Volume 1849a
Georges Dodds'
The Ape-Man: his Kith and Kin
A collection of texts which prepared the advent of Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
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In Verdi's Aida a stage device of the same kind has been adopted, which comes somewhat closer to the scene we are about to describe, inasmuch as the partition is horizontal, and whilst Aida prays to the Egyptian deities in the upper storey, the victims are perishing of hunger in the gloomy caverns beneath the heathen temple.

We have no such tragedies to depict, but there is deep anguish in the hearts of Mrs Weston and Ruth, who are seated in the kitchen of Madeley Court, directly beneath the room to which Paul Ferrier has been carried and now lies extended on the deal table, the shortening of whose legs had so excited the grief and wrath of Betsy, as indicating to her mind the certainty of a similar operation, later on, upon one of the legs of the young man, whose interest in her friend Jocko had made him so interesting to her.

To decide on the question, so important to Paul, four grave and experienced surgeons are now assembled round the table, near which their assistants have made every requisite preparation for the operation, in order to take advantage of the limited period of daylight.

On a smaller table, close by, are set out the appliances of modern surgery ready to the hand of the operator. Paul knows their uses well; he can almost smell the chloroform which is to send him into dreamless sleep whilst he is being painlessly bereft -- as he himself says with a faint smile -- of "half his understanding."Mercutio would have his joke in a still worse case, then why not poor Paul, who was wont to be so cheerful.

Mr Clement alone smiles at the sad allusion; he has often laughed at Paul's lively sallies. He is much attached to the young fellow, and takes far more than a professional interest in the case.

The senior hospital surgeon present has not smiled at all; he is rather short-sighted, and is closely examining the wounded limb, with head bent down, whilst with long taper-fingers, like talons, he ascertains by pressure the condition of the tissues. As he slowly slides his hand upward the patient's knee he shakes his head, and then stooping lower, peers into the exposed wound with a magnifying glass, and glances for a moment at the hideous-looking thing which has caused the mischief, lying with its serrated steel jaws open on an adjacent bench. The surgeon's lips are now tightly compressed in silence. Paul has watched him closely, and knows well that one of the four votes on which his fate hangs will certainly be given against him.

The other three surgeons have also watched the experienced senior, and two of them are evidently impressed from the outset with the idea that it will be impossible to save the limb which appears so swollen and livid, still they carefully perform their functions of close examination and manipulation; then Paul is warmly covered up, and they all retire to the next room to consult.

The table had been placed on a part of the floor of the sitting-room which had.been recently repaired, and already the new boards have shrunk, so that spaces appear between them, and consequently the women assembled in the kitchen beneath can distinctly hear every sound and movement overhead. Mrs Weston and Ruth are there, partly with a view to seeing that anything required by the surgeons should be speedily supplied and partly because of the intense cold, which makes the kitchen fire acceptable. Ruth leans her head on her mother's shoulder, and is listening intently, with her eyes closed. The cook and Betsy are deeply interested, and whisper to one another in short indignant sentences. The two strange nurses alone are passive and silent, speculating on how long it will be before they are called on to take charge of the patient. They can all hear the assistant moving about in the room overhead in the absence of the surgeons. Just then he is testing the strength of the chloroform by smelling a small portion in the palm of his hand. Presently he ventures to lift the lid of a case of instruments and to peer within, but lets it fall again as the surgeons return to the room.

Mr Clement speaks first. "Dr Ferrier,"he says, there is a decided difference of opinion between us to the necessity for amputation. We are now equally divided for and against it. I have pressed on my colleagues here my opinion that the discoloration and other unpleasant appearances are mainly due to your long exposure to intense cold after the accident. At the same time I must not conceal the fact that, if it should so fortunately be the case that I am wrong in my view, the consequences will probably be very serious, and in truth I cannot answer for your life.

"I regret to say, Dr Ferrier,"said the senior hospital surgeon, "that I must advise you to submit to the operation. I am sorry I cannot in this case agree with Mr Clement."

"And I,"said the second hospital surgeon, have been convinced by Mr Clement that there is a reasonable chance of your recovery without the operation. I admit, however, that at first such was not my opinion of your case."

