"You are right-you are right, my boy. Well?"

"I am very anxious that this young lady should speak in private with you and Mrs. Faber. She will then return to the inn, where Mrs. Critchett is expecting her."

The master assented, and the three were left alone. The interview lasted two hours, or more. At the end of that time, a message was sent to the inn that the young lady would sleep at the parsonage. Mr. Faber said nothing to his pupil, beyond praising him for the kindness and decision he had shown; nor was it till two or three years after, when he had grown older, and was leaving the school for college, that he told him what had passed at the interview. In about a week from her arrival, the young lady again left, and her young champion heard no more about her. the adventure left a strong impression on his mem

"Aha!" cried Mr. Feber, archly. Masterfelt conscious that his face was red, yet he did not know why. The landlady was called in at his re-ory. quest, when she presented him with a note, superscribed in a small, delicate, female hand.

"Oho!" cried Mr. Faber, again, but rather gravely.

III.

But

I was not always so steady as I am now. At first, the temptations of a London life are too much

The boy handed the note to his master, who for a young man thrown suddenly in their way; opened and read it with evident interest.

lady;
"she has been with us ever since.
sure she's a good young lady."

Mr. Faber reflected for a few moments; then his face resumed its usual cheering expression, and he said laughing

on the other hand, if they do not lead to actual "It is from the young lady you set down at the vice, they are almost a necessary school. At the Merton Arms. She begs that she may see you." time I refer to-perhaps twelve or fourteen years "Ah, poor young lady!" interposed the land-ago-I was a law student. One night I was, at I'm a late hour, in one of those taverns frequented by young men who lead what they call a "fast" life, though anything more dull, stupid, senseless, and "slow," cannot be conceived. Although the tavern I speak of was, and I believe still is, one of the best and most popular of its kind, the room was but a large dungeon, boxed off on either side into separate places of confinement, where to sit and eat at ease was a feat for little men alone; and the atmosphere, heated to a poisonous degree with gas, reeked with the conflicting odors of innumerable and indescribable suppers. Here were to be nightly met a motley company, composed of sucking professionals like myself, intermingled with a few steady, toping citizens, to whom their conversation was a relaxation after their daily toil, and occasionally varied by the presence of a flashy, slangy-looking race of beings peculiar to some London taverns-wretched imitations of the cast

"Well, Harry, I shall have instructed you to little purpose if I cannot trust you with this little adventure. I suppose she is, at least, a princess in disguise! Go back with Mrs. Critchett. I suppose the end of it will be that you will bring your fair inamorata to the parsonage house."

The youth did as he was desired.

Perhaps the reader thinks that this was very imprudent in the clergyman. In an ordinary case it would have been so, but Mr. Faber knew the lad's disposition well; and, moreover, it was his system to enforce, wherever it was possible, his precepts by example, thus preparing inexperienced minds for the realities of life.

In less than an hour a ring was heard at the off habits of a few notorious aristocratic roués. bell.

Here men nightly sacrificed their rest, forcing un

"It is Harry come back from the princess!" timely food on cloyed appetites, and drinking fiery cried Mr. Faber, laughing. stimulants without relish, save in the mad excite ment they produced.

Harry it certainly was, but he had on his arm a young and singularly beautiful girl. Mr. Faber turned pale, and looked very grave. He had not expected that his jocular remark would be taken literally by his pupil. Mrs. Faber turned very red, and looked rather angrily at the new-comer.

The youth, in whom the adventure had inspired the natural courage of our sex when befriending the other, said—

I sat in a box apart. This night there were not many persons present. I was quietly eating my chop, thinking how foolishly I had spent my evening. Insensibly my attention was attracted towards the opposite box, where a tall, florid, handsome man was entertaining a small knot of listeners with what seemed to be a good story, so frequent was the laughter. Without actually listening, yet I

"Sir, you have always told me never to depart could not help hearing. from my word, even if spoken in jest."

Ah, but the way I got the girl was better than

all! I made regular love to her-honorable pro- | ting out of his hobble-de-hoyhood. I dare say she posals, you know, and all that sort of thing; and was his first love!'"'

the ro

the old mother was as proud as possible that her Unconsciously, seeing that I looked interested, daughter had a gentleman' for a sweetheart. he had addressed his latter sentences across to me. But she always wanted to put off the marriage; I stepped over, and said— her daughter was too young, she said. The little one did not think so. As she was very romantic, (and, by the way, she had a nice romantic little name, too,) I persuaded her to elope, bought the license, and did everything quite proper,' you know."

