one.

Valentine Vivian, whose wild experience had made him quite at ease in the stormiest water, looked about for somebody to help but saw no Earine was easily upholding Cecile in the water, and making her way quickly shoreward; shoreward also Powys and the little American were pushing with tolerable success. He noticed nobody else. He did not see-and indeed no one saw-Madame de Longueville struggling with the avenging water, which drew her in and sucked her down in a few seconds seconds that to her seemed years.

Aye, in that time Teresa the traitress lived over again all her miserable life, and especially its earlier years. Again she was a young girl in Corsica, island of beauty and terror, whereto might well be applied the lines

"Methinks the Fairies with their snakes,

Or Venus with her zone might gird her.: Of fiend and goddess she partakes, One half is love, the other murder." Again she was tempted to shame and treason by the gay young French officer, who sang the songs of Béranger and De Musset, and thought all things fair in love and in war. Again she felt the hissing brand upon her dainty shoulder, and knew herself an outcast forever. And every minute moment of her happy girl-life-every little playful incident she had wholly forgotten-incidents of goat-milking, cheese-making, chestnut-gathering, came back upon her in that small fraction of a minute before the cruel water choked her. 66 Time," writes Hooker, "is the measure of the motion of the spheres." As well say that time is the particular record of your own watch or clock. The man who has not lived a century in a minute is wholly unworthy to read this narrative.

They got safely ashore, both boats' crews, with the exception of Madame de Longueville. Colonel Trafford was first to land, as we have seen. Very soon after came Earine and Cecile, convoyed by Vivian. Mademoiselle de Castelnau was only half alive, and had to be put at once between the blankets at the Ferry Inn. The next arrivals were Miss Sheldon and Powysthe little actress much in advance of the Fellow of Oriel, and in considerably better condition. It was she who first discovered that Madame de Longueville was nowhere to be found. 'Tis a case of suave qui peut when you find yourself in the middle of a stormy lake. Poor Emily had no opportunity of thinking about any body except herself until she got ashore.

A scene of intense excitement was the Ferry Inn at Hawksmere this afternoon. Never had an Oxford reading-party met with so striking an adventure. There were six people undergoing

would be something to talk about at wine-parties. Thus they pondered, these young Christians, while some fishermen manned a boat and started to search for Madame de Longueville's body.

For the squall was as brief as it was sudden and fierce. By the time Sir Alured Vivian and his guest reached the Ferry Inn, there was perfect calm, and broad sunshine lay on the still surface of the lake. From the inn door emerged Valentine, smoking a cigar. He had not heard of Madame de Longueville's being lost.

"No harm done!" he exclaimed cheerily. "I am going up to get dry clothes, and send some down to Earine and a couple of ladies who are half drowned. You'll have to make room for them, sir-and there will be a splendid opportunity for flirtation. By Jove, who is this? Why, Jack Eastlake! My dear old boy, how came you here? This is pleasant!"

He had instantly recognized his old friend. "Well," said Sir Alured, "we may as well go back with you, and see what arrangement Mrs. Birkett can make for the ladies."

Sir Alured and Eastlake reascended the hill with Valentine, and orders were at once given to Mrs. Birkett to find some sort of dresses for the young ladies. With the least possible delay the worthy old dame toddled down the hill, followed by a couple of lads with bundles of clothing, chiefly her own. The result, if ludicrous, was picturesque. Mrs. Birkett was a dumpling of a woman-very short and very round. Her attire almost smothered little Emily Sheldonbut only imagine how the tall and elegant Cecile de Castelnau must have looked in it! However, there was no choice: and I regret to say that some of Powys's pupils had much difficulty in stifling a laugh when they saw that stately maiden ascending the hill towards Hawksmere in drapery much too wide for her, and also much too short.

