Ah joy! when with the closing street

Forgivingly at last they greet.-A. H. CLOUGH.

A DAY or two after old Bessie's funeral Roland returned to Youlcliffe. He had been working his heart out trying to sound and set right that bottomless pit (to an honest man) his father's affairs; and he found on his return, after little more than three weeks, that his dear old friend was gone, and he had not even been present to pay her the last respect. He now felt sure that his father had purposely sent him on a fool's errand while Cassie was with her aunt, and he resented doubly the being treated as a child, kept from home under false pretences, taught to believe that he was doing his father a service when he was only helping to break his own heart. He was more

angry and hurt than Joshua could have conceived possible, and the annoyance did not go off. What might not Cassie think of his absence, of his having allowed himself to be kept away at such a time?

He went down to make his peace with old Nathan, whom he found sitting dismally by the fire. As he looked ruefully at the vacant chair on the other side, he seemed ten years older.

'Nobody can't tell how bare and lonesome it is," said he, now she be gone. I've got a sorrow down my back-bone wi' thinking o' her." Then after a long pause: "I want Bessie, I want my wife!" said he with a loud and bitter cry. "What iver will I do wi'out her!"

"You'll mebbe overget it, Master Nathan, after a bit. She were a well-livin' 'ooman, yer know, and for sure she's gone to glory, and all happy and comfortable by now," observed Roland, with the best intentions towards consolation.

"Ah, lad, you see it ain't you as have a lost her, it's easy talkin';-the heart knoweth its own bitterness, and it's him as wears the shoe as is hurted by it. It's all day long and every day as I misses her; and then ye comes and tells me as she's gone to glory all happy and comfortable up there i' th'

clouds! I'm sure she ain't," said the old man with great energy. "I'm sure as how she's a thinkin', 'What's my old man a doin' wi'out me? and how's he a getting on all his lone?' and that'll fret her and worrit her; and 'tain't reasonable to tell me she've a forgotten a' about me, as she were allus fettlin' for and bustlin' about and humouring, any more than I has about her. That's what I think," ended Nathan, passing the back of his hard horny hand over his own wrinkled face, as a solitary tear, more pathetic than a whole bucketful from younger eyes, rolled slowly down his cheek.

Roland was silent; and there are cases when silence is the best speech and the truest consolation: there are deeper and more eloquent expressions of feeling than any that words can give. Nathan was soon placated by it.

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"Why wast thou not at the burying, lad?" he said kindly, after a bit. My Bessie thowt a deal about thee. Thee shouldst ha' made a shift to get back for't."

"'T weren't by my own will, Master Nathan. My feyther 'd a sent me after no end o' cattle and debts and coils and things t'other side York; and he somehow kep' it from me as he'd heerd she were ill that day

afore I went away. I niver know'd nowt till I come home."

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"'T were just Joshuay all over," answered the old man. "It's a kittle thing for to deal wi' such as he. I'd a took it into my head as it were along o' some sweetheart thou'st a found i' those parts, thou wast biding such a time away; thy father went on telling sa mich about Mitchell's daughter. I wish as I'd a know'd thou wast a' right, I'd a made more o' a struggle for thee along o' Cassie's portion. I've a set it down now in her name. But I'd no power for to bind Ashford; and 'twill hardly help thee wi' him, he'll be so cockey now, whativer it may do wi' thy feyther. You've got your handful with them two, Roland. I were in too great a hurry mebbe to pay the money; but I couldn't abide as any one should say I kep' what weren't mine. My Bessie used allus for to say I took too much account o' what man could say o' me. Hur were a very wise 'ooman were my Bessie," said the old man, shaking his head sadly; "much wiser nor me as sets up for it sa mich."

Roland went moodily home to his father's house, which stood back in a corner of the irregular, uneven old market-place. The dwelling part was over a sort of low stable opening on to the cattle-sheds, which

had another entrance from the close behind: a deep, dark stone archway led into them, by which he could bring out his beasts to market when he wished. The three rooms which the father and son inhabited were only approached by an outside stone stair, making the house into a sort of fortalice, which no one could enter without notice; and this suited Joshua. There was an unused garret lighted by a large round unglazed lucarne in the tall gable, which looked like a great hollow eye. Two of the windows below had been walled up to save window-tax, as the rooms had a look-out behind; and altogether the place had a grim closed-up look, and went by the name of the "one-eyed house."

Joshua was standing upon his steps as his son

came up.

"Well, Nathan have a kep' the money for 's life now, haven't he?" said he, eagerly, hardly leaving room for Roland to pass.

"He set it in Cassie's name at Jones's yesterday," answered his son, shortly, as he turned into the house, scarcely looking round.

Joshua started with a long whistle; it was so

unlike what he would have done himself that he

could hardly believe it even now, and went hastily