Pleydell full on the head. Then, because he had a young wife and child at home, he pushed his way through the struggling crowd and ran away in the darkness. As he ran he could hear his late adherents dispersing in al! directions, like sheep before a dog. He heard a voice calling: "Alfred! Alfred!" And Horner, who an hour-nay, ten minutes-earlier had had no thought of violence, ran his fastest along the road His by which he had lately come. heart was as water within his breast, and his staring eyes played their part mechanically. He did not fall, but he and had no saw nothing, notion whither he was running. Alfred Pleydell lay quite still on the lawn in front of his father's house. CHAPTER II. ANOTHER REAPS. "Attempt the end and never stand in doubt." During the course of a harum-scarum youth in the city of Dublin certain persons had been known to predict that Mr. Frederick Conyngham had a future before him. Mostly pleasantspoken Irish persons, these, who had the racial habit of saying that which is likely to be welcome. Many of them added, "The young divil," under their breath, in a pious hope of thereby cleansing their souls from guilt. is "I suppose I'm idle, and what worse, I know I'm a fool!" said Fred himself to his tutor, when that gentleman, with a toleration which was undeserved, took him severely to task before sending him up for the Bar examination. The tutor said nothing, but he suspected that this, his wildest pupil, was no fool. Truth to tell, Frederick Conyngham had devoted little thought to the matter of which he spoke-namely, himself, and was perhaps none the worse for that. A young man who thinks too often usually falls into the error of also thinking too much of himself. The examination was, however, safely passed, and in due course Frederick was called to the Irish Bar, where a Queen's Council, with an accent like rich wine, told him that he was now a gintelman, and entitled so to call himself. All these events were left behind, and Conyngham, sitting alone in his rooms in Norfolk Street, Strand, three days after the breaking of Sir John Pleydell's windows, was engaged realizing that the predicted future was still in every sense before him, and in no wise nearer than it had been iu his mother's lifetime. in mur The realization of an unpleasant fact disturb his appeared in no way to equanimity, for as he knocked his pipe against the bars of the fire he mured a popular air in a careless voice. The firelight showed his face to be pleasant enough, in a way that left the land of his birth undoubted. Blue eyes, quick and kind, a square chin, closely curling hair, and square shoulders bespoke an Irishman. Something, however, in the cut of his lipssomething close and firm-suggested an admixture of Anglo-Saxon blood. The man looked as if he might have had an English mother. It was, perhaps, this formation of the mouth that had led those pleasant-spoken persons to name to his relatives their conviction that Conyngham had a future before him. The best liars those who base their fancy upon fact. They knew that the thoroughbred Irishman has usually a cheerful enough life benot that which is fore him, but vaguely called a future. Fred Conyngham looked like a man who could hold to his purpose, but at this mohad the unfortunate ment he also appearance of not possessing one to hold to. are He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and held the hot brier bowl against the ear of a sleeping fox-terrier, which animal growled, without moving, in a manner that suggested its possession of a sense of humor, and a full comprehension of the harmless practical joke. A moment later the dog sat up and listened with an interest that gradually increased, until the door opened "Ah! sit down. What have you been know are bankrupts or no better. doing up there? tub-thumping?" Horner came forward and sat down in the chair indicated. He looked five years older than when he had last been there. Conyngham glanced at his friend, who was staring into the fire. "Edith all right?" he asked carelessly. "Yes." "And-the little chap?" Conyngham glanced at his companion again. Horner's eyes had the hard look that comes from hopelessness; his lips were dry and white. He wore the air of one whose stake in the game of life was heavy, who played that game nervously. For this was an ambitious man, with wife and child whom he loved. Conyngham's attitude toward Fate was in strong contrast. He held his head up and faced the world without encumbrance, without a settled ambition, without any sense of responsibility at all. The sharp-eyed dog on the hearth-rug looked from one to the other. A moment before the atmosphere of the room had been one of ease and comfortable assurance-an atmosphere that some men, without any warrant or the justification of any personal suc cess or distinction, seem to carry with them through life. Since Horner had crossed the threshold the ceaseless hum of life in the streets seemed to be nearer, the sound of it louder in the room; the restlessness of that great strife stirred the air. The fox-terrier laid himself on the hearth-rug again, but instead of sleeping watched his two human companions. Look at me-never a brief; literary contributions returned with thanks; balance at the bank, seventeen pounds ten shillings; balance in hand, none; debts, the Lord only knows! Look at me, I'm happy enough." "Yes; you're a lonely devil." Conyngham looked at his friend with inquiry in his gay eyes. "M-m! perhaps so. I live alone, if that is what you mean. But as for being lonely-no, hang it! I have plenty of friends, especially at dividend times." "You have nobody depending on you," said Horner, with the irritability of sorrow. "Because nobody is such a fool. On the other hand, I have nobody to care a twopenny curse what becomes of me. Same thing, you see, in the