"Dr Ferrier,"said Mr Taylor, "the decision now rests with you. You are, I believe, a qualified medical man yourself, and so can decide with the benefit of some professional knowledge although you have not practised. I reluctantly advise you to decide on the safe side. Life at your age is a very valuable thing, whereas the loss of your leg can only be said to be a great misfortune. Modern science has enabled us to supply artificial limbs that are not easily recognised as such."

"I know,"said Paul; "things you can drag along, and that go 'click' when you sit down or get up again. The chief advantage of them appears to me to be that the leg of one's trousers won't require to be shortened."

Panl raised himself on his elbow as he spoke, and indicated that he wished the covering to be removed from his body, so that he could look at his wounded limb.

Mr Taylor hastens to support him, and whispers in his ear: "There is not much time to be lost, my dear sir, the light is waning already. Be courageous, and decide quickly."

"It does decidedly look bad,"said Paul as he gazed at his leg, "but it feels all right, Clement, there is no numbness as yet. It is a doubtful case, I admit, and the risk is serious. I am inclined to toss up a coin and take my chance. The doctrine of chances is as good as any other doctrine, or better, for you can absolutely prove the truth by experiment. The life insurance companies swear by it, and frame their tables on average results. You will think me absurd, I know, but I am going to transfer this decision to a young lady who has kindly promised to consider the question. I shall merely ask her to say 'Yes' or 'No' for me to a proposition which has been laid before me, without telling her what it is. Here, young fellow,"he said to the assistant, leave that chloroform alone, and take a message from me to Miss Weston. Say that I claim her promise, and ask her to oblige me by coming here with her mother. Please to cover me up again. Gentlemen, I thank you for the careful consideration you have given to my case, and I submit myself to the decision of the fair umpire. She will probably refer the question to an unseen spirit. She is, I believe, what is called a ' medium' of communication with something of that kind. You may smile, gentlemen, but please to understand that you are to act on the decision she will pronounce in the monosyllables I have mentioned. If she says 'Yes,' please to operate at once; if 'No,' then send me back to bed, and kindly leave instructions to the nurses as to my treatment. In any case I take all the responsibility, and thank you for your patience. Here comes the young priestess of the faith that is in her."

As he spoke Mrs Weston entered the room, with her daughter holding her arm, both pale and anxious looking. Ruth readily guessed why she had been sent for, but her mother had as yet no idea. They came close to the table, and Paul held out his hand, which Ruth took without hesitation, as she gazed steadily in his eyes with a questioning look.

"I have sent for you, Miss Weston, to decide a grave matter for me, about which these skilful gentleman cannot agree. I may not tell you what it is exactly; you are merely to say 'Yes' or ' No,' and in either case, believe me, I shall be satisfied and thankful, and whatever may be the result I trust you will never think your answer has in any way caused a misfortune to happen; that inert steel machine over there has been the primal cause, and must bear all the blame -- that and chance. A few inches of difference in its position on the path in the copse and I should not be here. Forgive me for asking you to do so much for me."

Ruth knelt down without speaking and hid her face in the coverlet. She remained fully three minutes motionless and silent, but still holding Paul's hand. The surgeons were growing impatient and looking anxiously at the window; one of them took out his watch, and its loud ticking could be distinctly heard in the room.

Suddenly Ruth raised her head, looked again for a moment at Paul, and said distinctly, "No! no! no!"then she stood up, and taking her mother's arm, walked slowly to the door and disappeared.

"Kismet!"said Paul, with a sigh as of long-suspended breathing, "I believe I shall pull through, gentleman, as a 'two-legged animal without feathers.' Now kindly help me back to bed; it is cold out here, and some of you will want to catch the train. My domestics downstairs had orders to fetch some food and wine for you from my father's house, with an apology to Mrs Weston and her excellent cook, so make yourself as comfortable as you can in this queer old place and in such weather. I hope we shall all meet again soon and discuss the question of the evidences of a spiritual world. Mr Taylor, on this occasion I am, like you, on the side of the angels."

"I hope the angel has decided aright, my young friend, but I guess and fear,"said Mr Taylor, after a little consultation in a corner with his colleagues, to whom he deemed it necessary to make some apology for what he termed Paul's eccentricity of manner. "It is from living so much abroad amongst those sceptical foreigners,"he said, "that he has acquired that way of talking with levity of matters of life and death, but he is highly respected in this neighbourhood, I assure you, except perhaps by our parson, to whom his ideas are naturally antagonistic. I hope it will be all right in the end."

