in consequences absolutely incapable of being divined by the shrewdest reader; in consequences at which the present historian has never ceased to be surprised. What ultimately happened to Jack from the chase of his errant head-gear never occurred to any human being before, and will, in all mathematical probability, never occur again till the universe dissolves like the baseless fabric of a vision.

CHAPTER V.

THE VAGARIES OF A HAT.

JACK toiled along the shore, his eyes bent upon a light, volant object that respectfully "kept its distance.' He was as much impeded as helped by his feet, for they stuck every now and again into the viscous sand. Such little accidents passed almost unperceived by a man who was busily investigating the subtleties of the ancient puzzle of Achilles and the Tortoise in relation to Eleatic monism generally. But suddenly a negative consciousness that the quarry was invisible caused him to stop. Raising his eyes he beheld the hat descending after a lofty rise. He was still watching it as it described an irregular curve, almost grazing the side of the cliff, when hey presto! it disappeared with spectral rapidity. The painter rubbed his eyes, but the hat did not reappear. In nihil nihil fit; he rushed to the vanishing point of the curve and discovered the solution. At about four feet from the ground he saw a large gap in the chalk, which turned out to be the mouth of a greenish cleft that got narrower and narrower internally till one could barely pass an arm through it, and ended externally in a perpendicular surface. Nearly two and a half feet to the left he noticed a strangely-formed cleft, smaller than the first, but ending in a similar abrasion, and at the same distance above was a rough, narrow split connecting laterally the upper extremities of the two clefts. How far the cliff was hollowed out by the action of the waves he could not determine. Peering into the cavity, he encountered thick darkness; but this was of course explicable as the effect either of an ultimate snapping-together of the jaws of the crevice or of a bend in its formation. The recovery of his headgear was evidently hopeless-it would lie entombed till the rare opportunity should occur of taking the tide at the flood, and rising into the daylight on the crest of mighty waves such as had originally carved out the curiously jagged mouth of its prison. Failing this, or in the event of new geological changes such as subsidence of portions of the cliff, what æons might it not remain buried? And what revolutionary effects upon the biology of the dim future might not be produced by the discovery of its fossilised remains? "One more failure," sighed Jack. "Thus sinks the Ideal in the depths of modern materialism. Is this an omen that I shall fail always-that action is impossible to me? Would Bruce have

tried again if he were in my position?" He leaned upon the cliff, which sloped at an angle of sixty, and inserted his right hand with an infinitesimal hope that he might yet find his hat wedged lower down in the rock. His progress was soon arrested by the narrowing of the cleft, his bare arm being unable to penetrate farther than an inch above the elbow on account of the bulging of his coat-sleeve at that point. While he was in despair, a sudden gust of wind that sported with his uncovered silky locks reminded him afresh of the many discomforts of the inevitable journey to Broadstairs, where he would probably find hatters existing to serve as a standard of insanity, and for other useful purposes. With a doggedness worthy of better hats he threw off his coat, as if for a bout with Fortune. Placing the stylishly-cut garment of light tweed on one side, he made another attempt. To insert his arm to its full extent, it was necessary to lie flat upon the calcareous declivity. The hand was thus just enabled to make the vermicular bend which the conformation of the tunnel rendered necessary, and the long, taper fingers groped about in the rock like so many small serpents.

It was the position of one who, with bated breath, draws the lot which means to him Life or Death.

Pause, O unconscious Jack, and desist from thy hopeless task while there is yet time! Better were it for thee to return hatless or shoeless, nay, it were even better for thee, disciple of Burke though thou beest, to return a Sans-culotte than to stay and face thy swift-advancing fate.

Let the reader who doubts the desirability of this last alternative remember that the present historian is a Cassandra who never prophesies unless he knows.

