A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT:

BY JAMES PAYN, AUTHOR OF "By Pkoxy," "Undkr One Roof," "Waltek's Word," "Uigu Spiwts," Etc.

CIIAI'TEIt XXXIV

ANOTIIKU DKSKM'Ki:

It has been 'cruelly and falsoiy said {generally in excuse for eomo harsh coudtict or neglect upon our own part towards them) that the poor do not teel so acutely as their betters: that domestic calamities fall lighter on them j and that even disease does not wring them with such pain as it causes more tenderly nurtured bodies. The ex planation of this fallacy probably lies in the fact that their troubles are so severe that ordinary woes seem by comparison in- Ngnificant to them ; a toothache that makes ■Hi- doubt the benevolence of the scheme of creation is to them a toothache and nothing more ; and happy are they if they possess the shilling that absolves them 'from the kmd offices of an amateur tooth-drawer; while to the rheumatism whose pangs wo resent .mo bitterly, the field labourer's back is bowed in patient acquiescence, as to an ill to which his class is heir. On the other hand, it is certain that the poor are not easily affected by mental anxiety a fortunate thing for those whose livelihood so often depends on the caprice of a master. 1 lie carelessness with which the domestic sery.iut will leave !ier "place,"thoreadiness with which the workman will thiow up his employment, and trust to the chapter of accidents for a new situation, lire marvel lous. Risks do not appal them .- misfortune, as n rule, throws no shadow upon them until it is actually at their doors. Hence it was' that, though Mr John Kuthcrford could not but bo aware that he was looked upon with public suspicion in reference to Mr Holston's disapp mranco and the missing diamonds, and might any day find himself in " Queer-street" in conse quence, the circumstance did not much dis turb his equanimity. Nor was ho so much distressed upon Master Matthew's account iw his wife would have prof cried to see him.

" Ih-'ll come out of it all right, sooner or Inter, old woman,'' he was wont to say to Sully* often expressed fears; and tiiis confidence on his part had been wont to all»rd her .some consolation, What she had understood him to mean was that though in his riow,L»dv Pargiter hud put Matthew out of the way for the time, in order to din pose of the jewels in security, .she was by no means likely to proceed to the last extremity and murder him. Hut when her husband returned that evening, lifter her discovery of the pistol mid an usual in very tuleniMa .spirits, all her former similises were put to the rout. She felt comfort in nothing, and sure of nothing except that his Jivelv whistling gave her grent annoyanco, for ft seemed to her a sign of callousness. " You are very gay, .John," she said with significance, "but if you had been with me to-day, and seen how poo- Mrs llelston was looking, it would have sobered you." ".Sobered me?" returned her husband; so help me I3ob, I have touched nothing but becr-ai.d only a pint of that-the live long day."

Oh, I dont mean drink; and it's my belief you know well enough that 1 don't, John ; it's your reckless devil-may-care way of going on that shocks me."

" Well, you mentioned drink, Sally," re plied the cabman, to all appearance in genuine astonishment, " and hang me if I don't think you're been at the gin-bottle. Because Master Matthew has been kidnapped (for that's what's happened, I'll bet a shiner), and hia missus is naturally cut up about it, is it therefore a sin for me to whistle !"

The sin ain't in the whistling," replied his lady darkly. " a man sometimes whistles to hide the remorse as is a-gnaw ing of him." " Annoying of him ?" replied honest John, tor whom this oloriucnco was too highflying. "To my mind, its a deuced sight more annoying than whistling to iind black looks and an empty supper-table when yon come home after a hard day's work."

"You shall have your supper, John, directly," said Sally, somewhat moved by this reproof : albeit it was the first time she had forgotten to prepare her husband's meal for him, for many a day; "though for my part, I wonde.i at soine'pcrsons pos sessing an appetite, with such a weight upon their mmda."

" A weight ? One would really suppose I had got Mr Matthew Holston in my pocket,' exclaimed John, looking round on space appoalingly. " I dont know what you've got in your pocket, not I," returned Mrs Kutherlord, faxing him with her eyo; perhaps another loaded pistol." Johu s face did not easily turn colour— exposure to the weather and pretty liberal potations having made it tolerably "fast "— but through its ordinary hue of blue and red "came a colour and a light, as I've seen the rosy red blushing in the northern night;" and at the sama time M 3 glance mechanically wandered to tbe top of the waidrobc.

