Newton is mine at last, and eleven thousand a-year. Why did he ever cross my path?”

General St. George threw a corner of the pall over the coffin, and the two men turned to go, leaving the candles still burning. The sacristan with his keys was waiting for them at the top of the stone staircase which led to the church above. General St. George went up the stairs first, slowly and painfully: Kester followed a step or two behind. As his foot rested on the lowest stair of the vault he felt once again the Hand laid for a moment heavily on his shoulder-he heard once again the Voice whisper in his ear.

"Come."

He shivered involuntarily. Involuntarily he turned half round, as he always did at such times, although he knew quite well that there was nothing to be seen. No: the coffin lay there as they had left it a minute ago, untouched, unmoved. But it was not his voice-not the voice of him who lay sleeping so peacefully there-that haunted the ear of Kester St. George, and filled his life with a dread unspeakable. It was the voice of the man, who had been done to death so foully at Park Newton, that whispered to him thus often out of his untimely shroud.

He

Some hours later, as Richard Dering was crossing the entrance-hall of the villa, a low voice called his name from an upper floor. looked up and saw Edith's earnest face shining down upon him. "Are they gone-the two officers of police ?" she asked. "They left the villa two hours ago."

"Thank Heaven for that!" she said, fervently.

what of him ?”

"And Kester,

"He will take his leave immediately after dinner. He has declined Uncle Arthur's invitation to stay all night."

"You will have to see him again before he goes?"

'Yes-just for a minute or two. I shall not dine with him."

"Be careful."

"There is not the slightest cause for fear. But here he comes." Edith's eyes met his for a moment, her lips broke into a smile; and she disappeared just as Kester St. George opened the glass door that led from the garden into the villa.

(To be continued.)

AT THE SCILLY ISLANDS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "A NIGHT IN A MONASTERY."

HE Scilly Islands must have been known as well, probably much

better, in that far-off "once-upon-a-time," than they are to-day. Indeed, in the present day ninety-nine people out of a hundred that you meet with first ask you where they are, and secondly, what they are like. The ancients came over the sea to them, as they did to Cornwall, to enrich their coffers, and increase their pride. To-day, in place of tin and precious metal, the islands confer benefit upon mankind by sending abroad shoals of mackerel, acres of potatoes, and such like commodities : productions that in comparison with their old treasures are as commonplace as are our own days when compared with the glory of the Greeks and Romans.

By the Greeks the Scilly Islands were called Hesperides and Cassiterides Sellinæ and Siluriæ Insulæ by the Romans. The present name, Scilly, is said to have been originally written Sully, Sulley, or Silya. They were occasionally used by the Romans as a place of banishment; but their first mention in history is in the reign of Athelstan, in the tenth century. In the reign of Edward the Confessor the islands belonged to Tavistock Abbey, a portion being held on condition of their paying the king a rent of three hundred puffins. In about sixteen years' time they will return to the Duchy of Cornwall.

There are some forty islands in the group. Of these six are principal, and five of them only inhabited. The sixth, Sampson, gradually reduced its number to seven or eight people, who were then ordered to quit, and the island to remain henceforth deserted. The five inhabited islands are St. Mary's, Tresco, St. Martin, St. Agnes, and Bryher. The largest island contains sixteen hundred acres; the smallest ten. St. Mary's is by far the largest and most important. If by chance she sank into the water, and was seen no more, the others would soon cease to be known or heard of.

Next to St. Mary's the principal island is Tresco, where is the Abbey of the Lord Proprietor, and few persons think of visiting the islands without inspecting the celebrated gardens, which are open to the public. The whole of the islands at present belong to one proprietor, and are a source of considerable revenue. They appear to have been leased to the Godolphins in the reign of Elizabeth, and were rented by their representative, the Duke of Leeds, from 1800 to 1831, at a rent of £40 per annum. They then passed into the hands of Mr. Smith, who was called King Smith by the islanders. The government appears to be absolutely under the control of the proprietor, who, therefore, is in reality little less than a monarch in his own territories: able almost to

make and to break laws. Petty offences are tried on the Island of St. Mary's; but graver crimes, such as murder, when they occur, are sent over to be dealt with in Cornwall. In 1649 the islands were fortified

by Sir John Grenville; and in 1835 the pier and harbour of St. Mary's were constructed.

Sampson, some time ago, was abandoned. The next island, Bryher, contains over one hundred people; Tresco is next to St. Mary's in size, and contains about 300 inhabitants; but St. Mary's has a population of over 1500. This is the only island possessing any amount of animation and resource; the others might, to all appearance, have done well for Robinson Crusoe. The circumference of St. Mary's is about nine miles. The reader must not imagine from this word that the island is round; rather is it long and narrow; in the form of a horseshoe or crescent, but not a circle. The town of St. Mary's is called Hugh Town.