Sir Alured Vivian's hospitality was accepted without reluctance. Miss Sheldon was SO shocked by the fatal accident to her friend, that she scarcely thought of her curious position in regard to the old baronet. Nor was she destined to be reminded of it. Mrs. Birkett and Earine compelled the two young ladies to go to bed; they put them into an immense doublebedded room, which had been intended for stray male guests in days when the Vivians kept open house at Hawksmere. So big was the room, that Cecile and Emily had to talk at the top of their pretty voices to hold any conversation with each other. Having got them safely between the sheets, Mrs. Birkett and Earine went off to find them supplies.

"I hope Madame de Longueville is comfortable," said Cecile, who had not heard of the catastrophe.

Emily Sheldon was silent. She did not like to talk about it. She felt miserable because she had made no attempt to save Madame. She

had a hideous vision of her friend sinking in the stormy lake, and vainly calling for assistance. So she made no answer; and Cecile de Castelnau, fancying she was asleep, said nothing further, and was very soon asleep herself.

Meanwhile the news reached Hawksmere that one of the party was lost. Birkett, who, visiting the village daily, heard all the gossip of the place, was able to tell Sir Alured Vivian who the people in the boat were. The lady that was drowned kept a school somewhere near London; she had taken the villa down the lake; the two others, it was supposed, were her pupils. She was a French lady, and so was one of the others-the tall one; and Colonel Trafford, a gentleman staying at the Ferry Inn, was keeping company with the last young lady.

"I had better go down and see this Trafford," said Valentine Vivian. "It is as well not to trouble the young ladies until they have recovered themselves, but he may be able to give us some information."

The four gentlemen descended to the Ferry Inn, where they found Colonel Trafford and his friend Powys quite recovered, and looking out anxiously for the fishermen, who had begun to drag the lake. Sir Alured Vivian introduced himself.

"You knew this unfortunate lady, Colonel Trafford, believe. Ought not her friends to be informed of what has occurred ?"

"I knew her," he replied, "but not intimately. A young lady in whom I am deeply interested was a resident at a school which she kept; and when they came up here for the vacation I very naturally came likewise. I am quite sure that Mademoiselle de Castelnau has not the slightest knowledge of Madame de Longueville's friends. I may say frankly, speaking to gentlemen, that this young lady was placed with Madame de Longueville, that I might be prevented from seeing her. But, as the old song says, 'Love will find out the way,' and I contrived to conquer Madame's scruples, and to obtain access to the little prisoner."

"But the other young lady," said Sir Alured. "She may know more. Is she also a pupil ?"

"Very likely she knows more. She is an actress-a Miss Sheldon; evidently an Ameri

can.

Sir Alured Vivian started at the name; and M. Catelan looked at him with an amused smile.

"It seems to me," said Valentine, "that if the two girls are better they should be made come down to dinner. Then, if they have any information, it will be easily elicited. You will not object to come up, Colonel Trafford, I hope; we can offer you the highest possible inducement. And, Mr. Powys, will you join us? There are two or three ladies unattached to choose from, and there is a capital haunch of red-deer venison. Our time is eight, sharp. The beauty of living north is that you can dine later than in the south."

[I leave the central blank to be filled by any reader with Epicurean imagination. But by no means let him forget the haunch of red-deer venison.]

Cecile de Castelnau had been told of Madame de Longueville's death by this time. She and Miss Sheldon entered the drawing-room last of the party, and it would be hard to say which of the two showed most emotion-Emily, when she beheld Sir Alured, or Cecile, when she suddenly met the glance of M. Catelan. As for the old baronet, he took matters like a man of the world, and shook hands very cordially with the young lady to whom he was engaged. Between Cecile and Catelan there was no sign of recognition. But I think Achille Catelan was more perplexed by the situation than any other member of the company.

Vivian very soon ascertained that Miss Sheldon had no intimate knowledge of the lady who was lost. She was a mere casual acquaintance in the first instance, the little actress told him, and she had never told her any thing about her friends or relations. And as Emily, so soon as she had eaten a slice of venison and drunk a little wine, chirped away as merrily as a bird, it became clear to Valentine that the disappearance of the hapless French schoolmistress was not likely to cause great grief to her companions.