For suddenly a strange click was heard, followed by a mysterious rumbling. The whole cliff seemed to Jack's excited imagination to be whirling round. He grew dizzy and blind. After what appeared a. age of confused consciousness, his brain grew clearer and he felt a vague, heavy pain in his right arm. He moved it, and it slipped along a rough surface, grazing the skin and drawing blood in places. An instant afterwards he found himself falling down a frightful abyss. The descent occupied about one-twentieth of a second; and much to his surprise he alighted safely on his feet with a soft splash. Looking about in a dazed fashion, he discovered rays of light streaming through two irregular, but somewhat funnel-shaped openings, the larger being on his left. Behind him the walls of the small cavern drew together, curved round to the right, and ended in total darkness. In a moment the horrible truth burst upon him. By some inexplicable convulsion of Nature, the cliff had opened and closed again upon him, and he was buried alive till the tide should enter the cavity. At the same instant he trod upon

his hat.

“ "Fit emblem of human life, of the Victor conquered by Death, of the vanity of human wishes," he murmured with pale lips, which, however, did not tremble. "The only time in my life I have

f

been successful in Action, comes Death on my track.

would have chosen a less lingering death. Yet, I shall have time for meditation before passing into eternity, and soon enough the tide will cover me." He spread his hands over his eyes.

"Is this the end of all my life of struggle-of all my search for Truth-to die in this cave? What, if from this cave I find Truth at last with Plato, after my lifelong seeing of shadows? My place on earth will soon be filled soon be filled?

66

He smiled sadly. May he be happier in it than I.
No one will ever know what has

I am quite resigned.

become of me. Poor Jack Dawe!

No one will grieve for me.

No one ever cared for me-Gwendolen !"

As the last name issued from his lips, the painter, inconsistent to the last, made a furious rush at the rocky wall of his prison and dashed himself against it with all his might. Alas, the stony mass gave not the slightest quiver.

A sharp cry broke from the hapless man :

"I die unforgiven, I die unforgiven, the death of a coward—in dishonour!"

He fell upon his knees.

CHAPTER VI.

IN THE LIONS' DEN.

THE unfortunate Jack Dawe had barely assumed the humble attitude of genuflexion, accompanied by closed eyelids, when he heard a repetition of the rumbling sound. Instantaneously, conflicting possibilities set bis brain in a whirl. Evidently the landslip or the internal struggle of pent-up forces, or whatever geological change was taking place, had not yet ceased. He would be overwhelmed by falling masses, or wedged between contracting portions of cliff. Well, perhaps it was better to die at once than to endure the protracted agony of an Andromeda. But what if the cliff in labour gave birth, not to a mouse but to a painter, and hurled him into free space; or created a new and broad opening; or widened the existing fissure sufficiently to allow of his escape?

Before he had time to open his eyes fairly or rise to his feet, he was almost stunned by the occurrence of the first of the alternatives which, subdivided as it was into two variants, came to pass in both forms contemporaneously. He experienced simultaneously the shock of a heavy body falling upon him and the feeling of compression as in a vice between two firm masses. He fell backwards, giving himself up for lost. His head struck against the wall of the cave with that deadened concussion caused by the transmission of force through some intervening medium; which, in this case, was singularly soft.

"Curse ye for an awkward divil, whoever you are!" crie

the medium, which possessed a hoarse voice and a strong Irish brogue.

Jack's heart beat furiously and he opened his eyes.

The medium had risen to its feet, and Jack caught a momentary glimpse of a coarse, pock-marked, but not ill-dressed man of about fifty, with a red scarf round his throat.

"Is there a way out," cried Jack eagerly, "or are you lost too?" The man whistled reflectively and turned pale. "What's the time?" he inquired.

"The time?" repeated Jack. "Is the tide

Quick as lightning the man whisked the red scarf off his throat and tied Jack's arms tightly to his sides. Before the astonished painter could remonstrate, he found himself gagged and blindfolded. He had only time to draw a few laborious breaths through the unaccustomed channel of his nose, when the mysterious sounds, already twice the herald of the unexpected, were heard a third time. With a rough turn and a growl of "Get out of the way, ye omadhaun!" his captor whirled him round and sent him staggering along for what seemed a far greater distance than the entire length or breadth of the cave. Still he retained as much calmness as was compatible with the rapid changes in his situation.

