and the escape; and finished by telling him how Lionel, under the name of the Rev. Horace Brown, was at that moment hidden safely away among the Cumberland hills.

The old soldier listened to the narrative in open-mouthed wonder. To him it was like a story out of the "Arabian Nights '-a veritable chapter of romance.

He thanked Tom Bristow over and over again, in his warm-hearted, impulsive way, for the services he had rendered his dear boy.

"But we have now to consider the future," said Tom when he had brought his narrative up to date.

"Ay; just so.

But what about the future?" asked General St. George, with a puzzled look.

"Simply this," answered Tom. "As matters stand at present, Dering's life is one of perpetual dread and uncertainty. He never feels sure from day to day that before nightfall his hiding-place may not be discovered, or his disguise penetrated, and he himself taken into custody as an escaped murderer. Such a life, in time, would become utterly unbearable—would, in fact, be enough to drive a man insane,or to give himself up to the police in utter despair."

"I see it all. Poor boy! poor boy!

"It would, therefore, seem that, in order to escape so wretched a fate, only one course is left open to Dering: and that is, to put the width of the ocean between himself and his pursuers. The width of half a world if possible."

"I should go with him wherever he went," said the General with a tear in the corner of his eye. "I could not bear to let him go again."

"In some remote nook of the New World, where the nearest city is a hundred miles away, with his wife on one hand and you on the other to love and care for him, Lionel Dering, like a storm-tossed ship that has reached a happy haven at last, might live out the remainder of his days in quiet happiness; without any haunting dread that his past life would ever become known, or that he would ever be touched on the shoulder by any other hand than that of a friend."

"Yes-yes; living out in the bush, or something of that kind, is what you mean," said the old soldier, excitedly. "I've camped out in the jungle many a time, and know what it is. It's not such a bad sort of life when you get used to it. Why not get Li to sail next week? I'm an old campaigner, and could have my rattletraps ready in a few hours."

"But to go away thus," resumed Tom, " with the red stain of murder clinging to his name; with the foul conspiracy to destroy him still unravelled; with his wrongs unavenged; is what Lionel Dering will never consent to do. And I confess that, were I in his place, my feelings in the matter would be very similar to his. He has set before himself one great object in life, and he will never rest til he has

accomplished it. And that is-to track out and bring to punishment the real murderer of Percy Osmond."

"But-but what can he do?" faltered the General.

"It seems to

m ethat his predicament is such that he is quite powerless to help himself, or to take any action whatever in his own interests."

"But

"At the first glance it would naturally seem so,” said Tom. some of the difficulties which surround his case, as it stands at present, may, perhaps, be got over by a little ingenuity. I am going to put before you a certain scheme which may, or may not, meet with your approbation. Should you not approve of it, it will have to be at once abandoned, as it will be impossible to carry it out without your active help and co-operation."

"My dear Mr. Bristow, you have told me enough this morning to induce me to promise beforehand that any scheme you may put before me, which has for its basis the welfare of Lionel, will meet with my heartiest support. No man could have proved himself a better friend

to my dear boy than you have done. Your wishes are my law."

After satisfying himself that there were no eavesdroppers about, Tom proceeded to lay before General St. George the details of a scheme which he had been elaborating in his brain for several days, and which, in outline, had been already agreed to by Lionel.

When Tom ceased speaking, the old soldier mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was hot and nervous with excitement. "Your scheme is certainly a most extraordinary one," he said; "but I have faith in your ability to carry it out. I need hardly say that you may depend upon my doing my best in every way to second your designs."

Tom stayed and dined with the General, and went back to London by the night mail.

One result of the interview was that the General decided on not returning to England for some time to come. Lionel and his wife were to join him in a little while at some place on the Continent, not yet fixed upon. Meantime, he would rest quietly in Paris, and there await further instructions from Tom.

The General had obtained Kester St. George's address from Mr. Perrins, and about a week after Tom's visit he wrote to his nephew, telling him where he was, and asking him to go over and see him in Paris. The invitation was one which Kester obeyed with alacrity. He had always held firmly to the belief that his Uncle Arthur was a comparatively rich man. Now that Lionel was out of the way, and with so terrible an accusation still hanging over him, what more natural or likely than that he should replace Lionel in his uncle's affections and have his own name substituted in place of that of his cousin in his uncle's will ?

Kester flung black care to the winds as he climbed the staircase that

led to his uncle's apartments in Paris.

He put on his most winning smile, his most genial manner, as another man might pull on a pair of easy-fitting gloves. A servant opened the door: and

-there was his

:

uncle seated in an invalid chair at the far end of the room. Kester sprang forward. "My dear uncle—” he began and then he stopped. There was something in the eyes of the old soldier that chilled his enthusiasm in a moment.

The General extended two lean, frigid fingers, and motioned to him to sit down. "Pray be seated," he said. "I am not well, and I hate

scenes." Kester sat down without a word.

General St. George, after deliberately rubbing his spectacles with his handkerchief, placed them across his nose, and proceeded to take a steady survey of his nephew.

Kester fidgeted a little under the ordeal, but smiled and tried to appear pleased.

"You don't look so young as when I saw you last," said his uncle.

66

Eight years make a difference in the appearance of most men," said Kester, "and London life is very wearing."

"No doubt it is," said the veteran, drily, "But that any absolute necessity exists for you to live in London is more than I was aware of before."