"Oh yes ; that's where it wa»," cried Sally sardonically; " and its no use deny ing that you put it there. May I ask you, John Rutherford, what an honest cabman can want of loaded pistols ?" Notwithstanding that he was by nature somewhat garrulous, Mr Rutherford kept silence for some moments ; he scratched his huge and tangled head, his great body swayoi from side to side in mental pertur bation, and after all there came this ridi atdus inus of a reply— "You may ask, of course. There's no law agin asking, as I'am aweer on; but as to answering—well I shan't and that's flat." " You'll tell me, at all events, whether I've got a -nurderer for my lmsband?" inquired Sally with solemnity. •'Well, not at present—no, you aint," replied John; "though if you go on in that aggravating way," he added with irritation, "there's no knowing what you may drive me too."

"It is conscience as is drivine; you, not me, and has got the whip-hand ot you," replied Sally. " You may try to drown it in liquor" .

"A pint of beer," iLteiruplcd John con temptuously. " Or you may glaze it over with whistling and such like," continued his lady ; "but your sin will find you out, John. To think that an honest man, as you once were, should have come to such a pass as to want loaded pistols!" "Whero is it?" inquired John, in dicta torial tunes.

'• Where you won't find it," replied Sally defiantly ; "and where the police wont find it, neither, I hope; for if they did, what would become of you.a man as thoy suspect

already? Never will I sleep by your side agin, John, unless you tell me what you wanted with that pistol." " Then you must lie on the floor, Sally, for I never will."

She knew by his tone that obstinancy had set in with him, and that all direct attempts to move him would be futile. If John iiiul been a Cabinet Minister instead of (i cabman, he would have been justly celebrated for an indexible determination ; as it was, he had the more humble reputa tion of being the most pig-headed man in Ilybla Mews. "Don't let's quarrel, John," said Sally humbly. " Whatever you've done, it is my duty to Mick by you? but I think a wife—and ti good one, such as I have been to you " He nodded with the oravity of a judtre ; so far the Court was with her.

" I think, I saj, I have a right to your confidence. As it is, I don't even know how to defend you. Do you think I walked to Cavendish Grove to-day and back only In comfort poor dear Miss Sabey as was ? No John ; it was also to clear your charac ter in her eyes. And I thank Heaven I did it. ' Do you think my John,' says I, ' would have knowingly done any harm to Master Matthew?'"

"That was ri^Ut enough," paid John approvingly. "Yes; but how can I feel that it was right enough nowl How can I lay my hand upon my heart, and say—'My hus band is as innocent as the babe unborn,' when I know he curries a loaded pistol ? Honest folks don't curry such -things, but only thieves and murderers." "Then it's a pity you found it,"_ said John cunningly, and in n tone of satisfac tion at his own logical acumen. "The less you knows the better you seems to manage. I'm not a-going to tell you why I bought that there pistol, Sally ; but I will toll you this much for your comfort—the use of it, whatever it was, is dead and gone. You may keep it for yourself—to shoot the beetles with—for all I care."

"/ keep it ! I wouldn't have such a thing in my house,far less my hand—for its weight in gold. I've throwed it into the water-butt."

" Don't you think it'll give rather a ta*te to the tea?" suggested Mr Kutherford. " Iron they say, is very strengthening to the system ; but I am not sure about the pow der mid lead."

" Then it vim loaded, John ?" said Sally (bsiiondingly.

"Well, yes, it was; but I'll say this much and mind you, it's the very Inst I will Ray —that the pistol was not meant to do any harm to Master Matthew. Quite the contrary.'

" I thank Heaven for that, John!" ex claimed Sally with genuine satisfaction, lint the next moment her brow became clouded. .She wished to ask him a certain question which she could not muster courage to put into words. " I think you had better fish that pistol out," he said suddenly, " and throw it away somewhere. As you say, if the police found it, it might bring someone into trouble,"

Sally did not ask who the someone was, but instantly took up tho tongs and went out on the verandah. The nigiit hud fallen that time, a> (1 no one standing in the Mews emild have seen what she was about. Nevertheless, there was a |stnr or two, tbe light of which was sufficient to indicate the surface of the water—only it did not do so. Sally knew, however, where to find the butt; and kneeling on tho wooden g.illery, thrust down the tongs in the direction of it. But they only struck against its wooden walls.