66

"But you have not told us the name, mantic little name, of the girl?"

66

it ?"

Oh, she was called Rose !-pretty name, is n't

"And her other name?"
"Ammerford."

I was now quite certain. I could bear it no longer.

"Monster! fiend! scoundrel!" I cried, to the utter astonishment of the spectators. "Know that your victim was saved! I can tell you the sequel of the story. Providence has protected her. She was restored to a life of virtue. I-I am the boy whom you would have duped, and whom now you seek to defame-reptile!"

In an instant a rummer was flung at my head. rushed at the ruffian. Alas! I was no match for his science; I had only courage and passion on my side. I was in a fair way of suffering for my interference, when a new-comer changed the face of affairs.

I am really almost ashamed to pen the rest of his infamous story; yet, if these things are not known, where is the value of the warning? This man went on, in the coolest way, to relate, that his victim had eloped with him; that he had, in vain, manœuvred; till, at last, he was obliged to try what he called a capital dodge," which he had once before used with success. Were not the truth of the tale established beyond a doubt, it would be difficult to believe that any human being could be such a fiend. The poor girl had, at last, begun to doubt; but, in the morning, he came to I her with the license open in his hand, and said he was prepared to take her to church. Then he told, with passionate protestations, his "history;" that he had, in early youth, been inveigled into a marriage; that his wife had left him many years When the wretch pronounced the name of the before, on finding herself deceived as to his prop-girl, I had fancied I heard something like a groan erty; that he knew not where she was, whether at the other end of the room, but I was too much alive or dead; that, if he married again, he in- excited to take much notice of it. To my surcurred the risk of the fate of a felon; but that, prise, a fine, strong-looking fellow stepped between finally, so great was his devotion, he was prepared us, saying to my antagonistto peril all, and fulfil his promise. And then he conjured her to go to the church. The end may be guessed. By her virtue he conquered her virtue. By her very magnanimity and spirit of loving self-sacrifice he effected her ruin. He gave her a written promise of marriage, “on the death of his wife." Of course, he had no wife. Let no one too severely judge the unhappy girl. To be utterly ignorant of vice is almost as dangerous as to be vicious.

Not a word of this was lost on me. I was not sorry to see that even the half-intoxicated listeners had an instinct that it was a "little too bad." One of them asked

66

"And what became of the young lady?" The man, who was too much inflamed by wine to see the change in their manner, went onWhy, the way I got rid of her was better still. One day, I took her a-walk. She got tired, and we rested a moment in a cottage. A first-rate idea struck me. I had promised her that we should dine at the inn in the pretty village of saw an empty carriage going in that direction. asked the youngster who drove it to let her ride to the inn. The greenhorn was quite proud of his office. I need not say that I was off for London directly. I knew she'd be too proud to come back when she found it out."

I

I

"Mr. —, I have heard your disgusting stor You know me, and what it is to me to hear it This is my business," turning to me; and then he covered the other with the most opprobrious epithets.

"You impudent rascal, how dare you speak to me in that manner!" roared the other; yet he quailed under the attack, but his pride made him fight. This time he had his match.

I never saw a man receive such a punishment. The doors of the tavern having been closed for the night against in-comers, the affair went off without the interference of the police. was only too glad to slink off to his chambers; and as for my unexpected champion, he walked away, apparently overcome by deep feeling, and I knew not who or what he was.

To me, the coincidence seemed singular; and the instantaneous retribution, administered by one who was evidently interested, was something out of the common course of things. But there were more strange coincidences to come.

IV.

My professional duties and the turmoil of a tolerably active life soon obliterated from my mind all memory of the affair mentioned in the last chapter; indeed, except in connection with its antecedents "And you never heard of her again?" and consequences, it was not of a character much "No, nor ever shall. But I believe she was to arrest the attention. I need scarcely say, too. obliged to hook the youngster, who was just get-that I soon gave up those habits of dissipation in

over her mind. I ought to add, that Eliza was to inherit a very large fortune-not only the same amount of money that Mary was to have, but, in addition, a considerable sum from a grand-aunt, who had formally made her her heir.

which most young men indulge, for at least a short | her imagination, and had obtained an ascendancy time, when they are first thrown upon the world. I applied myself steadily to my profession, and do not suppose that, except when engaged in consultations, I ever was out of bed later than eleven o'clock. A tavern I never entered; a theatre, only when something great or remarkable was to be performed; and I need not remind the reader how little opportunity has of late been given for any indulgence of that sort. In short, I was one of the most regular and plodding men in a profession where steadiness and application conduce more certainly to success than in any other.

