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'Miss Jocelyn passed through the ball this moment,' Marsden added. • You must have seen her; and--andMajor Daringham.'

The last words seemed to choke him. 'Yes,' Dick nodded; I saw 'em all right.'

Where are they, then?' Lady Hope snapped. I can't find Hilda in the cloak-room. They say she's not been there. Where can they be?'

Dick faced the two, stroking his moustache calmly, but with an odd twinkle in his eyes.

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Don't you see? my lady was whispering impatiently. She's gone-with him. They've eloped! Now listen !'— for he stared at her as though she had suddenly gone mad. He really thought she had. What! His promised wife dare so far forget what was due to him as to elope!

'Listen!' Lady Hope repeated, actually shaking him in her impatience. This must be prevented. They must be overtaken, stopped! At any risk; at once! You must do it.'

'I?' Jeffery Marsden gasped.

You. Who else is there? Richard is in the plot. In another hour it may be too late. Quick, man! quick!'

He was beginning, electrified by this languid woman's fierce, unwonted energy, to understand now. He had been robbed; and by the man he hated most. For the second or third time

that night the snow-water in his veins ran almost warm. She saw his face change.

'Will you go? To save her-to defeat him, remember! There may be time yet.'

Yes!' he muttered between his blanched, lean lips; 'you're right. There may be time yet; and if I overtake him! I'll go! But, howwhere?'

She had thought of everything, this clever Lady Hope, omniscient almost in her self-interest.


The other sledge!' she answered; 'it's ready down there, by this time. Didn't you hear him order it? Follow the track. They have gone to Ashbridge, I am nearly sure. There is no train yet; you must prevent this! But don't waste time! You have your coat and hat! Quick!'

'Never fear!' he returned; and the blanched lips were actually guilty of an oath; I'll do it!'

He flung his coat about him and hurried through the inner glass doors out on to the steps.

Dick, explaining matters to Helen sotto voce, had kept an eye on him all the time.

Let me see about the carriage, Aunt Hope!' he observed. 'Poor dear old Jeff will catch his death of cold if you trot him about on a night like this.'

He moved away in pursuit; though rather wondering what Jeff could possibly do, you know, after all.

Lady Hope caught him just as he was pushing open the doors that Marsden had just swung back. Through them he saw the latter rush down the steps, and leap (actually leap!) into his (Jocelyn's) sleigh, in readiness, as my lady had foreseen, below; saw the horse plunge and spring forward under the whip; saw his man get knocked backwards and loose his hold on the reins, and Jeffrey Marsden drive furiously off and disappear.

Oh! by Jove! you knowbegan.

Lady Hope stopped him.

-' Dick

Silence, sir!' she said; do you want all the world to know this? I sent him to stop them. And he will.'

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Will he ?' thought Dick; 'he'll probably break his own neck in the first five minutes, that's all!' Then the thought of Jeffrey Marsden driving a sleigh about the country in the dead of night, and coming to frightful grief against a gate-post or in a side-drift, caused Ensign and Lieutenant Richard Jocelyn to laugh aloud.

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Take us to the carriage, sir!' his

relative said majestically; whatever happens, we had better not stay here.' They were all back again at Dane Court when they heard what had happened.

Swiftly and smoothly, flinging up a little shower of snow spray and leaving a straight track behind it that did credit to Don's steering; faster and faster, as Lucia warmed to her work, between the high snow walls on either hand, the sleigh that carried La Mignonne and her Lochinvar whirled along the white solitary road that led straight to the Ashbridge station, four or five miles off.

Muffled in her furs, and with the great buffalo-robe over all, Hilda lay back, only answering her lover's attempts to reassure her by a little sob now and then. The excitement of the last hour or two had been a little too much for the child.

But it's all right now, darling! Rawdon said presently, taking a pull at the mare as he topped the one long hill that lay between Boodle Park and Ashbridge it's all right, now. We shall be at the D'Arbleys by dinnertime, comfortably. I've telegraphed to her to meet us at the Nord terminus. She's about the only relation I've got left; and, as she's fond of me, she'll simply worship you, you know! We've managed beautifully, haven't we? Got away and no one that matters the wiser! Jove! though, I should like to sce the City man's face to-morrow -or rather this morning, when he disEh? what's that?'


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Dick, perhaps! Don muttered; but no, he wouldn't come after us. Besides, he wouldn't yaw about so frightfully. That fellow's never driven a sleigh before, I should say!'