"Why the watr has leaked out, John," she whispered in a frightened tone, " That's n strange thing." " It would bs much stranger if the pistol had flowed through the spigot," answered John, with the air of one who understands practical science. " There's a ladder kgen the butt below —— " But Sally had already run downstairs to carry out tiic suggested plan. She was longer away than could be accounted for by tho nature of her errand, ami when she came back her look of alarm had turned to one of positive terror. " The pistol's gone, John I" " What d'ye mean ?" he said. "Gone off of itself, and in a butt of water !"

"No ; the spigot's out. Someone has drawed off the water, and taken away the pistol." 1 "Whew I" Though written.as a monosyl lable, this word was prolonged in Mr Rutherford's lips to a quite extraordinary extent, and his face wore a vcrv serious ex pression as he uttered it. "The pcrleecc nave been at their Jittlegames,"'he murmur ed. " Well, let 'cm. lie must be out of hwin'sw ay by this time." " Who must be out of harm's way?" in quired Sally quickly. " Never you mind," he answered gruffly ; " you've meddled enough already for 0110 day. If y»u hadn't found that there pistol the perlcece would not have found it. Can't you leave things alone? Let's have supper, will you. If you say another word about the pistol or Master Matthew, I'm off to the ' Rising Sun'" There was nothing Mrs Rutherford d'S liked more than her husband loaving her for the public-house; and just now, of all times, it was terrible to have him out of her sight; so she proceeded to lay the suppor table without a word. She now felt suro that he had compromised himself in the Moor street affair, l)ut no longer feared that he had done harm to Mr Helston. He had said that the pistol was bought, not to harm him, but " quite the contrary." Now, quite the contrary, could only mean to help him— to further some schemo of Mr Helstou's own. Moreover, to whom could ho have refwred but to Mr Helston when he had muttered to himself—"lie must be out of harm's way by this time 2" Her husband was no murderer, and perhaps 110 thief in any personal sense; but she knew how strong were his likes and dislikes—his notions of sticking to his friends, and never betraying them ; and in spite of herself she now entertained a dreadful apprehension that he had been playing into his friend and employer's hands. Aud thus of the faithful few that still believed in Matthew Helston's innocence as respected the Pargitcr diamonds, one more had gone over—if not to the Enemy to the Majority.

CHAPTER XXXV,

THE POSTHUMOUS LETTER.

Reader has it ever fallen to your duty to open the desk of one very dear to you, and who is dead, and to suffer anew the parting with him at the sight of every " trivial fond record " ? There is scatccly one of all the experiences to which human nature is heir, more pathetic, moro hcart-broaking. His handwriting lies before you, with his thoughts still living in it, though the .fingers that set them down arc cold in death. Here is a faded flower, memorial of you know not what, but doubtless of some ten der time; its blossom' has withered, its stalk is dry, but it has not yet become dust as he has. There aro^letters from others, tied round with loving care, and doubtless intended to bo read again by eyes to whom the page of Futurity alone is open. Perhaps one of your own letters is among tbem—let us hope a kind one—how

strangely has it altered to your view; it is no longer a mere vehicle of your own feel in"s, but has become a material link with the other world! On such a bitter task, on Friday, Decem ber 18, exactly one week after her husband's disappearance, Mrs Hclsion was engaged. She was not certain, it is true, that her Mat thew was dead ; she wore no outward mark of the widow about her-s.ve in the wan cheek and the hollow eye-but her heart was almost ai forlorn as though she had been one. She had undertaken this sad office under the combined advice of Uncle Stephen and Mr Barlow : not that they ex pected ought to come of it, but beeau-e it was just possible—in the absence of all other explanations of the enigma—that some clue to the mystery of her husband's absence might be discovcrci among his own documents. The very suggestion, as they were well aw re, had the elements of suspi cion or disparagement about it; but that, as they foresaw, never entered into Sabey's mind. They had put it to her in this way :—•" It is possibe, just possible, that Ma'tliew has come to harm at the hand of Home private enemy. »So far as we know, it istmc, he had none; nay, he him-elf niiiy have been unaware of the existence of such a person, and yet it maybe otherwise. We think that every private paper sh«uld be examined which may throw the least light upon his relations with other people." At first Sabey showed great unwilling ne-s to accede to this proposal. It stemed to her irreverent, she said, th»s to pry into lor lost husband's private affairs, but her real reason was that the fact of her so doing seemed a tacit admission that he was lost to her for ever; it could affect tho fact of course, neither one way nor the other; but the feelin" may well be excused, when we consider how many matter-of-fact and otherwise sensible persons object to make their wills. In the end, however, as we have said, she consented. Ode of the rea sons that had weighed with her, in additon to the chiet one, had been a certain argu ment of Mr Barlow's : —

"In your case," ho had said, "dear Sabey, there need be no apprehension of any record coining to light to pain you. Matthew's life was at unless."

