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selves, says I, they'll turn up, never fear. And they do turn up, sir, in nineteen cases out of twenty. In the twentieth, when there's foul play, we generally know something about it within eight-and-forty hours. Bragford? Is it? You get out here, do you? Good-morning, gentlemen; I hope you've enjoyed your jaunt.'

Then as Tom, collecting greatcoats, newspapers, &c., followed his new acquaintance out of the carriage, this strange old gentleman detained him for an instant by the

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'Mad!' observed the latter, with an uneasy attempt at a laugh and a readjustment of his glasses.

'Mad, no doubt,' answered Tom, but followed the lunatic's counsel, nevertheless, so far as to refrain from offering the other a lift in the well-appointed brougham, with its burly coachman, waiting to convey him to Ecclesfield Manor, though his late fellow-traveller was proceeding in that direction on foot.

Tom had determined to sleep at the Railway Hotel, Bragford, ere he returned to London next day. This arrangement he considered more respectful than an intrusion on the hospitality of Ecclesfield, should it be offered him. Perhaps so scrupulous a regard for the proprieties mollified Miss Bruce in his favour, and called forth an invitation to tea in the drawing-room when he had concluded the solitary dinner prepared for him after his journey.

Tom Ryfe was always a careful dresser. Up to forty most men are. It is only when we have nobody to please that we become negligent of pleasing. I believe, though, that

never in his life did he tie his neckcloth or brush his whiskers with more care than on the present occasion in a large and dreary chamber known to the household as one of the 'best bed-rooms' of Ecclesfield Manor.

Tom looked about him, with a proud consciousness that at last his foot was on the ladder he had wanted all his life to climb. Here he stood, actually dressing for dinner, a welcome guest in the house of an old-established county family, on terms of confidence, if not intimacy, with its proud and beautiful female representative, in whose cause he was about to do battle with all the force of his intellect and (Tom began to think she could make him fool enough for anything) all the resources of his purse. The old family picturessad daubs, or they would never have been consigned to the bedrooms-simpered down on him with encouraging benignity. Prim women, wearing enormously long waists, and their heads a a good go deal on one side, pointed their fans at him, while he washed his hands, with a coquetry irresistible, had their colours only stood, combining entreaty and command; while a jolly old boy in flowing wig, steel breastplate, and the most convivial of noses, smiled in his face, as who should say, 'Audaces Fortuna juvat! -Go in, my hearty, and win if you can!'

What was there in these surroundings, in the orderly decorum of the well-regulated mansion, in the chiming of the stable clock, nay, in the reflection of his own person shown by that full-length glass, to take the starch, as it were, out of Tom's self-confidence, turning his moral courage limp and helpless for the nonce, bringing insensibly to his mind the familiar refrain of 'Not for Joseph? What was there that bade him man himself against this discouragement, as true bravery mans itself against the sensation of fear? and why should he be less worthy of approbation than other spirits who venture on 'enterprises of great pith and moment' with beating hearts indeed, but with un

flinching courage and a dogged determination to succeed?

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Had Tom been a young knight arming for a tournament, in which the good fortune of his lance was to win him a king's daughter for his bride, he might have claimed to be an admirable and interesting hero. Was he, indeed, less respec respectable adventurer, that for steel he had to substitute French polish, for surcoat and corselet, broadcloth and cambric-that the battle he was to wage must be fought out by tenacity of purpose and ingenuity of brain rather than strength of arm and downright hardness of skull?

He shook a little too much scent on his handkerchief as he finished dressing, and walked down-stairs in a state of greater agitation than he would have liked to admit.

Dinner was soon done. Eaten in solitude with grave servants watching every mouthful, he was glad to get it over. In a glass of brown sherry he drank Miss Bruce's health, and thus primed, followed the butler to the drawing-room, where that lady sat working by the light of a single lamp.

The obscurity was in his favour. Tom made his bow and accepted the chair offered him, less awkwardly than was to be expected from the situation.

Maud looked very beautiful with the light falling on her sculptured chin, her fair neck, and white hands, set off by the deep shadows of the mourning dress she wore.

