•'Did he give any reasons ?" " No, sir. He doesn't generally give his reasons for what he does, leastways not to me ; but I'm not his master." "Ishe one of mv tenants?" "No sir. He lives on the Townfield, at No. 16." "Oh, very well f'said Sebastian, and the business went on for some time uninterrup tedly. In the evening Sebastian, calling at Stone gate andaskingif Miss Blisset could see him, was admitted and taken to tho drawing room, where he found Adrienne alone, seated at her piano. She rose, coming forward to greet him, and he saw that her face was pale, and her eyes sad and heavy. "Ihope you are ini'a good-natured and self -sacrificing mood, "saidhe, "forlam come to ask a very great favour." "I shall be delighted if I can help you in anyway." •'' " Did you know we cease to work at all after Friday f " Cease to work at all ? . What will become—oh, lam very sorry—what will the workpeople do?" ". Ithought," began Sebastian, and bit his lips, ... ' He was afraid of appearing to parade his intentions before her, and altered the form of his announcement.

"I have consulted with Suteliffe—my manager, you know—and we have come to the conclusion that it wJI be the best and wisest plan for me to relieve my work people myself, for the present at any rate, and——" '77-"

"Allof them? To keep them, do you mean?" asked Adrienne quickly. " It is really the best, aud it will be the cheapest way in the en d," said he Tialf apolo getically ;'' and what-1 wished to ask you was "

"It is right—it is a generous thing to do, I am glad you are going to _do it," she interrupted him, her eyesheaming and sup pressed warmth in her tone. ' And she looked at him more fully and steadily than she had done for many weeks past. Yet there was something no t perfectly pleased in her expression. Sebastian, a young man who was not usually given to losing his self-possession or presence of mind, coloured, half with em barrassment, half with pleasure. "I am glad you approve," was all he could find to say. "I do. It will be such an excellent example." $ "An example—ah, yes ! But now to ask my favour. Sutcliffe thinks it will not do to let them be idle all the time, so we have decided to open some schools—one for the men and boys, and another for women and girls. Both of them will require some ! one with brains and a head on their shoul "ders to look after them. I want to know if you will take the management of the woman's school ?" "But Mrs Mallory—will she not wish to -" x .■''; \ " No. She will have nothing to do with ' it, beyond giving me a subscription. I believe she does not altogether approve of the course I have taken, andhasd-cided to j hold herself aloof. You can do it, if you j will, and if Mr Blisset can spare yon.'' I know yon are not afraid of yourself, and I that is wbylasked you. "

" If my uncle can spare riie, I will under take it," said Adrienne, _ speaking as she now aißiially did speak to him—rather briefly and drily. Sebastian could wring no sign from her—nothing but a rapid, guarded glance, and a brief unemotional speech. It was un satisfactory, ho felt. He was not making way. She tormented his thoughts some times in a way that ivas harassing; he carried in his mind almost incessantly the calm, sweet face, pale and clear ; the rapid glance, which was.ho felt,not so much desti tute of expression as full of something veiled—something which she would not allow to beam fully out upon him. "It will not bo play," he proceeded, after a silent pause, during which his eyes interrogated hers, which made no answer. "It will be downright hard,arduous work. If it should prove to be too much for you " .-.--'• " It will not be too much for me, she said quickly, and then her eye did suddenly fill with some expression—what, he could not tell. " I want some work like that work which willbehard »ndabsorbing,"said' Adrienne, clasping her hands with an in voluntary movement. " What must Ido . Have yoii got a room for the school, and some teachers?"

"I.think of dividing part of my ware house, and filling it with benches. It can soon be done. As for teachers, I thought some of the better educated amongst the young women themselves—or I could find a mistress, and—do you know Miss Spence ley?" "No, I do not," said Adrienne steadily,, her colour rising. • -. -;« " She is a young lady who professes to need active work and to love it, and I really think, if she had the opportunity, she would throw herself heart and soul into such a scheme. But perhaps you would rather not make her acquaintance ?_" >V I | : Adrienne paused again. Was she to extend the scorn and contempt she felt for; Frederick Spenceley to his whole connec tions, and to make difficulties and quibbles about her co-workers in a scheme in which, it was essential chiefly to have workers as soon as possible ? " No," said she ; "if you think Miss Spenceley would help,! shall be very happy to work with her,"

"Of course you will be the head," said Sebastian. " I will take care that is understood, and then there will be no diffi culty." "If you will send me a list of names and addresses," said Adrienne, "I will go my ,self and sec after them. I dare say Mary Hey wood could tell me something about a. good many of them." " That reminds me that Myles Heywood, for some unknown reason or other, has seen fit to decline all assistance. He has ordered his own name and his sister's to be taken off my books, and withdraws in dignified silence." .

