punished. Dillon has done that, without knowing, poor fellow, how much cause he had. He is, indeed, very ill; and when I communicate this sad business, I think he will suffer more than even you would wish. For Heaven's sake keep from him! He is within resting on his servant's bed. This house is his, and though you have been grievously, shamefully wronged, you have no right to enter here, to remonstrate, or to do anything more rash (pointing to the gun which I still menacingly held). One thing, however, you can do; you can forbid him for ever from entering your house, that he certainly has dishonoured."

"I can do more!" cried I, laughing wildly, as a sudden thought struck me, "I can make the gintleman happy by showin' him that he is a father!" And dashing down the gun, I was off before either Mr. St. George or Dillon was aware of my intention. Could either have overtaken me, they could easily have held and kept me; for both were stronger than I was, but on the foot I could beat them all. Into our house I dashed, and at

once into my sister's room. There was no hindrance now! No obstacle! I had not time to be surprised, for I rushed on in headlong speed. The door was open, and several women were huddled together, talking low and not running about in confusion as I had seen them so short a time before. The old housekeeper, apparently shrunk to half her size, was moping about, and wringing her hands; but when she saw me, she burst into a mournful wail, that was caught up and repeated by all the others, with a most thrilling effect!

But my object was the child! I looked for it on the floor, where I had seen it in my hurried glance through the little window; but it was gone. I kept my eyes averted from the bed, lest I should see her, the fallen one, in her shame; and I loudly demanded of the women "what they had done with the?" giving it the worst term I could use. "It is there!" said Honor, leading me towards the bed. "It is there! At rest, poor innicint! an' so is its onforthunate mother! Let yer pride an' yer vingince have an ind now!"

Oh yes! it was too true! the blighted rose, and the unblown bud, lay lifeless together! My own frantic cries for Lindon, so immediately after her delivery, had killed her!

Mr. St. George, Dillon, and O'Carroll had closely followed me, apprehensive of some rashness from my precipitate flight, and they saw all that I did. I cannot tell how they felt, or what they said. Some one forced me out of that room, and fastened me into my own; but they might have let me go where I listed,―rage, revenge, pride, were all quite gone! I was completely crushed, and quiet, but the quiet was oppressive, for I had no tears. I had shed them freely when I knew not half my sorrows, and when I required relief, I could get none.

CHAPTER VI.

THOUGH many, many years have intervened since that cruel event, the remembrance of it, and the detail of it, so unmanned me, I was obliged to lay down my pen for days! Selfreproach also adds its sting. Yet, again, what I could I have done? Had I the wile of the serpent, and the eyes of Argus, I could not be a match for the deceit of that villain! But I had neither guile, nor experience of life, which would have been better than the hundred eyes. I was but a simple, country-reared lad, and such a one is seldom knowing in affairs of the kind, more particularly as their constant outdoor occupations give them enough to do and to think of. And, for the few hours they are within, the simplest woman can deceive them. The females, indeed, might have been more

observant, and, doubtless, any other women than these would have been so; but one of them was old, and, if not stupid, with her faculties considerably blunted, and taxed to the utmost in performing her duties as superintendent of a household, particularly complicated since the introduction of Mr. Lindon and his servants; and the remaining one, Nanny, was stupidity itself. I certainly

noticed that the unfortunate victim looked ill, and that her manner was less cheerful; but "cold" was sufficient excuse for the one, and her approaching marriage for the other. And of whom could we be suspicious? Certainly not Mr. Lindon for that "honourable gentleman always seemed to take less notice of her than others did, calling her the "little girl," when he had occasion to mention her, and very frequently "the child" (the vile hypocrite!) Nor with Mr. St. George, for though he admired her, and seemed to have a regard for her, there was nothing dishonourably covert about his ways, and, besides, he was almost constantly out. In short, such was his art, and her management, the result of