His use of the past tense made her lips quiver, but she only bowed her head, Of course Matthew's life had been stainbvts ; but, if she lefiwwi to ho tlieir bidding, they migM flunk perhaps that ihe entertained suspicions to the contrary : an idea that would certainly not have entered her head a week ago ; but now, with all the news papers, and thu world that read them, im puting evil to hf r husband, she had become senßitivfily jealous for his honour. Matthew's desk was characteristic of its owner: ap'aio ink«stained affair with no conveniences within if such as shelves and drawers, but fastened by a good lock of hi* own innking; the very taking of the key from its bunch was 'a sore trial to her, anil, before putting it to its use, she cleaned it with a piece of leather—lest it should be rusWl with her tears, she said to herself — but in reality to gain time, Th«! con'ents of the desk were also characteristic. They consibt'd almost entirely of mathematical calculations; row after row of figures, the meaning of which was utterly unknown to her, but which she guessed, rightly, ha i reference to "Madne." They were all beautifully written out, and every paper appeared to be arranged with reference to the others. But, dear as had been his hopes in that direction, his heart—or at least the core <>f it—had lain elsewhere. Every letter—they were not many—she bad ever written to him was found there, tied up in two packets. Iv one were those she had addressed to him as her lover, and dated from the Rectory ; in the other the few she had had occasion, since their mar riage, to write to him in Paulet Street— for they bad never been bepa'ated by. any longer distance. " From dearest Habey," was inscribed on the former ; and on the lattnr, " From my darling wife." It was terrible that the assurance of Lovo should inflict such cruel pangs. She opent d one or two of them : they had uof,of coursf, the power to move her as Matthew's own letters—sacred relics stored in her own chamber, which she had not the courage to touch—would have done; but nevertheless, in recalling the happy past, they shot sharp arrows into her heart. There was also a memorandum of the sums that had been expended by Mr Durham in the promotion of Madge's interests, and a letter bound up with them by a plain india rubber band, but sealed, addressed "For Uncle Stcphciijin case anything should hap pen to BOB." A strange addition under the circum stances enough, but which did not strike Sabey with much significance. She knew how deeply Matthew had felt his uncle's kindness, and she could easily conceive that gratitude had caused him to make this simple proviso for expres sing itself to the good old man, in case opportunity should be otherwise denied him : tlio letter probably also bequeathed his wife and child to his uncle's care, albeit that might have seemod superfluous. To one who had known Matthew Helston less thoroughly, his leaviig such a document behind him would have looked like a mor bid presentiment of death,but to Sabey the incident was easily accountable. Matthew bad a horror Of "risks": because Fortune perhaps had gone so ill with him, ho had an objection to leave any thing to chance; nor would he trust to the most natural contigencies, if it was possible for him to make a thing secure without them. And,. moreover, lie was always looking to the future. It was therefore without any foreboding as to its contents that Sabey took the letter from its recep table, and, having wiped her tears, carried it into the next room, whore Amy and Mr Durham were sitting. " Well, darling?" inquired the former, tenderly; she had left her sister alone with her sad task from motives of delicacy, but she read in her face how she had suffered in the ocdeal. " Have youfound anything." Sabey shook her head "Only what I knew I should find. There is, however, this note for you, Uncle Stephen."' "For mo? said the old man.reading the superscription : ' For Uncle Stephen, in case anything should happen to inc.' " How strange 1" exclaimed Amy, with excitement.

Mr Durham was excited too, and being aware of the fact, lie purposely delayed to open the envelope. He felt that presence of mind was necessary in case anything had to bo concealed from Sabey. "I can guess its contents," said she softly. "Matthew wishes to express to you in writing the thanks you would never iisien to from his lips. The note was wrapped up with some memoranda of _ his money obligations to you. These he might have paid, had the chance been eiven him, liis debt of gratitude never." "Poor fellow, dear fellow!" murmured Undo Stephen. " Yes, it is as you say. To his generous nature every little kindnesa loomed so large." Sabey could read what had been written to her husband's disparagement: such things turned her heart to steel. But she could not bear to hear him praised; that melted it With a deep sob, she hurried fwm the room. Amy was too wise to follow her immediately; and besides, something in the old map's manner had attracted her attention.

