“Uncle Reuben, if you will only forgive me this once I promise faithfully never to touch the money-bag again; " and the culprit slowly trailed himself into the open space before his petrified relative as the ranks of the men fell apart to let him pass.

Both the partners seemed struck dumb, and Mr. Reuben Otley glared at his nephew with starting stony eyes. It was several minutes before he found a voice to speak, and when he could utter at last, all he said was, "What! are there two of you? Are you a thief, John?"

The lad, quaking and looking every inch a mean dastard, began to cry and excuse himself.

"No, master, there's not two of 'em," interposed Tom Aldin, gruffly. "The other did not put the money where it was found."

By this time Mr. Reuben Otley had recovered himself from his paralysis of surprise and worked himself into a passion.

"You base knave!" cried he, in a trembling tone; "did you try to screen yourself by implicating another? I will not listen to a word. You are my dear dead brother's son, but you shall not escape. Jem Driver, do what I bade you ! Use a vigorous arm; don't spare him!" And flinging open the door into the yard which adjoined the office, he drove his nephew forth, crying and entreating until the willing application of the whip changed his whine into a most dolorous howl.

Nobody lifted up a word for the thief; indeed one or two showed signs of enjoying his punishment until they saw the uncontrollable agonized working of his uncle's face. Every lash cut far deeper into his proud old heart than it did into the culprit's flesh it was terrible to see a man of his strong, hard character so moved. Indeed, he was stung in those feelings where he was most tender-in his love for his only relative, a lad who ought to have been bound to him by every sentiment of gratitude and affection, and in his public and often boasted reputation of a moral guardian to the young men under his care. The latter wound was, perhaps, the sorer of the two. Mr. Joshua Hawthorne was even more visibly stirred than his partner, and Pussy was as white as the well-starched kerchief folded over her bosom. The internal condition of that bosom was by no means to be envied, stabbed as it was metaphorically by old Tom Aldin's

significant glances. She felt sure that by some means or other he had witnessed her feat of the night before, and she writhed justly under his power of exposing her.

Jem Driver's arm must have ached before he was bidden to cease the merited punishment, and John Otley, bruised and sore, was permitted to slink out of sight. Mr. Joshua Hawthorne then took his partner's arm and led him away in silence, though neither of them could forbear looking after the whipped hound with a yearning of pity. They had grown into a habit of liking him, of boasting of his cleverness, and of regarding him as one of their successors in the firm; and his uncle, so to speak, never held up his head as proudly or was quite himself again after this disgrace. Pussy followed her master, scarcely able to realize that the morning's play was played out; but at the doorway she glanced stealthily back towards Tom Aldin, who was talking to Robert, and the shrewd malicious old fellow looked at her in return so blankly, that she could if she liked delude herself into the belief that her first fear was unfounded, and that he, like others who had been told of the discovery in Robert's box, would imagine that John Otley had conveyed the money there, when detection was at hand, to screen himself.

Tom was not troubled with any abstract ideas of justice, and not perceiving that John was any the worse off for bearing the weight of Pussy's crime in addition to his own, he said not a word on the matter, being determined to indemnify himself for previous disappointment by slow-torturing his feline-tempered foe for some time to come. A slight lifting of the eyebrow, a sidelong, significant glance, a twist of his ugly mouth, a single meaning word, were sufficient to double the speed of the respectable housekeeper's pulse, and to make her shake in her silver-buckled shoes. She would have been a far wiser, and in the long run a far happier woman, if she could have humbled herself to confess her sins to her master and to accept the inevitable disgrace. The purgatory Tom Aldin kept her in was a heavier punishment even for her guilt.

IX.

And she had yet more to endure than that. She underwent a frightful shock about a month after the grand scene of justice in the partner's room. It happened that Robert

Hawthorne mislaid or lost a favourite knife which, besides being a knife, was a corkscrew, a button-hook, and several other instruments, and in search of it he turned out upon his bedroom floor all the contents of that box into which Mrs. Eliotson had thrown the money abstracted from the desk. He did not find the missing article, but he found instead Pussy's pocket nutmeg-grater, about which he had repeatedly heard her making inquiries during the last few weeks. He was puzzled to conjecture how it could have come there, and carrying it down stairs into the parlour where his uncle was sitting before the big Bible ready to read family prayers when all the household were assembled, he offered it to Mrs. Eliotson, saying

"I found your nutmeg-grater in my box; I wonder how it got there. Uncle Joshua, do you know that John Otley persists in declaring that it was not he who hid the money in my box?"