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'Oh, Don! Hilda suggested, neryously; suppose it should be--?' Marsden? By Jove, it is! My lady's found us out and sent him, I suppose, to bring us back dead or alive! What a joke, isn't it?'

Mignonne didn't seem to see it in that light at all. For heaven's sake, Don, don't let him overtake us! I couldn't bear to see him again,' she said.

No chance of his overtaking us, Mignonne! Don laughed. Is there, Lucia ?'

The mare tossed her head, and sprang away like an arrow, as the reins dropped

on her back again. A hoarse cry came from the pursuing sledge. It was so close behind them now that they could see its occupant gesticulating vehemently; could hear him calling to them to stop-Marsden's voice, they both said.

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He'll break his neck directly!' Rawdon observed with a grim sort of smile; and we must leave him to it, I'm afraid!' He looked at his watch as he spoke. 'Yes; we've no time to waste. Allons!

The mare laid herself out fairly now. The speed at which they tore along almost took Hilda's breath away. They left the other sleigh as if it had been standing still.

They were on the high ground now. Straight before them, yonder, where the lights were twinkling, lay the Ashbridge station; right and left the snowmantled country could be seen for miles. Rawdon's eye ran along a thread-like dark track he knew where to look forthe line of rails down which the Paris mail was coming.

She ought to be in sight, if they told Fyle the truth! he muttered; 'awkward if she's been blocked anywhere, now we've got this fellow behind us !'

Again his eye ran along the line of the embankment. It stood out well against the white background; nothing was visible on it.

All this time Lucia's speed never slackened: they were close on the station now. Where was the Mail?

He caught sight of something at last. A red light a gleam of other lights, dull through frosty window panes. Then the shriek of a whistle reached them. It was the Dover Mail running into Ashbridge. Other eyes beside Don's had caught sight of it. Again that cry to them to stop came from the other sleigh behind. Don laughed.

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Rather a sell for him, you know! He'll come up just in time to see us start! he remarked.

So it seemed, for they were passing through the gate of the station yard almost as he spoke. It was a tall, heavy gate, usually held open by a catch, but on this occasion by a man muffled up to the eyes-Mr. Fyle.

All right, sir!' that individual reported, as Don pulled up a moment. The French woman is here with the baggage and the tickets; Mail's signalled. You're just in time, sir.'

Dou leaned forward and said a brief word in the man's ear. Mr. Fyle grinned.

I'll take care, sir,' he returned.

The sleigh moved on up the little incline to the station entrance. Mr. Fyle hurried the next moment up after it. Mademoiselle Fauchon rushed out to meet her mistress. The Dover Mail ran alongside the platform.

Just at that moment the pursuing sleigh reached the gate of the yard. The pursuer shouted for some one to open it in vain. With an oath, he leaped out and fumbled with frostbitten fingers at the latch. In vain, too; the latch was immovable; Mr. Fyle perhaps best knew why. The pursuer saw the train run in, heard the doors slam as its passengers took their seats, heard the whistle sound for its departure. And this infernal gate wouldn't open! At last the undignified notion of climbing over struck him. He put it into immediate practice, slightly incommoded by the severely-strapped evening nether garments. It was a sight to see that tall, gaunt figure à cheval upon a gate-bar!

Just as it got there the train began to move slowly off.

I'll telegraph though the figure

muttered aloud with a vicious expletive, and preparing to descend on the other side. Not carefully enough, unfortunately. His foot slipped and turned awkwardly on the middle bar, and Jeffrey Marsden, Esq., came heavily to the ground with a badly-sprained ankle. Where Mr. Fyle presently found him.

The Paris Mail reached its destination without mishap, and Don and his Mignonne got to the Avenue de l'Impératrice in capital time for dinner, as he had prophesied.

Two days afterwards my lady-she has managed to survive her disappointment-read her daughter's marriage in the Times.' So did Marsden, in bed with incipient rheumatic fever, and a sprained ankle. So did Dick Jocelyn and Helen, lingering over their tête-àtête breakfast in the Oak Parlour at Dane Court.

It was in that very room, by-the-by, that, in the snow-time last year, I heard from those same two people the story of



RE animals intelligent beings?'

A an interesting

is often asked and variously answered. Nevertheless, those who ask it (supposing they have lived much in animal society) remind us of the persons who hunt for their spectacles all the while they are on their nose. That animals do possess intelligence is clear to those who know them; the only debatable point would seem to be the amount and range of that intelligence.