As a necessary consequence of these habits, I wanted to get married. When a man has experienced the advantage of practising the smaller virtues, he begins to long for that which is the greatest of all. If one is seriously bent on the delightful venture, Fortune is usually kind enough to throw a lottery ticket in the way; for I never listen to those men who say, "Oh, I would marry directly, but I can't get a wife!"

At length an important day came. The unknown was to come down and pay his betrothed a visit. I discovered that I was the chief cause of much of the anxiety I witnessed in the sisters; for Eliza had somehow conceived an opinion of my judgment, and was very nervous as to the impression her lover would produce. Mary, on the other hand, who was all affection, trembled lest I and my future brother-in-law should not like each other.

On the eventful day, I strolled over from the parsonage. There were the two sisters, with good old mamma in the corner smiling benignant satisfaction. Mary was grave; as for Eliza, I expected every moment to see her neckerchief fly off, her little heart thumped and thumped at such a

rate.

was ushered in.

It was -!

The monster turned pale as death when he saw me. With all his assurance and address, he was taken off his guard. But he saluted me distantly, in the manner of one who has been only introduced. The sisters exchanged glances.

My ticket turned out a prize. I do honestly and At length there was a loud ring at the outer sincerely feel that I was utterly unworthy of the gate, then the sound of a horse's hoofs, then a dopreference shown in my favor, and my whole sub-mestic bustle in the passage, aad then the lover sequent life has been devoted to striving to render myself worthy of her. I was on a visit to Mr. Faber, when I was first introduced to the family with which I now have at once the honor and the happiness to be allied. It is enough for the purposes of my tale to say, that there were two sisters, Mary (mine) and Eliza. I don't know which was the most beautiful. I think Mary had the strongest mind, but, perhaps, it was my vanity that suggested the idea. Eliza was extremely beautiful, but a little headstrong. After some difficulty, I became the accepted suitor of Mary, and, of course, a constant visitor at the house.

"You know Mr.
"Yes," I said gravely;

met before."

-?" said Eliza.
"Mr.

and I have

Poor Mary! All her worst fears were more than realized.

conjured. He was utterly reformed. He had
spent years in striving to find Rose, that he might
make her the only reparation. Even now, could
he find her, he would make the sacrifice and so
on. I listened quietly.
His manner was too ab-

We talked on indifferent subjects for some time. I now speak of what happened about six years At length a walk in the grounds was proposed. ago. While we were out - contrived to take me aside. I became conscious, after a short time had He had made up for the part of a repentant sinner elapsed, that there was something going on of-perhaps, he calculated on the softness of the which I was not aware. At last I discovered that greenhorn again! He protested, he adjured, he there was some secret between the sisters. I frequently asked Mary, but was as often put off with an arch laugh. Once I asked Eliza, but she blushed so scarlet, and looked so frightened, that I forbore to repeat my question. At length the secret came to light. Eliza had a lover. Mary ject. It was not the real expression of manly contold me the important fact one evening in the trition. I saw that the wretch was acting. twilight, during a positively intoxicating excess of tenderness. Well, as soon as the ice was broken, Eliza could talk of nothing else. She evidently admired the unknown excessively. He was so handsome, so courteous, so well-read; he could sing so well, and ride so well; in short, he had every manly attraction under the sun. True, he was a little older than Eliza-it seemed to me more than a little; but she had always resolved never to marry a man who was not considerably in advance of her in point of years. It seemed to me that Eliza was proud of her lover; more than that, she loved him as a woman ought to love, and does love, when she loves. He had evidently struck

"Mr. "I said, "I shall do my duty, which is, to tell this family the simple facts: they can then act as they choose. Of this I am certain ; the man who could do as you have done towards poor Rose must have the nature of a fiend. At all events, the risk is too great for an innocent creature like Eliza. Besides, I have heard of you since. I know that you have neglected your profession from having an independence. I have heard also that you have gambled away your fortune. You seek Eliza's fortune, not herself. No, sir, I shall do my duty, and you can take what steps you like."

He was livid with rage.

"Do you wish that I should give you another | knew that time would clear me ; but, in the meanlesson?" said he, maliciously insolent. while, the day for the marriage was approaching fast. What was to be done? Oh, for one minute of Mr. Faber! That would settle all.

"Pooh, pooh, sir! I am wiser now than I was then. Good day!"