I believe he was going to begin by saying 'it had been a fine day,' but she stopped him in her clear cold voice, with its patrician accent, so difficult to define, yet so impossible to mistake.

'I have to thank you, Mr. Ryfe, for taking such care of my jewels. I hope the man left them at your office as he promised, and that you had no further trouble about them.' He wanted to say that 'no errand of hers could be a trouble to him,' but the words stuck in his throat, or she would hardly have proceeded so graciously.

We must go into a few matters of business this evening, if you have got the papers you mentioned. I

leave here to-morrow, and there is little time to spare.'

He produced a neatly-folded packet, docketed and carefully tied with tape. The sight of it roused his energies as the shaking of a guidon rouses an old trooper. Despite of the enchantress and all her glamour, Tom was himself again.

'Business is my trade, Miss Bruce,' said he, briskly. 'I must ask your earnest attention for a quarter of an hour, while I explain our position as regards the estate. At present it appears beset with difficulties. That's my look out. Before we begin,' added Tom, with a diffident faltering of voice, partly natural, partly assumed 'forgive my asking your future address. It is indispensable that we should frequently communicate, and-and-I cannot help hoping and expressing my hope for your happiness in the home you have chosen.'

Maud's smile was very taking. She smiled with her eyes, those dark pleasing eyes that would have made a fool of a wiser man than Tom.

'I am going to Aunt Agatha's,' she said. 'I am to live with her for good. I have no home of my own now.'

The words were simple enoughspoken, too, without sadness or bitterness as a mere abstract matterof-fact, but they aroused all the penand-ink chivalry in Tom's nature, and he vowed in his heart to lay goose-quill in rest on her behalf, with the devotion of a Montmorency or a Bayard.

'Miss Bruce,' said he, resolutely, 'the battle is not yet lost. In our last, of the 15th, we advised you that the other side had already taken steps to oppose our claims. My uncle has great experience, and I will not conceal from you that my uncle is less sanguine than myself; but I begin to see my way, and if there is a possibility of winning, by hook or by crook, depend upon it, Miss Bruce, win we will, for our own sakes. and-and-for yours!'

The last two words were spoken in a whisper, being indeed a spontaneous ebullition, but she heard them nevertheless. In her deep

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sorrow, in her friendless, homeless position there was something soothing and consolatory in the sympathy of this young man, lawyer's clerk though he were, as she insisted with unnecessary repetition to herself. He showed at his best, too, while explaining the legal complications involved in the whole business, and the steps by which he hoped eventually to succeed. Maud was too thoroughly a woman not to admire power, and Tom's intellect possessed obviously no small share of that quality, when directed on such matters as the present. In half an hour he had furnished her with a lucid statement of the whole case, and in half an hour he had inspired her with respect for his opinion, admiration of his sagacity, and confidence in his strength. Not a bad thirty minutes' work. At its conclusion she shook hands with him cordially when she wished him good-night. Tom was no fool, and knew when to venture as when to hold back. He bowed reverentially over the white hand, muttering only 'God bless you, Miss Bruce! If you think of anything else, at a moment's notice I will come from the end of the world to serve you,'-and so hurried away before she could reply.

CHAPTER V.

THE CRACKSMAN'S CHECKMATE.

Puckers, or Miss Puckers as she liked to be called below-stairs, was a little puzzled by her young mistress's abstraction, while she brushed out Maud's wealth of raven hair for the night. Stealing glances at herself in the glass opposite, she could not help observing the expression on Miss Bruce's face. The light was in it once more that had been so quenched by her father's death. Puckers, who in the housekeeper's room, had discussed the affairs of the family almost hourly ever since that sorrowful event, considered that it must have left his daughter in the possession of untold wealth, and that 'the young man from town,' as she designated Tom Ryfe, was sent down expressly to afford

the heiress an estimate of her possessions. A true lady's-maid, she determined to hazard the inquiry.

'I suppose, miss,' said she, brushing viciously, we shan't be goin' to your aunt's now quite so soon. I'm sure I've been that hurried and put about, I don't scarce know which way to turn.'