Buffon's eminence as a literary artist-which remains indisputable, although his science has fallen into low esteem-gave prominence to the inquiry. An animal, according to him, is simply a material creature which neither thinks nor reflects, although it acts, and seems to form resolutions. He has no doubt that the determining principle of an animal's actions is purely mechanical. A beast is a thing, an automaton; nothing more. And yet he says that the elephant, knowing by the tone of his master's voice whether he be pleased or angry, acts in con

He also calls him at the
same time a miracle of intelligence,
and a monstrous mass of matter.'

These contradictions are the result of the great naturalist's having started from a false notion-the automatism of animals-which he will not give up, although obliged to admit that on many occasions they do manifest undeniable signs of intellect.

Others, sceptical of animals' mental faculties, find an easy escape in attributing them to Instinct; as if that solved the difficulty. On the contrary, it at once raises the muchvexed question, 'What is Instinct?'

Without incurring dangerous risks on the ticklish subject of instinctive faculties, we will notwithstanding venture to surmise that Instinct may be, after all, only a strong and at the same time a narrow manifestation of Hereditary Intelligence. That not merely intellectual ability is hereditary, but that talent, taking a peculiar direction-inclining to music, astronomy, mathematics, or natural history-is likewise heredi

tary, is proved by the family names of Darwin, Herschel, and others, as well as by a reference to the Cambridge Triposes, in which fathers and sons-sometimes two brothers -are found to have taken identically the same degree. If instinct can be proved occasionally to modify its actions in obedience to circumstances, what have we then but individual intelligence brought to bear upon hereditary intelligence?

The most recent treatise on this interesting subject is 'L'Intelligence des Animaux,"* full both of anecdotes and inferences, and illustrated by fifty-eight clever woodcuts, given to the world by M. Ernest Menault. That gentleman agrees with Réaumur, Lafontaine, and a goodly host of writers, in attributing intelligence to animals; and he holds with Gall, Spurzheim, and Combe, that there is an intimate connection between the organization and the intellectual faculties.


Old animals are more cunning than young ones. A bird's first nest is often injudiciously placed, and badly made. Little by little the work improves, and the feathered artist attains his ideal. the exercise of memory combined with reflection, the creature modifies its faculties, and therefore is, within its limits, most certainly perfectible. Ou author fairly makes out his case by illustrative instances.

The bird of prey teaches its young ones to launch into air, to glide, to hover, and to measure the distance at which a victim is to be struck. Young swallows, who have never effected a migration, are trained by repeated evolutions performed in troops. After a sufficient number of trial trips, the united army takes its departure under the guidance of experienced leaders. The wolf, in spite of his keen appetite for flesh, requires a long apprenticeship to become a skilful hunter.

M. Menault begins his book with the clever manoeuvres of ants and bees, which are too notorious as facts to be dwelt on here: he records the teachability of fleas-known also. *Paris: Hachette and Co.

The acme of insect acuteness is attained by the bug; he is a sharp customer. Valmont de Bomare tells a tale of one who, not being able to reach his man in any other way, climbed up the wall, crawled along the ceiling to the spot exactly vertical to the patient's nose, and then trusting to the force of gravity, let go his hold, dropping precisely on the juicy tissue he wished to tap. Was that particular cimex an idiot, or was he not?

The present writer can confirm the anecdote, having himself experienced the same mode of attack by the same assailant; apropos to whom he remarks that a man may become acquainted with strange bedfellows without being introduced to them by misfortune. Once, after a restless night in Paris, he discovered between the sheets a

phenomenal insect. So stout and shining a specimen is rarely seen. What would others have done in such a case? Destroy it instantly? He did nothing of the kind. Remembering Uncle Toby's treatment of the bluebottle fly, 'Thou hast bitten me to thy heart's content,' he said; 'Survive to bite my successors here. Men patiently bear the stings that others feel. Thou art so fine and fair, 'tis a pity to kill thee. The world is wide enough for thee and me; and may the next occupant of this luxurious bed treat thee with equal magnanimity!'

In M. Menault's sketch of carnivorous animals, he makes no mention of the feline races; but whoever has been thrown much in the way of cats, must have observed in them the perfection of selfishness carried out and concealed with considerable art. We had a cat, called Wissey, as full of wilful ways as an egg is full of meat, who died of her confinement at the age of thirteen. It had long been time for her to give up babies; but have them she would, in spite of our advice. It was impossible to make her keep indoors at night. As a punishment she was sometimes turned out of the house when it suited her convenience to remain within. In that case she often did get in, frightening us at first by the way in which she

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