Dinner over, the four ladies retired, and Catelan and Trafford came together at the table. "You propose to marry Mademoiselle de Castelnau ?" said Catelan to the Colonel, in a low whisper.

"Certainly I do."

"You know her true name and rank?" "Yes."

"How came she in company with this French schoolmistress and this American actress ?"

"She was sent to live with the Frenchwoman, who was a spy upon her; and I suppose the American was an accidental acquaintance."

"Probably," said Catelan, who was thinking of that night by the Thames, when Sir Alured had asked the actress to marry him, and wondering whether the wicked face he had seen that night in the moonlight from the inn win

dow was now deep in Blackwater. "May I ask what you intend to do, Colonel Trafford ?" he said, as they were rising from the table. "Have you any definite plan?"

"A very definite one. I have had the banns published twice at the little church at the lower end of the lake. To-morrow will be the third time, and on Monday I intended to have taken her down there and gone through the marriage ceremony."

I

"Ah, then you are nearly out of danger. know the secret history of the intrigues of which this young lady is surrounded; I know who her persecutors are, and what they hope to do with her and her immense fortune. Her you may win, if you are prompt enough: as to her fortune, that is another affair."

"I have plenty myself."

"Yes, but there is no reason why her property should be stolen from her. I am surprised to see her here. They must have had unlimited confidence in this person who is drowned. I don't wish to alarm you, but there is a whole day yet before you can act, and you know what your adversary is made of. What time is the marriage on Monday ?" "Eight o'clock."

There was no train for an hour, and M. Vionnet walked about in a terribly fretful state. But the longest hour of waiting comes to an end, and at last he found himself in the carriage of a fast train. It was a smoking-carriage; he made and consumed cigarettes with feverish haste all through the long hours of travel, and took no notice whatever of his companions. This was the first blunder of his career, and he felt that, unless he could retrieve it, his career was over. And it was a career he loved: to be a successful spy was the height of his ambition; he had a real disinterested delight in his rascally profession.

He could get that night no farther than Kendal. He went to a hotel of the old fusty commercial type; was supplied with some greasy mutton chops, which he could not have eaten with his healthiest appetite; and then tried to drown his cares with some brandy of unmistakably British manufacture. How heartily did he execrate English barbarism! The huge four-post bedstead on which he had to lie, with its beds odorous of rancid goose-feathers, did not improve his temper. He did not sleep; now and then he dozed, and woke in a fright, fancying himself in a solitary prison-cell; and he dressed himself at a ridiculously early hour in the morning, unrefreshed, but madly eager to continue his journey.

Florian. "What! dead, my lord !" Count John. "Ay, very dead-and very fortunate: For death has saved her from my deathless hate." VIONNET had no heart for dinners or theatres after the news he heard from Miss Blogg.

"What an ass I have been !" he soliloquized, as his hansom travelled rapidly to the establishment at which he had entertained Tom Harington. "If I fail in this business I am ruined. What influence can this Trafford have obtained over that wretched Corsican? It is a mystery; she knows I can send her to prison with a word." He unlocked an iron-bound chest, selected from it several documents, and took, moreover, some notes and gold. Then he rapidly packed a small bag, ran down stairs, swallowed a glass of absinthe, and ordered the cabman to drive to Euston.

He had forgotten that this was Sunday morning. Few were the trains-and all of them slow and inconvenient. Whatever he might do, there was no chance of his reaching Blackwater

his breath the elegant oaths which are dear to his nation, and pushed forward as fast as he could.

"That foreign gent must be going to be married," said the Kendal hostler to the pretty barmaid, "he's in such an awful hurry.'

"He doesn't seem very happy about it," she answered.

66

'No, my dear," said Joe. "When you and I goes to be spliced, we shall look a little cheerfuller, I wentures to hope."