'Why?' asked Maud, quietly. 'Not so hard, please.'

'Well, miss, a lady is not like a servant, you know; she can do as she chooses, of course. But if I was you, miss, I'd remain on the spot. There's the new furniture to get; there's the linen to see to; there's the bailiff given warning; and that there young man from town, I suppose he wouldn't come if we could do without him, charging goodness knows what, as if his very words was gold. But I give you joy, miss, of your fortune, I do. I was a sayin', only last night, was it? to Mrs. Plummer, says I, "Whatever my young lady will do," says I, "in a house where she isn't mistress, she that's been used to rule in her poor ma's time, and her pa's, ah! ever since she cut her teeth almost;" and Mrs. Plummer says, says she

'That'll do, Puckers,' observed Miss Bruce. 'I shall not want you any more. Good-night.'

She took as little notice of her handmaid's volubility as if the latter had been a grey parrot, and dismissed her with a certain cold, imperial manner that none of the household ever dreamt it possible to dispute or disobey; but after Puckers, with a quantity of white draperies over her arm, had departed to return no more, she sat down at the dressing-table and began to think with all her might.

Her maid was a fool no doubt: all maids were; but the shaft of folly shot at random, went home to the quick. 'A house where she wasn't mistress!' Had she ever considered the future shelter offered her by Aunt Agatha in that light? Here at the Manor, for as long as she could remember, had she not reigned supreme? All the little arrangements of dinner-parties, picnics, archery-meetings, and such gatherings as make up country

society, had fallen into her hands. Mamma didn't care-mamma never cared how anything was settled so long as papa was pleased; and papa thought Maud could not possibly do wrong. So by degrees, and this at an age when young ladies are ordinarily in the schoolroom, Miss Bruce had grown, on all social questions, to be the virtual head of the family. It was a position of which, till the time came to abdicate, she had not sufficiently appreciated the value. It seemed so natural to order carriages and horses at her own hours, to return visits, to receive guests, to do the honours of a comfortable country-house with an adequate establishment, and now, could she bear to live with Aunt Agatha, on sufferance?-Aunt Agatha, whom she had never liked, and whom she only refrained from snubbing and setting down, because they so seldom met, but when the elder lady had been invited by the younger as a guest! To be dependent,' thought Maud, mentally addressing the beautiful face in the glass. 'How should you like that? you with your haughty head, and your scornful eyes, and your hard unbending heart? I know you! Nobody knows you but me! And I know how bad you are -how capricious, and how cruel! When you want anything, do you ever spare anybody to get it? Did you ever love any one on earth as well as your own way? Even mamma? Oh! mamma, dear, dear mamma, if you had lived I might have got better-I was better, I know I was better while I was with you. But now now I must be myself. I can't help it. After all, it is not my fault. What is it I most covet and desire in the world? It is power. Rank, wealth, luxury -these are all very well as accessories of life; but how should I loathe and hate them if they were conditional on my thinking, as other people thought, or doing what I was told! I ought to have been a man. Women are such weak, vapid, idiotic characters, in general, at least all I meet down here. Engrossed with their children, their parishes, their miserable household cares and perplexities. While in

London, I believe there are women who actually lead a party and turn out a minister. But they are beautiful, of course. Well-and me? I don't think I am so much amiss. With my looks and the position I ought to have, surely I might hold my own with the best of them. But what good will my looks do me if I am to be a dependent on Aunt Agatha? No. Without the estate I am nothing. With it I might be anything. This lawyer thinks he can win it for me. I wonder if he knows. How clever he seems! and how thoughtful! Nothing escapes him, and nothing seems to take him by surprise. And yet what a fool I could make of him if I chose! I saw it before he had been five minutes in the room. I wonder now what he thinks of me!-whether he has the presumption to suppose I could ever allow him to betray that he cared for me. I believe I should rather admire his impudence! It is pleasant to be cared for, even by an inferior; and, after all, this Mr. Ryfe is not without his good points. He has plenty of talent and energy, and I should think audacity. By his own account he sticks at nothing, when he means winning, and he certainly means to win for me if he can. I never saw anybody so eager, so much in earnest. Perhaps he thinks that if he could come to me and say, "There, Miss Bruce, I have saved your birthright for you, and I ask nothing but one kind word in return," I might be disposed to give it, and something more. Well, I don't know. Perhaps it would be as good a way as any other of getting into favour. One thing is certain. The inheritance I must preserve at every sacrifice. Dear me, how late it is! I ought to have been in bed hours ago. Puckers, is that you?'