He looked intently at Adrienne as he spoke. She was silent, crimson for a moment as she met his glance ; then she started from her chair and walked, to the fireplace, stooped over the fireirons, and began to mend the fire, ; ' ■* " Allow me," said Sebastian quietly,, coming to her assistance in time to see her disturbed face. '' Is it not foolish of him ?" he added remorselessly. '' He is too young to have been able to save anything almost, and there is not the least prospect of work atpresent" ••■ ---"He was quite right," said Adrienne clearly, as she fixed her eyes upon Sebas tian. .

" Quite right ?" he echoed, holding the poker suspended in his hand, and looking at her in his turn. 7 •■'

" Perfectly right.' lam thankful to hear it. If he had stooped tamely to accept charity from you—l mean from anyone— ass soon as it was offered, I—l- would never have forgiven him." Sebastian gently replace- the poker in tho fender. •

" Perhaps he knew that,"heremarked in his softest tone.

"He-could, not," was Adrienne's quick retort. "I have, not spoken to him for weeks. And if T had—if he had known it.'* -'. '■

• "He might know it perfectly, well, all the same," insisted Sebastian. "Haveyou thought Seriously about it, Miss Blisset ? I know Hey wood .is a friend 7of yours," '.''..' ~..'. ..'

"Yes, he is—a groat friend of mine," she answered 'firmly, and not one sign. was lost upon Sebastian _ cool, observant eyes ; tho head a little tlifovm hack, eyes bright, the pale cheek flushed, as if she braced herself to meet some peril. He saw and noted it all.

" You should be cautious how you influ ence him," said hai "I do not' influence him. He is far too strong and decided to be influenced by-—by a girl like me." Sebastian smiled politely but derisively., " Pardon me, but I don't think yon are quite right there. lam convinced you do influence him, and if so, don't you tbink it is unkind to prejudice him against his real interests?" * * •-

" His real interest is not to take charity. Mr Mallory, the bare idea of Myles Hey wood coming up to receive charity is dreadful. It "makes me miserable to think of it—only I can't imagine his doing such a thing. He never will. Poor fellow S lam sorry for him I"

" Sooner or later it will come to that—it must," said Sebastian. "And I-you speak as if I had tried to thrust alms upon him ostentatiously, like a rich man relieving a beggar, and then appealing to everyone to notice his generosity. Can you suppose I intended anything so revolting?". ... The usually placid and Unruifled Sebas tian spoke in a tone of deep vexation and chagrin. " No,of course,l did not suppose any such thing," replied Adrienne, her face still flushed. "I did not do you so much in justice. But I am glad; he'refused—so glad. I hope he -will find something else. Teven hope that this present trouble may turn out to be a means of improving hfe position, for I think he may turn his thoughts to some higher employment than mere drudgery in a factory—even though it is your factory, "she added Avith a slight smile. .'. . , 7; ' 7 ...'.'.'.,:

"Heis certainly fit...or.Oujgher post. You would be glad to know him in such n situation, would you not ?" : "Indeed, I should".."'.""] 77'

'' Even though it took him away irom— his friends and native town ?" went on Sebastian somewhat ironically. "V—yes. Even in that case."" '' Well —who knows ! It may turn out to be as you say." ' The conversation hM been a far from satisfactory one to Sebastian. He "had no idea, a month ago, that Myles Heywood's image /would take such an important place in his concerns. He turned.the.subject, and made arrangements with ' Adrienne about- tlie school, but it seemed to him that since their passage Of arms—for it had been a passage of arms—her eyes had brightened, and her voice had been morefull and decided. He left her at last, firmly convinced that Myles was his formidable rival, and the conviction gave him a strange sensation, s deb. as he had never known before. All his life he had been accustomed to quietly make up his mind, and then as quietly to carry out his decision. Now, to his own astonishment, he found himself

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, OCTOBER 22, 1881

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