The young lady called him "himperent,” and ran off to prepare herself for church.

Thoroughly fatigued was Vionnet when he reached The Villa at Blackwater that tranquil Sunday afternoon. He had made inquiries as he approached the place, and was informed that three ladies from London were living there. He exulted in coming suddenly upon his quarry. He rang the gate bell but received no reply. The fact was that the frightened servants, when they heard of the accident, had run home to their relations, who lived near at hand, leaving the house without guardianship.

66

Every body is gone to church," thought Vionnet, after ringing two or three times. "That's the custom in this stupid country."

The door of the villa which looked towards the road was fastened, but Vionnet found a way round, and discovered that the French windows were wide open. He stood on the lawn for a few

minutes, looking at the lake, which slept calm in the sunshine, as if no wind had ever ruffled its surface.

"Parbleu!" he thought, "a nice place enough. But we shall soon take you away from it, miladi."

He entered the cottage. Books, and fragments of feminine trifling, were scattered about, and every thing appeared as if the ladies had just stepped out. Vionnet, confirmed in his idea that they were at church, resolved to await their return. And now he began to feel fatigue and hunger. He had been unable to eat any thing since he left London the previous afternoon. He began, therefore, to look about for something eatable, and was fortunate enough to discover an ample supply in the larder. He ate voraciously: he drank a bottle of Madame's special claret; and then he returned to the parlor, and smoked cigarettes, and read a few chapters of Gauthier's naughty novel.

But the ladies did not return, and he became conscious that the church service ought to be over. He went out into the road, and looked up and down, but not a creature was to be seen. The loneliness and silence were oppressive. He returned to the lawn, and saw that the lustre was dying from the lake, and that a dull mist | was creeping up from the westward, blotting out the sunset.

"Perhaps they are on the lake, after all," he thought. "Yet no: they would not take the servants.'

:

Yes it was Teresa Moretti-and no other. The lake had brought her home.

What should he do? What if he were found alone with the corpse, and suspected of murder? He could not show any right to be on the premises. He left the body where it was, and hastened up the lawn, and got out of the house as quickly as he could. The place was still lonely; nor, as he walked rapidly along the road, in an opposite direction to that which he had come, did he see any one.

In twenty minutes, for he walked very rapidly, he came to the green tongue of land running into the lake opposite Hawksmere Ferry; here he paused, looking across to the little hamlet, and the great gorge amid wild fells where stands the old house of the Vivians, and pondering the question whether to cross the ferry or go forward. He could see the big boat just putting off with a freight of passengers; he decided to wait till it reached the shore, and inquire whither the various roads would lead him. So he sat where once before sat our little sailor-lass

and looked gloomily over the water, wondering all the while what could have become of Cecile. Had there been murder committed? It seemed not unlikely, when three ladies were living unprotected in a place so solitary. He could not venture to ask any questions; he must remain in the neighborhood, and wait for any information which rumor might bring.

There was no inn on the road before him, he was told, for about ten miles. He was already very tired; besides, he was anxious not to go so far from The Villa. The Ferry Inn, he learnt, was very full-but there might be a bed in one of the cottages. If not, they'd be sure to

What should he do? His impatience grew fiercer every moment. Perhaps already he was too late, and Colonel Trafford had married Cecile. If so, what a frightful revenge he would take upon Teresa Moretti! Wheresoever she might hide, he would assuredly find her and punish her perfidy.

Mrs. White was of course quite ready to supply him with food; but a bed was a different matter. Not only were the resources of the little inn strained to the uttermost, but the cottages in the hamlet were also over-populated, and young Oxford men billeted everywhere.

At last it was arranged that Vionnet should have a mattress on the parlor floor, and herewith he was compelled to be content.

Who was it? That question must be answered. Was it Teresa ? Was it Cecile? What might happen in the latter case? Not without a shudder did he walk down the soft white shingle, with the water rising above his ankles, to the place where the dead body lay, face upward, the garments moving slightly with the wash of the wave.