" Can I see that letter, Mr Durham ?" " I had rather not show it you, my dear," he answered quietly. ',»„.. * " If it really only contains dear Matthew s expression of his gratitude to you I can picture it for my«elf. I know he loved you. "It does contain something else, Amy. But it is only a matter of business ' Then Amy gathered up her work, and withdrew to comfort Sabey. Left alone, Mr Durham took the letter from his pocket, and re-read it carefully :— "My dear Uncle Stephen," it began,— "In case I should not live so long as the Tables of the Phoenix" [this w«s his life assurance company] "have calculated, and yon should survive me, I wish to add one more item to the long debt of gratitude I owe you. The sense of obligation, like other senses, is, I suppose, blunted by long use,or I surely should feel ashamed at ask ing any favour of you. That the service I am about to ask of you must be a secret one - even from my wife, and indeed espe cially from her— will be an additional reason for your undertaking it; it is your delight. I know, to let your right hand know not what thy left hand "does for others ; the matter is a'so one of great delicacy, which will further recommend it to your noble nature. When I add that I intreat this kindness of you with my la»t breath I feel that I need say no more.

'Tlea3e to pay to Lucy Mortlock.a young woman at present residing at 80 Bleak Street, liloomsbury, the sum of lOswcekhj, and if possible ensure the continuance of this allowance after >our death. I have only one other favour to ask of you ; that, for my sake, you will not seek to inquire into her story.—l am, dear Uncle Stephen, your loving and grateful nephew,

Matthew Helston."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

TWO VIEWS.

It was very seldom that Uncle Stephen's face, albeit far from a cynical one", wholly lost that expression of philosophical calm which old age and a long consciousness of the possession of superior intelligence combine to bestow. But, after perusing this stringe request of Matthew Helston's, it exhibited every sign of perturbation and dLsmw;. Stiff as he was in his limb 3he seemed una'b'ibV) consider the matter sit ting quietly in his annchu'n, 'uit paced the room with unequal steps, mutteringio'iwn self disconsolately. On hearing Mr Barlow come into the hall, however, he moved quickly to the door, and beckoned him in. " Can you gi*e me a few minutes quite alone ?" he ea d. " Something has occurred of moment, I think. Amy must not be present." " Mary was at the door as I came up, so 1 did not ring the bell " returned Mr. Bar low; "the ladies do not know that I am in the house."

"That is well. Let us come down to the smoking-room, however, where we shall run no chance of being disturbed."

" What has happened now ?'' inquired the lawyer, astonished at these unprece dented precautions. "No new trouble, I do hope ?"

" Yes a new one, or at least one that is new to «-»," answered Mr Durham signifi cantly. "When poor Sabey -wad turning out her-husband's desk this morning she found this letter addressed to me in his handwriting "

'" If anything should happen to me,"' continued Mr Barlow, readmit from the en velope ; "such a superscription is note worthy indeed." "You think itshows danger," said Mr Durham, unconsciously gnawing his beard, "or at least the knowledge that something was likely to happen ?" " Undoubtedly," said Mr Barlow.

" That did not strike me," returned the old man. "If you are right, it only makes things look more black. Read it, read it." Mr Bailow read the letter slowly and, arcfully, then stood with it in his hand evidently in deep thought '' It has no date," observed Mr Durham j " that seems to me against jour argument of design." " It is so," admitted the lawyer. "Still, you think, pnrhaDS, that con sciousness of exposure to temptation, and of his own weakness, might have caused him to make preparation for the worst" "Good heavens I Mr Durham, do you suppose that Matthew was carrying on some secret intrigue ? " "What other explanation can you put upon it ? The service he asks of me must, he says, be a secret one—l should not be now speaking of it to yoo, of course, Mr Barlow, but for the sad circumstances in which we are placed—' secret even from my wife, and indeed especially from her.' What other meaning can such an expression wear save that I have put upon it ? Again, "/ have only one other favour to ask of you: tluxt,for my sake, you will not seek to inquire into this toomaris stery." A phrase that seems to me even mere pregnant than the other."