end. Come, man, cheer up. Tell me what is wrong. Seventeen pounds ten shillings is not exactly wealth, but if you want it, you know it is there. Eh?" "I do not want it, thanks," replied the other. "Seventeen hundred would be no good to me." He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the fire. "Read that," he said at length, and handed Conyngham a cutting from a daily newspaper. The younger man read without apparent interest an account of the Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir John Pleydell's house. "Yes," he commented; "the usual thing. Brave words followed by a cowardly deed. What in the name of fortune you were doing in that galère, you yourself know best. If these are politics, Horner, I say drop them. Politics are a stick, clean enough at the top, but you've got hold of wrong end. Young Pleydell was hurt, I see 'seriously, it is feared.'" tne "Yes!" said Horner significantly, and his companion, after a quick look of surprise, read the slip of paper carefully a second time. was thinking. Horner, indeed, had his own thoughts, perhaps of the fireside -modest enough, but happy as love Then he looked up and met Horner's and health could make it, upon which eyes. "Gad!" he exclaimed, in a whisper. Horner said nothing. The dog moved restlessly, and for a moment the whole world-that sleepless world of the streets-seemed to hold its breath. his own ambition had brought down in upon these "And if he dies?" said Conyngham the door of Paradise. Conyngham broke at length. "Exactly so," answered the other, meditations with a laugh. "I have it!" he cried. "It's as simwith a laugh of scaffold mirth. ple as the alphabet. This paper says it was a barrister, a man from London, a malcontent, felon-a coward. a Dammy, Geoff, that's me." Conyngham turned in his chair, and sat with his elbows on his knees, his face resting on his closed fists, staring at the worn old hearth-rug. Thus they remained for some minutes. "What are you thinking asked Horner at length. He leapt to his feet. "Get out of the about?" way, Jim!" he cried to the dog, pushing the animal aside and standing on the hearth-rug. "Nothing; got nothing to think with, you know that, Geoffrey. Wish I had; never wanted it as I do at this moment. I'm no good, you know that. You must go to some one with brains, some clever devil." "Listen to this," he went on. "This thing, like the others, will blow over. It will be forgotten in a week. Ansay, In other meeting will be held, South Wales, more windows will be cracked, and Chester-le-Street (Godforsaken place; never heard of it) will be forgotten." As he spoke he turned and took up broken, another young man's head the paper again, reading the paragraph slowly and carefully. Horner looked at him with a breathless hunger in his eyes. At some moments it is a crime to think, for we never know but that thought may be transmitwhis ted without SO much as a per. "The miners were accompanied by a gentleman from London," Conyngham read aloud, "a barrister, it is supposed, whose speech was a feature at the Chester-le-Street meeting. This gentleman's name is quite unknown, nor has his whereabouts yet been discovered. His sudden disappearance lends likelihood to the report that this unknown agitator actually struck the blow which injured Mr. Alfred Pleydell. Every exertion is being put forth by the authorities to trace the man, who is possibly a felon and certainly Horner sat looking at the young Irishman with hollow eyes, his lips twitching, his fingers interlocked. There is nothing makes so complete a coward of a man as a woman's love. Conyngham laughed as the notion unfolded itself in his mind. He might, as he himself had said, be of no great brain power, but he was, at all events, a man, and a brave one. He stood a full six foot, and looked down at his companion, who sat white-faced and shrinking. "It is quite easy," he said, for me to disappear in such a manner as to arouse suspicion. I have nothing to keep me here. My briefs-well, the solicitor-general can have 'em! I have no ties-nothing to keep me in any part of the world. When young Pleydell is on his feet again, and a few more windows have been broken, and nine days have elapsed, the wonder will give place to another, and I can return to my-practice." "I couldn't let you do it." "Oh, yes, you could," said Conyngham, with the quickness of his race to spy out his neighbor's vulnerable point. "For the sake of Edith and the little devil." Horner sat silent, and after a moment Conyngham went on. "All we want to do is to divert suspicion from you now, to put them on a false scent, for they must have one of some sort. When they find that they cannot catch me they will forget all about it." Horner shuffled in his seat. This was nothing but detection of the thoughts that had passed through his own mind. "It is easy enough done," went on the Irishman. “A paragraph here and there in some of the newspapers; a few incriminating papers left in these rooms. which are certain to be searched. I have a bad name-an Irish dog goes about the world with a rope round his neck. If I am caught, it will not be for some time, and then I can get out of it somehow-an alibi or something. I'll get a brief, at all events. By that time the scent will be lost, and it will be all right. Come, Geoff, cheer up! A man of your sort ought not to be thrown by a mischance like this." He stood with his legs apart, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, a gay laugh on his lips, and much discernment in his eyes. “Oh, d-n Edith!" he added, after a pause, seeing that his efforts met with no response. "D-n that child! You used to have some pluck, Horner." Horner shook his head and made no answer, but his very silence was a point gained. He no longer protested nor raised any objection to his companion's harebrained scheme. The thing was