"I have forbidden you to hold any communication with John Otley, Robert," replied the old man, mildly; "he who would do the one bad deed would do the other. A thief would have no scruples about shuffling off his guilt on the shoulders of an innocent person."

As his uncle was speaking Robert's eye rested on Pussy's face; she changed colour, and her hand jerked aimlessly about amongst the cups and saucers standing ready for breakfast. The master's words reassured her, and, putting her treacherous nutmeg-grater into its rightful receptacle, she said:

"I was arranging your clothes for you a little while since, and must have dropped it then. I wish you would try to keep your things more neatly, Robert; a boy of your age should seek to acquire tidy habits."

Mr. Joshua Hawthorne murmured acquiescence, and the two female servants of the house entering with a curtsey, prayers began. Robert knelt down in an extraordinary state of bewilderment, and never recovered his self-possession all through breakfast. A most outrageous suspicion had entered into his mind:

"I do believe," said he to himself, "that it was Pussy, and nobody else, who put that money into my box!

Meeting with a private opportunity during the morning, he actually mentioned his suspicions to old Tom Aldin, but Tom burst into a loud guffaw, and ironically advised him to give them full publicity by way of testing the housekeeper's

power of pious refutation in making such an accusation recoil upon himself. So Robert held his peace, and avenging fate still left Mistress Deborah Eliotson to the tender mercies of wicked old Tom Aldin.

Of the future what it cannot give them."-LONGFELLOW.

I.

MEANWHILE, Cyrus Hawthorne was away in London with Sir Philip Nugent. The lad was very happy in his new life, and wrote long, flourishing, affectionate accounts of it to his brother. He possessed a thousand luxuries and a thousand indulgences of which he was likely to feel only too keen an appreciation. There had been some idea of sending him to Eton or Harrow, but on further consideration, and for very obvious reasons, Sir Philip finally decided on giving him a home education. One Reverend Samuel Miles was elected to the office of his tutor, and that gentleman could have borne truthful testimony to the youngster's imperious temper as well as to his fine talents. Poor Mary Hawthorne had indulged her darling very much, and Sir Philip Nugent gave him no check. In fact, he soon conceived for him an overweening pride and affection. Cyrus possessed those gifts of nature which attract love in an uncommon degree.

His brother's letter showed Robert an immense contrast between their two lives. Cyrus was in the height of prosperity-seeing good company, free of a luxurious home, reaping the advantages of a careful education; while he was leading a plain, hard-working existence, exposed to the mean tyranny of Mistress Deborah Eliotson, and finding all his relaxation in a country walk with George Sancton. No wonder if he were inclined to think his brother had drawn the happier lot. It was not in a boastful spirit that Cyrus wrote, but he certainly did make the best of everything in those letters of his, though he had his mortifications and vexations much the same as

and

she betook herself to her pamphlets with that sense of ease repose which follows on the accomplishment of an arduous and dangerous task.

VIII.

The following day at a quarter before noon the great bell which warned the men at Messrs. Hawthorne and Co.'s to begin and leave off work, resounded through house, yard, and shops, and as previously concerted, every man and boy employed on the premises repaired to the private room of the head of the firm, each respectfully doffing his cap as he entered the presence of his masters. Old Tom Aldin came last, wearing a most sullen and aggrieved countenance, but his eyes brightened with a gay malignancy as he perceived Pussy, sleek of visage, and purring delightedly over the anticipated disgrace of her rival. He gave her a queer glance and a nod imperceptible except to herself, which made her colour waver a little and her pulse beat many degrees faster; but she immediately recovered herself and hurled him back a defiant stare, which only caused him to drop his chin upon his breast and laugh inaudibly. That gesture of his gave her a feeling of deadly sickness, and if an evil wish could have killed, Tom Aldin would at that moment have become the victim of an apoplectic seizure, and would never have spoken word more.

Mr. Reuben Otley had possession of the desk, and was evidently to be the spokesman of the assembly; for his elder partner sat in the great chair looking enfeebled and prostrate, and deaf even to the dulcet whispers of Pussy. Robert was grieved to see his uncle so ill. When he went near to inquire why it was, the old man waved him back impatiently, and averted his face, while the housekeeper launched at him a glance of the direst contempt.

"Are we all here?" began Mr. Reuben Otley, glancing from under his heavy black brows at the various expressions of wonderment and impatience depicted on the lines of faces before him. "Are we all here?"

Mr.

"Yes, sir, all,” replied Conny, who had silently checked off upon a list each individual as he entered the room. Reuben Otley cleared his sonorous voice, and recommenced"You are gathered for a solemn purpose—an event has occurred, a crime has been committed under this roof such