The Scilly Islands, comparatively speaking, have been little visited, and are little known; but the time will very possibly come when all this will be changed, and the Scilly Islands will be as frequented as are many other well-known places. This might even be considered a certainty, but for the thirty miles of sea which separate them from the mainland. Few places in England present greater advantages of climate than do the Scilly Islands, and this renders them particularly favourable to consumptive patients. But whilst our fashionable water. ing-places tax too heavily the light and slender purse of many invalids, the small expense attending a winter in Scilly places it within the reach of most. This is, of course, an advantage that would disappear by degrees if the islands became much visited. At present the inhabitants are sufficiently unsophisticated to be tolerably honest in their demands: though a person contemplating a long sojourn at St. Mary's should be careful to form his plans and not give in to demands which appear to him unreasonable.

St. Mary's is the only island at present to which visitors can resort : the only island of the group affording sufficient accommodation to make a sojourn agreeable or possible. And even here no one must expect to enter upon a very lively or animated existence. The snipe, woodcock, and sandpiper abound for those who are fond of shooting; and this, and fishing, are about all that is to be found in the way of amusement. There are many fine rocks, and, of course, magnificent sea views; ferns to be found for the botanist, and perhaps a few rare discoveries for the geologist. One rare specimen of the sea-spleenwart I obtained with difficulty; and the plant which heretofore had lived and revelled in view of the grand ocean, was transported to the very different air of London. Tended, but remaining apparently dead during the winter, it has sprung forth into fresh green beauty, only looking a little more delicate and refined than when it courted the sea

breezes of its rocky birthplace. In a quiet way, therefore, perhaps a sojourn at St. Mary's might be made interesting. But those who are in search of health must, for health's sake, be willing to make some sacrifice.

Perhaps no climate in England is so equal as that of the Scilly Islands, and it is this which renders them so peculiarly adapted to invalids. The climate is preserved from extremes of heat and cold; possessing in summer a mean temperature of 57 degrees, in winter of 45 an evenness regulated by an offshoot of the Gulf Stream, which washes the southern extremity of the coast. The air is soft and pure, and is said not to be relaxing; but this it is difficult to credit. man told me that he had come to the Scilly Islands as a last resource for consumption; had grown considerably better and returned to England; had fallen away again, and come back to the Scilly Islands,

One

where again he had improved. As he seemed able to live only here, he had taken up his abode at St. Mary's.

The Scilly Islands have been called "the Madeira of England," but they certainly possess not the luxuriant vegetation of that far-famed place. They are singularly deficient in trees; a fatal blot.

I touched ground with a curious feeling of being in a new world; amongst people of another globe: a feeling never before experienced even when treading for the first time the soil of a foreign country. As the inhabitants spoke English and looked English, it could only be attributed to the desolate and romantic situation of the islands: a spot so isolated, that when there you feel as if three thousand miles of ocean instead of thirty separated you from England.

Compared with the barrenness of the islands we had passed, St. Mary's, as we approached, looked of importance. Yet it betrayed a quaint, out-of-the-world aspect as we threaded the narrow, up-hill, unpaved thoroughfare which led to the inns.

We landed, without regret; and A.'s happiness at touching

terra firma was clouded only by the knowledge that it was impossible to get back again without undergoing a similar ordeal. There were two inns to choose from. Passing down the port, we made our way up the narrow, crooked street, which opened into a sort of triangle, probably called a square. A short ascent led us to the inn to which we had been recommended-Tregarthen's. After a few moments' parley and hesitation-for the inn, from its situation, promised to be somewhat close and stifling-we walked down the narrow garden path which led up to it, and secured rooms.

The house was old-fashioned, the rooms were small, low, and closely packed, as you often see them in old country inns; but they were clean, and as our stay was not likely to be a long one, we were satisfied. A great drawback was that we had no view from any of the windows. Our sitting-room looked on to the garden through which we had just passed. A. and B.'s bedroom had a prospect of chimney-pots; mine revelled in a narrow slip of back ground. The sea was quite shut out. In other respects we found ourselves comfortable; and the people of the inn civil and obliging.

Tregarthen's is the oldest inn in the island, and is by many considered the best, perhaps for this reason. But on the top of the hill-within a few minutes' walk of Tregarthen's—another inn has of late sprung up. The building, originally intended for barracks, is more substantial and modern than Tregarthen's; more airy and bracing; and the seaview from its windows must be extremely fine. Between these two we hesitated. Had we contemplated a longer sojourn we should have chosen the higher inn; but for a day or two the coziness of Tregarthen's, together with the strong recommendation we had received, turned the scale.

It was cozy enough, but luxuriated in an atmosphere called "stuffy" by maiden ladies of a certain age. Whilst the ladies withdrew to their room the landlord came up to pay his respects. He had been master of the boat running between the Scilly Islands and Penzance for forty years and pointed with some pride to a picture on the wall representing his ship in one of the most terrible gales ever recorded off the coast of Cornwall; during which, at the entrance to Penzance harbour, the boat swung completely round. "But we weathered the storm, sir," said the landlord, shaking his head. "No one thought we should do it, but we did. And the next morning, to commemorate the event, I went and bought that there instrument for my daughters," pointing to a piano religiously covered with green baize. He had had enough of the sea, and was enjoying a green and comfortable old age quietly on shore.

After a substantial meal, combining dinner and tea in one, we strolled away in the twilight on to the rampart, passing through the little star fort, over whose portal were the letters and date, E. R., 1593, showin