" Of course it is suspicious, Mr Durham ; or rather, I grant the circumstances would be so in the case of most men. You are Helston's uncle, and should know him best"

" I uo know him as far iw one man may know liis fellows; and you surely donrt suppose, sir, that I wish to be hard upon Matthew ?"

"Of course not, Mr Durham. I think, however, that your judgment is at fault." " And, as you would add, on the side of harshness," observed the old man bitterly. " This is what comes of length of days." To Mr Birlow this was one of those ob servations of Mr Durham's of which he was wont very frankly to aver that ho could neither make head, nor tail. The abstract —unless in the form of a legal document— was not at all in his line. It was on the concrete only—unlike the cab-horses—that be felt on firm ground, " You have never heard any mention of this Lucy Mortlock ?'' he said presently, "I ?" exclaimed Mr Durham with irrita tion ; "how should I have heard? Am I the sort of person—even if I were not his uncle—to whom Matthew would talk upon such a subject? He has probably never opened his lips about her to anyone." " Really, Mr Durham, you attribute to your nephew very bad behaviour, upon what, as it seems to me, are very insuffi cient grounds. Matthew was reserved, no doubt, but scarcely what I should call secretive: conceive the deep and continuous duplicity that such an intrigue would have demanded of him ? "

" I don't wish to conceive it,Mr Barlow," returned the old man with emotion. "To dwell upon the matter at all is odious to me; but I cannot Bhut my eyes to probabilities. If we were concerning ourselves with anything but a woman, I could go three miles for your one (or for any man's) on the road to show Matthew's inno cence. But I cannot efface within me the experience of a lifetime 1 and it telli me that until a man is dead you can never be aura of his relations with the ether sex. You will say, and with justice, that Mat thew was the very last person to prove faithless to his wife, to carry on a system of domestic hypocrisy, to spend any portion of his scanty earnings upon an unworthy oS</!i-5-J)ut, unhappily, it is these ' very

last' men who are the first to do it. If it was so, poor fellow," added Uncle Stephen " musingly, " there was reason enough" fo r his absence o£ mind and wandering thoughts." " If, however, your suggestion, of yester. day is to be accepted, Mr Durham," obser. ved the lawyer, "poor Matthew W scarcely responsible for his actions." "Let us bope so; Jet us hope so, tit Barlow. And yet, great Heaven, wh^,. alternative to be grateful for !" • - r :■ '* Well, formy part—and with all defe. . renceto your greater experience of !$» said Mr Barlow, after a long silence, "I see nothing in this letter which cannot b» explained-I <<o not say satisfactorily—but in a less painful way. Matthew Helatons heart was a kind one; notwithstanding 5^ habits of reserve, it was subject to im. pulse." " That is to say," remarked Mr Durham, with a gesture of impatience, "he was im pre-sionable and affectionate; of such mate, rials aro formed tbe unwilling slaves of pas sion." " But why should this not have been an affair of mere philanthropy ? He has become acquainted, we know not how, with this girl, and pities her; she is exposed to poverty and all its ills, and he would fain > ; plac? her out of reach of temptation. A ' quixotic act, you may say " " I say an unjust one," broke in Mr Dur- I ham :he dans not speak of it to his wife, £ and nat urally shrinks from encroaching upon i his narrow means for such a purpose; and 1 lie asks another to be his almoner. Itisan I infatuation, of course, but one which stains his memory. Moreover, conceive the risk he ran in leaving such a letter where Sabey was sure to find it. What selfishness, what j recklessness! Oh, Matt; how shameful!"

The old man threw himself into a chair, and beat his hands togetber in a manner distressing to behold. '• Well, sir, there is one comfort, "said Mr Barlow consolingly :-"Mrs Helston did not open the letter, and need never now be cog nisant of its contents. Except so far as we are concerned, all this is as though it never had happened." •' Do you think matters are to end here, then ?" inquired Mr Durham. " Indeed I hope so, You will surely not seek out this peraon ?" "Of course I Bhall. In any case, I must do that. You don't suppose I object to the money payment?—and if your explanation of the matter is a correct one, it will, of