"All right, sir."

The Frenchman thought he would go inside, in case the Colonel's talk should give him any

"No, sir," said a voice from the darkness, "not a sign of her. To-morrow's the third day-she's sure to come up by then."

"I beg your pardon," said Vionnet politely to the person nearest him, "has some one been drowned here ?"

lover, and called for some sherry and lemonade, and quietly smoked cigarettes.

It is a curious fact that there exists in the human race an instinct transcending reason. Animals, it is well known, instinctively recognize their enemies, even in earliest youth; men also have this instinct, though they seldom ex

"Yes," he said. "A couple of boats were upset by a squall yesterday, and a French lady was lost. I forget her name. She was a school-mistress, I think they say, and had a couple of her pupils with her."

"They were saved, I suppose."

"Oh yes: they're up at the big house you see on the hill-side. An old baronet lives there -I forget his name-no end of a swell. I never can remember names.

There were indeed very few things Giffard could remember, except the places at which he had been lucky enough to find good bitter ale and cigars. On these and similar points he was so accurate as to have become quite an oracle: when complimented on this faculty, he would say,

"You see, my dear fellow, I do not fritter away my memory on the absurd stories of the heathen gods and goddesses, or any other rubbish of the kind. I devote myself entirely to useful knowledge."

Vionnet, glad to find that he was so near Mademoiselle de Castelnau, was yet considerably puzzled to know what to do next. He had no authority over the young lady: she had never seen him: there seemed no way in which he could interfere with her. His bête noire, Colonel Trafford, was probably close at hand. Him of course he knew by sight, as it had been his duty to watch him in London.

Although it was Sunday night, every body was up late at the Ferry Inn. The men who had been searching the lake wanted refreshment after their day's work; Powys's pupils were quite willing to join them, and even Powys himself, who had again been dining at Hawksmere, unreluctantly listened to their yarns as he drank his last tumbler of whisky. The window of the room in which they sat was wide open; Vionnet sat on a bench outside, and listened to their talk, and occasionally turned round to see the speaker. As it grew late, he heard a fresh voice, and saw Colonel Trafford

enter.

"I do not like thee, Dr. Fell,
The reason why I can not tell;
But only this I know full well,
I do not like thee, Dr. Fell."

We

Who has not, on very first meeting with a stranger, been impressed with an inexplicable dislike? As we pride ourselves on being reasonable creatures, we do our best to get rid of this feeling-we consider how absurd it is to be prejudiced against a man because his nose turns upward or his eyes have a cast in them. recollect all the good things we have heard of him, and are quite angry with ourselves for such puerile fancies. Well, he becomes our friend: in time we forget that we ever disliked him, and begin to rather admire his nose and eyes. And then one day he plays us some scurvy trick-against which instinct warned us, only reason would not listen. Women have this instinct in a finer form than men; and, as they are not reasoning animals, they do not spoil it. They are intuitive judges of character. So, by-the-way, are dogs-especially thoroughbred ones.

Colonel Trafford, the moment he set eyes on Vionnet, disliked and suspected him. He was of necessity in a suspicious state; for it seemed unlikely that he would be permitted to win his prize without a struggle. Vionnet was perceptibly a Frenchman: and solitary Frenchmen are not often found rambling through picturesque parts of England. Fighting Charlie jumped at once to the conclusion that this fellow was a spy upon him: and, as we know, it was a correct conclusion. Was he alone? It seemed unlikely. Had he any power over Cecile, or was there any one with him who had? These and similar questions perplexed Colonel Trafford's brain, as he sat in that smoke-clouded room, contributing his nebulous quota, and longing for sunrise, and Cecile, and the boat on the lake, and the little gray church where the great deed was to be done.

It is not to be denied that Vionnet was also perplexed. He could not see what to do. He staid awhile in the parlor of the Ferry Inn;