"Is it possible that I have fallen into a den of smugglers?" he thought. It would seem that this is an artificial cave, or one with an artificial entrance. But I don't suppose I've fallen from the frying-pan into the fire. They will merely exact an oath of secresy, I suppose. They won't murder an inoffensive stranger. Poor Southleigh, I know how the revenue worries him. Ought I to take this oath? 'Tis wrong; but it would be in self-defence. And what says the honourable Cicero, after Panætius, in his 'De Officiis'? Ah, Casuist, Casuist, thou knowest how thou wouldst dull thy moral sense to see her once more." He ceased from all definite reflection, overpowered by a rush of delirious joy that scattered reason, delicate conscientiousness, and everything else to the winds.

"Here's a go," he heard the man whisper, evidently in the ear of a new-comer. "Pat Malone-he lived before your time, a very clever fellow, executed in '48--he always used to say it would happen some time; but he never lived to see his prophecy come true." A chuckle followed these words.

"See hwat come true?" asked another voice in a hoarse whisper.

"Why, didn't oi tell ye? Some poor divil iv a tourist has dhropped in." The application of the term "poor divil" to him, seemed to Jack to indicate a fund of rough tenderness in the heart of the pock-marked smuggler. But the reply of the hoarse whisperer was not equally reassuring.

Och, the powers! The Sassenach has fallen into our hands.” 66 Sure it was me that fell on the head of the Sassenach," said the first comer, with a crescendo chuckle that seemed to increase in volume till it became a regular rumble. A gust of cold air blew

into Jack's face, and he heard the men rapidly shuffling nearer to him. The next instant a clear, musical voice exclaimed:

"Which scoundrel of you all has been leaving his coat about? I never had to do with such a set; they invite discovery; they are as careless as so many detectives."

"Sure, discovery's come without being invited," laughed the first voice. "And oi was the first to dhrop on him, and in a moighty unpleasant fashion, too, knaling on the ground as pale as his shirt-sleeves, and we both tumbled over, and by St. Pathrick my spine feels as sore as your timper."

"D-n you for a fool," cried the clear voice angrily, "what are you jabbering about?"

"One iv

Begorra, and it's thrue," put in the hoarse whisper. the cursed Sassenachs has fallen into our cave," interpolated the chuckling whisper.

Jack heard the rapid decisive tramp, deadened by sand, of advancing footsteps. Then an oath made him shudder, and he was rudely whirled round by the shoulders. A match was struck and brought in unpleasant proximity to his face.

"What the devil do you mean by poking your nose into other people's affairs?" inquired the voice whose musical timbre he could not help admiring.

Jack tried to explain, and produced an inarticulate gurgle.

"What's the use of gagging him, Murphy; why didn't you despatch him at once?" cried the voice sharply. Jack's blood ran cold. The last comer, who was evidently in authority, seemed to be the most bloodthirsty of all. He could not quite understand for what purpose they were assembled. Could they be a gang of Irish conspirators ? But then the leader was certainly an Englishman.

Sure, and hwat would oi do with the dead corpse?" replied Murphy.

"I'd know what to do with yours, you white-livered scoundrel!" was the reply.

"None iv your names, ye infernal omadhaun, or oi'll split your skull and the whole concern too, bedad oi will," growled Murphy, with sudden anger.

"Och, praise the Holy Mother, oi'm out o' this!" interjected the hoarse voice. Jack wished he was too. It is not pleasant to listen to a quarrel about the disposal of one's body; but a faint hope dawned within his breast that part of the drama of the "Babes in the Wood" would be re-enacted for his benefit. Unfortunately, however, or perhaps fortunately, the leader seemed to display the tip of the white feather, for his next remark, though delivered with the same arrogant harshness, ignored the point at issue.

"Where's Jim and Jacques? Late again, I suppose."

"You're glad iv it, ain't you? Another opportunity to show your authority by blowing them up now the Captain's away." "Holy Moses! don't talk iv blowing our men up," interposed the hoarse voice.