I blame myself much that, from an instinctive dislike to come into contact with this man, I did not at once speak. I let a day elapse. That day had nearly proved fatal to poor Eliza: it would have done so, but for another "coincidence." When I again sought my dear Mary, she was grave, and spoke in a manner she had never yet Still, her hand trembled when I pressed it,

used.

and a tear stole down her cheek.

6

has al

"Oh! you need not do so: Mr. ready confessed all. It was with shame that he did it; but he said your - hypocrisy' (that was the word he said, Harry) compelled him," and the tears fell down her beautiful cheeks.

True it was, the scoundrel had made the most of his time, and had told his own story in his own way; but, in order to put me forever out of the witness-box, he had coined a lie, to the effect that he had intended to fulfil his promise, but that I had withdrawn the affections of the girl, and that I had forever concealed where she was to be found. With Mary, a solemn assurance that it was a falsehood was enough, but Eliza looked on me with very different feelings. Her lover's influence was too strong even for the truth. He had, too, taken advantage of the affair to precipitate the marriage. A day, not very far distant, was fixed.

"But why," says the reader, "do you not bring Mr. Faber on the scene?" First, the parsonage I was now at was not the parsonage of the early story, but one in a different part of the country. Secondly, Mr. Faber and his wife had gone to the south of France with a consumptive child, and it was not known when they would return. It might be in a week, it might not be for months. They might be on the way home, they might have been obliged to stay longer, and we did not know where to address them. Thirdly, I was as much at home at the parsonage as if they had been there, having received permission to make use of it, as Paddy says, "for the convaynience o' coortin'."

As far as matters went, falsehood had triumphed over truth. Mr. Crayford was believed, I was not believed. Daily I trembled more and more for

Eliza.

V.

The marriage was to take place in two days. I had conjured, protested in vain. The more efforts I made, the more haughtily and even obstinately did Eliza cling to her lover. I was in an agony. I foresaw her destiny, yet had not the means to avert it, having, from the very nature of the case, no proofs. Mary was true to me, but there was a gravity in her demeanor which pained me severely. She, too, was evidently, like her sister, more influenced by her lover than by her convictions. My antagonist was extending his fatal power. I knew not what to do. A bell sounded. It was the postman, a rare visitor at the house, whose arrival always caused a sensation. He left a letter addressed to Eliza. I know not whence came the presentiment, but it gave me a sort of undefined hope. The letter was from the aged relative I spoke of, who had adopted my future sister-in-law, and it ran thus :

"MY DEAREST CHILD-I should not rest in my grave if I had not been present on the occasion which is to decide the happiness of your future life. It is not enough that I highly approve of the young man you have chosen-I must be there when you give him your hand. I must give you my blessing at the altar, and then I shall die in peace. But a severe attack of my old complaint makes it impossible for me to set out to-day, as I had wished. Can you, will you, postpone this marriage for a few days, that I may enjoy almost my only remaining wish in this world? Ever, my child, your own affectionate aunt.

"P. S. You know I have advertised for a new companion, one who can read to me my favorite German authors. I have received one answer which pleases me much. The young lady writes from and as that town is nearer to you than to my place, I have asked her to come over there."

This was a respite. I looked at Crayford. He was pale with anger and disappointment. Here was his prize removed a short distance from his expectant grasp. Bad men have no trust in the future. For my part, though my position was not bettered, yet to have gained time was something. Mr. Faber might come: I knew his influence was great.

66

I was in a most painful position. This manfiend had so well used his time, and his influence over Eliza, that she really believed I was the mean fellow he represented me to be. At once headstrong and imaginative, she took a sort of romantic interest in upholding her lover. She was ready to make any sacrifices for him. I was Three or four days passed over. Aunty," as rapidly becoming de trop in the family. It was she was called, arrived, and I made her acquaintonly by the affection and trustfulness of Mary that ance. She was really a good-natured, wellI held on. The old lady sided with the strongest informed, charming old maid, and not at all likely character, but without diving very deeply into the to die in a hurry. Fortunately, I am pretty well case. Old people often mistake suspicion and read in German literature, and I flatter myself I cunning for wisdom; and it was more easy for had a little advantage over iny antagonist in some her to suspect me of the artifice attributed to me other respects. He had spent too much time in than, by a strong effort, to see the truth. Mean-vicious indulgence to have read much. In short, while, I cared little except for poor Eliza. I" aunty" and I "cottoned" to each other admira

bly, and insensible my position improved. So ous insinuations of my antagonist. Even Eliza's much for the presentiment. confidence left her.