"No absolute necessity, perhaps, does exist. Yet I confess that, except by way of a brief change now and again, life to me anywhere else would soon become unendurable."

And now he spoke "You look as if you had some secret care

"You look prematurely old, sir-prematurely old," said the General severely. His spectacles were across his nose again by this time, and he was again looking Kester steadily in the face. in a voice that was low, stern, and impressive. had a burden on your mind: you look as if you that was eating away your very life. unhappy man!"

Kester St.

George, you are an

A shiver ran through him from

Kester's colour came and went. head to foot. He pressed one hand for a moment across his eyes. Then he laughed a forced, hollow laugh.

66

"After not

Really, sir, you are rather hard on me," he said. seeing you for eight years, this is scarcely the greeting I anticipated from you. You have called me an unhappy man. Granting that I am one, am I any exception to the ordinary run of my fellow mortals? Show me the man who is really happy-who has no skeleton locked up in the secret closet of his heart!

"Kester St. George, what have you done with your cousin, Lionel Dering ?"

Kester started to his feet, his eyes staring, his hands trembling. A spasm, that was gone almost before it had come, contorted his face for a moment strangely.

"Before heaven, General St. George, I don't know what you are driving at !" he cried, in tones that were husky from excitement.

"I

am not my cousin's keeper, that you should ask me what I have done with him."

"Then it was not you who assisted him to escape from prison?" "I! No-certainly not."

"And yet I said it could be no one but you," said the General, half sadly. "And you don't know what has become of him? You cannot tell me where to find him now?"

"I have no more knowledge of my cousin's whereabouts than you have, sir."

"How I have been mistaken! When I read the account of Lionel's extraordinary escape, I said to myself, This is Kester's doing. Kester knew that his cousin was innocent, and it is he who has helped him to escape."

"You honoured me in your thoughts far more highly than I deserved. I stated all along my belief in my cousin's innocence, but I had certainly no hand in planning his escape."

But, at all events, you saw him frequently while he was in prison? You were there as his friend, helper, and adviser? How did he bear his imprisonment? Did he speak of me?"

Again Kester's colour came and went.

"I was

"I never saw my cousin while he was in prison," he said, in a low voice. suffering severely from illness during the whole time. I was confined to my own rooms, and forbidden to stir out of doors on any account."

"You were well enough, sir, to find your way to your club within a week of the date of your cousin's trial. You were not too ill to play whist with Colonel Lexington, and win fifty guineas from that gentleman by betting on the odd trick. You were not afraid of walking home afterwards through the cold streets with a cigar in your mouth." All this had been told General St. George by Colonel Lexington himself an old military friend, who had called upon him two or three days previously.

Kester St. George glared at his uncle as if he would gladly have annihilated him. But the old soldier gave him back look for look, and the younger man's eyes quickly fell. With a muttered curse, he pushed aside his chair, and strode to the window. Then he turned.

"General St. George, I will be frank with you," he said. "There was never any love lost between Lionel Dering and myself. However deeply shocked I might be that such a foul crime should be laid to his charge, however strong might be my belief in his innocence, I could not-no, I could not-go near him when he lay in prison. He wanted no help or advice from me. He would not have thanked me for prof

fering them. I would not play the hypocrite's part, and I did not go near him."

"Your candour is really refreshing," answered the General. "Since you have no tidings to give me of my nephew, I am sorry to have brought you so far from home. If you will accept this little cheque in payment of your expenses, I shall esteem it a favour.”

Kester came a step or two nearer and held out his hands appealingly. "Uncle—are we to part in this way?" he said, not without a ring of pathos in his voice.

“And why should we not part in this way, Mr. St. George?"

"I know, sir, that I was never a favourite with you," answered Kester, bitterly. "I know that I can never hope to stand as high in your regards as my cousin Lionel stood; but I did not know till this moment that I should ever be insulted by an offer such as the one you have just made me. I did not know till now that I should be dismissed like the veriest stranger that ever crossed your threshold !"

Not a muscle of General St. George's face stirred in answer to this appeal the hard, cold light in his eyes never wavered for a moment. He distrusted his nephew thoroughly, and he dealt with him as he would have dealt with a wily Asiatic.

"If you feel that my offer of a cheque is an insult," he said, "I retract the insult by replacing the cheque in my pocket. As regards treating you like a stranger, I have no intention of doing that, although I might just remind you that you and I are, in fact, very little more than strangers to each other: still, I do not forget that you are my nephew. I asked you to come and see me, in the expectation that you would be able to give me some tidings of Lionel Dering, just as I should have sent for Lionel Dering in the expectation that he would have been able to give me some tidings of you, had your position and his been reversed. You have not been able to give me the news I wanted, why then need I detain you here? Are you anxious to become a hanger-on to a querulous invalid? No, Kester St. George, that is not the kind of life that would suit you—or me either. Stay in Paris or go back to London, as may please you best. When I want you again, I will send for you. Meanwhile you may rest fully assured

that I shall not forget you."

"I suppose it must be as you wish, sir," said Kester, humbly. "May I ask whether it is your intention to make any very long stay in Paris ?"

"If my strength increases as it has done during the last few days, I shall not stay here more than another fortnight at the most."

"When we get you back again in England, sir, I trust there will be no objection to my calling on you rather oftener than I shall be able to do while you stay abroad."

"My doctor tells me that I must not think of crossing the Channel