Puckers did not answer, and a faint rustle in the adjoining room which had called forth Miss Bruce's question ceased the instant she spoke aloud.

This young lady was not nervous; far from it; yet her watch seemed to tick with extraordinary vigour, and her heart to beat harder than common while she listened.

The door of communication between the two rooms was closed. Another door in the smaller apartment opened to the passage, but this, she remembered, was habitually locked on the inside. It couldn't be Puckers, therefore, who thus disturbed her mistress's reflections, unless that handmaiden had come down the chimney, or in at the window.

In this smaller room Miss Bruce kept her riding-habits, her balldresses, her draperies of different fabric, her transparencies of all kinds, and her jewels.

The house was very silent-so silent that in the distant corridors were distinctly audible those faint and ghostly footfalls, which traverse all large houses after midnight. There were candles burning on Maud's toilet-table, but they served rather to show how dismal were the shadowy corners of the large lofty bedroom, than to afford light and confidence to its inmate.

She listened intently. Yes; she was sure she heard somebody in the next room-a step that moved stealthily about; a noise as of woodwork skilfully and cautiously forced

open.

One moment she felt frightened. Then her courage came back the higher for its interruption. She could have escaped from her own room into the passage, easily enough, and so alarmed the house; but when she reflected that its fighting garrison consisted only of an infirm old butler-for the footman was absent on leave-there seemed little to be gained by such a proceeding, if violence or robbery were really intended. Besides, she rather scorned the idea of summoning assistance till she had ascertained the amount of danger.

So she blew her candle out, crept to the door of the little room, and laid her hand noiselessly on its lock.

Softly as she turned it, gently as she pushed the door back on its hinges inch by inch, she did not succeed in entering unobserved. The light of a shaded lantern flashed over her the instant she crossed the threshold, dazzling her eyes indeed, Jet not so completely but that she

made out the figure of a man standing over her shattered jewel-box, of which he seemed to have been rifling the contents. Quick as thought, she said to herself-' Come, there is only one! If I can frighten him more than he frightens me, the game is mine.'

The man swore certain ghastly oaths in a whisper, and Maud was aware of the muzzle of a pistol covering her above the dark lantern.

She wondered why she wasn't frightened, not the least frightened -only rather angry and intensely determined to save the jewels, and have it out.

She could distinguish a dark figure behind the spot of intense light radiating round her own person, and perceived besides, almost without looking, that an entrance had been made by the window, which stood wide open to disclose the topmost rounds of a garden-ladder, borrowed doubtless from the toolhouse, propped against its sill.

What the housebreaker saw was a vision of dazzling beauty in a flood of light. A pale, queenly woman, with haughty, delicate face, and loops of jet-black hair falling over robes of white, erect and dauntless, fronting his levelled weapon without the slightest sign of fear.

He had never set eyes on such a sight as this; no, neither in circus nor music-hall, nor gallery of metropolitan theatre at Christmas. For a moment he lost his head-for a moment he hesitated.

In that moment Miss Bruce showed herself equal to the occasion.

Quick as thought, she made one step to the window, pushed the ladder outwards with all her force, and shut down the sash. As it closed, the ladder, poising for an instant, fell with a crash on the gravel below.

'Now,' she said, quietly, 'you are trapped and taken. Better make no resistance, for the gamekeepers watching below are a rough sort of people, and I do not wish to see you ill-treated.'

The man was aghast! What could it all mean? Was he awake, or dreaming? She must be well backed, he said to himself, to assume

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