course, be paid. But is it possible you do not see to what this disclosure points—what an explanation it may afford of Matthew's aisappisirance—and that of the diamonds too I . a nd one tnore trouble, worse to that poor- I woman ab'W-stairs than even the catas- I trophe itself ?" . . ■ " Upon my life, I «w»t see it yet," said | Mr Barlow, not without a tdtch of pique. " And he is a lawyer !" mtrcmured Mr Durham in what he inttnded to be aTnlilo quy.'but of which the other heard every work . " I have always said that their knowled«e j of human^ife is but parchment deep !—The unhappy conclusion borne in upon my mind, | Mr Barlow, is that this Lucy Mortlock is at .M the bottom of the whole calamity." " Do you mean by that tbat Matthew has run away with her?" ./M " Heaven forgive me if Ido him wrong,' 5 answered Mr Durham solemnly, " but that is my belief." "It is not mine, said Mr Barlow r

steadily, It was curious to note the different atti- _•§ tudesof these two men upon a subject on'Jr ■which their natural sympathies were almost ') identical. Indeed, Mr Durham, who took the dark view of the probabilities of th« ;M case, was undoubtedly the one more favour- 'M able to Matthew. A stuient of human ■>£ nature (although one who had observed it ■' 1 mostly from without), he Was driven to his conviction in spite of himself; whereas Barlow, who was not wont to be Matthew's . apologist, now took his side. A type— f; though a good specimen of it—ofconven- , tional human-class life, vice was compara tively foreign to his experience, whereas crime—that is, all the devices of self aggrandisement—was familiar to him. He could have conceived Matthew absconding with the diamonds for their own sake much more easily than Mr Durham could have || done. But the iutroductiou of a young 'M person of the opposite "sex iiro the probleih f| of the missing man did not greatly infloence ; his calculations. He was oue of those " emi nently respectable " persons who hardly exist, and certainly do not " flourish," ex- *! cept among the English middle classes, and" si in his heart of hearts would have deemed || Matthew's infidelity to his wife less excu sable than felony. If there was one class of his fellow-crea-, tures whom Mr Durham secretly despised more than another, it was that towhich Mr , Barlow belonged. They seemed to be nar row, ignorant and bigoted ; to have their minds fixed on sordid objects, and to pursue them in an uninteresting way. Yet, so far as his own conduct, went, ho . 'M might have bean an elder of a chapel; at 'jm''■ Clapham; and indeed he had been even less ;?a| susceptible as regards the fair sex than some % elders. T, hero was, it is true, a rumour in certain scientific circles that Mr Durham's admira- "1 tiou had once been excited, and very freely ; expressed, for a married woman—the wife of : Professor Beeswing, the naturalist. But this was a platonic affair. He had called on one occasion and found net sitting on a lidless empty box, from which ske declined to move. "Icannot rise," she explained, i " because the Professcr has placed me here for a scientific purpose. This box has been sent to him from tipper Egypt, fall of the rarest insects, and some of them have got into the wood; nothing but animal heat I will get them out of it." _.»,. Mr Durham was wont to discourse witn rapture on this heroic woman, who had thus devoted as much time and attention as a hen gives to her eggs to the cause of I science, and could no more be induced to desert her post than. Casablanca. .But, albeit often rallied upon the subjecti no softer feeling than admiration had in rea- m litybeen aroused in his bosom. Though -• gentle and chivalrous in his behaviour Ja J;, the fair sex, he had, in fact, even in his youth, had a wholesome fear of captivity at their hands; their fascinations being comparatively unknown to him, were per haps magnified in his eyes in consequence: or it may be, like most men who live in bnoks (since for the most part, only remark able matters are recorded in them), he was always in expectation of the unexpected. "However much I may differ from yon upon this matter, Mr Barlow," said Uncle Stephen very gently, "lam not, Heaven knows, arguing for victory; on the con trary, it will give me great content it tne event proves you to be m the right. | "Nodoubt, no doubt, Mi Durham, l understand, then, that you mean to go to Bleak Street and seek out this—this young person!" . Wi "Most certainly I do, to-morrow evening. Unless, indeed, you prefer to take that res ponsibility off my shoulders. You are a man of business, and more accustomed » deal with practical matters, and itmaywl °" Not at all, not at all," interrupted Mr Barlow with some precipitation. "Y«*t knowledge of human nature especially fits you to unravel a skein so delicate and-1 -*"! dear me ! -no, I had much rather leawua matter in your hands, Mr Durham, (To be continued,)

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, MAY 6 : 1882.

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