feasible, and he knew it. Conyngham went on to set forth his plans, which, with characteristic rapidity of thought, he evolved as he spoke. "Above all," he said, "we must prompt. I must disappear to-night; the paragraphs must be in to-morrow's papers. I think I'll go to Spain. The Carlists seem to be making things lively there. You know, Horner, I was never meant for a wig and gown; there's no doubt about it. I shall have a splendid time of it out there." He stopped, meeting a queer look in Horner's eyes, who sat leaning forward and searching his face with jealous glance. "I was wondering," said the other, with a pale smile, "if you were ever in love with Edith." "No, my good soul, I was not," answered Conyngham, with perfect carelessness; "though I knew her long before you did." He paused, and a quick thought flashed through his mind that some men are seen at their worst in adversity. He was ready enough to find excuses for Horner, for men are strange in the gift of their friendship, often giving it where they know it is but illdeserved. He rattled on with unbroken gaiety, unfolding plans which in their perfection of detail suggested a previous experience in outrunning the constable. While they were still talking a mutual friend came in, a quick-spoken man, already beginning to be known as a fournalist of ability. They talked of indifferent topics for some time. Then the newcomer said jerkily:-"Heard the news?" "No," answered Conyngham. "Alfred Pleydell, young fellow who resisted the Chartist rioters in Durham, died yesterday morning." Frederick Conyngham had placed himself in front of Horner, who was still seated in the low chair by the fire. He found Horner's toe with his heel. "Is that so?" he said gravely. "Then I'm off." "What do you mean?" asked the journalist, with a quick look; the man had the manner of a ferret. "Nothing, only I'm off; that's all, old man. And I cannot ask you to stay this evening, you understand, because be I have to pack." He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but still had his hand over his face. "Got any money, Geoff?" he asked. "Yes; I have twenty pounds, if you want it," answered the other, in a strangely hoarse voice. I do want it-badly." The journalist had taken up his hat and stick. He moved slowly toward the door, and there pausing saw Horner pass the bank-notes to Conyngham. "You had better go, too," said the Irishman. "You two are going in the same direction, I know." Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him toward the door. "See him home, Blake," he said. "Old Horner has the blues to-night." From Blackwood's Magazine. FORTY-ONE YEARS IN INDIA.1 The forty-one years over which Lord Roberts's Eastern career extended have witnessed enormous changes in British India. The increase of territory alone has been considerable. The consolidation of power within those extended fimits, and the increasing guarantees for its continuance, are equally conspicuous features of the history of that period. The value of Lord Roberts's book to the ordinary reader, who is not equally interested with the military student in the wonderfully graphic and detailed accounts of military movements, and of the terrible encounters through which our race had to struggle in order to maintain the empire which our forefathers had won, lies in this. that it brings home to his mind the conditions under which British power in India has been developed in the past and has to be maintained in the future, The period opens, as it closes, with a handful of Englishmen administering the affairs and regulating down to the minutest detail the government of mil 1 Forty-one years in India. By Field-Marshal Lord Roberts of Kandahar. In 2 vols. London: Richard Bentley & Sons. 1897. lions of their fellow-creatures, alien in race and religion and the habits of life. It is dominated by one great overwhelming event, which, however many centuries our rule may endure, must always be regarded as the great crisis of its history the Indian Mutiny, the great rebellion of the native army, which we had armed and trained and disciplined. According to all reasonable calculation of probabilities, British power should have been swept, if not out of India entirely, at all events from the larger portion of it. The story of the spread of that rebellion, of the manner in which it was confronted, and of the manner in which it was crushed, must always be one of the most sensational episodes in the history of the world. Even the marvellous story of the original rise and progress of the empire of the East India Company is of less interest than this stirring narrative of successful resistance to its overthrow. If the day should ever come when, as some statesmen predict, Great Britain and Russia will join in mortal combat for its possession, one can hardly imagine that even a conflict of those gigantic dimensions would give rise to deeds of heroism, or to more conspicmore thrilling scenes of strife, to greater uous triumphs of audacity, endurance, and skill. Be that as it may, the Mutiny is the important date at which the whole character of our relations with India underwent a change. It marks the period at which great organic government by a company ceased, and direct sovereignty was assumed by the stant that the Mutiny was suppressed. queen, which was proclaimed the inboth governors and governed the stern And it brought home to the minds of lations to one another. It put an end at realities of the position, and of their reonce, and let us hope forever, to that self-satisfied sense of security in which the former had so fatally indulged; it compelled the conviction that, however latter may be, power rests ultimately apparently submissive and pliant the on military supremacy; and it led to a clearer sense of the conditions under which alone their fidelity may be relied |