"He might just as well have tossed up the coin,"said the senior surgeon; "it would at all events have given him a chance, but now -- "He shook his head dolefully as he spoke, then turned to examine a time table, and soon after took his departure with his colleague, leaving the two nurses in charge of the case.

Mr Clement kindly decided to remain at Madeley Court all night, lest any unforeseen change should compel him to reverse his recently expressed opinion, but for which, and his very decided expression of it, Paul would ere now have been deprived of his leg. The table and the requisite appliances were retained in a state of readiness in the next room, and Mr Taylor promised to return at a moment's notice to assist in what he believed to be only a deferred operation.

The only persons who were really confident that no operation would be necessary were the patient and Ruth, who relied on the singular belief she had adopted in the guidance of the unseen spirit of her father, whose promise she held sacred. Paul had imbibed some of her strong faith during the short period when he lay so still on the operating table holding her hand. It seemed to him that he could easily read her thoughts as she knelt beside him and gradually envolved in her mind the answer she had so emphatically given to his question. He was now confident that he would recover without losing his limb, and sank to sleep mentally blessing the young girl who had given him this confidence -- he knew not how -- he did not care to know just then -- he was satisfied with the result of the experiment, and deferred the investigation into the why and the wherefore to another time.

Betsy came often to the adjacent sitting-room during the night to look at the table whose legs had been amputated, and to satisfy herself that it was not going to be put to the intended use. She evidently distrusted the nurses and Mr Clement, and had an uneasy suspicion in her mind that because so many strange things were arranged round about -- such as an oaken case, which she guessed contained instruments, many sponges, rolls of linen bandage and ligatures, etc. -- the surgeon who remained meant to begin it all over again when the house was quiet and Miss Ruth had retired to rest. Betsy knew that Ruth had interfered in some way to prevent the operation. She had heard the emphatic "No! no! no!"downstairs in the kitchen, and was prepared to fly to her young mistress at any moment to warn her and beg her to interfere a second time. Betsy would probably be as ready to attack the elderly gentleman, now sleeping the sleep of the just in an arm-chair at Paul's bedside, as she had been to attack the butcher's boy of old. Surgeons and butchers were to her much alike; they both used sharp knives, and cut into flesh with them, only the former hacked away at living men and women, and not at dead beeves and muttons. Betsy had no idea of the necessities of the case, but she had a vague theory that when a lot of surgeons came together they desired to do something to show how skilful they were, whether it was absolutely necessary or not.

Next morning Paul was again placed on the table in the bay window to be examined by Mr Clement and Mr Taylor, who both agreed that the limb appeared to be no worse if no better. Mr Clement was obliged to leave for his home, but promised to return at once if summoned. It was evident he was not very sanguine as to the result, but was determined to give Paul all the chance he could of saving his leg.

"You must have struggled very hard, Dr Ferrier, to rid yourself of the accursed thing,"he said. "You seem to have strained every muscle in your body."

"Yes,"said Paul. "I fought for life, and when no one came to help me I thought I would try to amputate the limb myself with my penknife, but was too weak from loss of blood, and could not have succeeded in any case. You know that foxes hve done so with their teeth, but that desperate course is impracticable for a two-legged animal. To make or use such steel traps for dumb creatures is a crime, and should be punishable by law. I have seen far more cruel instruments of torture, which were freely used by the familiars of the Inquisition on unhappy people who ventured to differ from Holy Mother Church in opinions. If you want to study such things you should visit Nuremberg, there you will see how religious zeal can sharpen the wit of man to invent hideous engines for causing human agony, from which death must have been a welcome release. I thought of them but there in the copse the other evening, and it comforted me a little to recollect that innocent men had patiently suffered far worse things at the hands of ignorant fanatics.

"I believe, from what Mr Taylor has told me,"said Mr Clement, "that it was at the hands of such a fanatic that you have suffered this cruel injury. The traps were not baited for foxes or any other four-footed beast."

"Ah! then Mr Taylor is a leaky vessel; he should have kept silence, as I desired, about all that."

"He has told me, also, that the miscreant is to go unpunished, but why I do not know."

"Because I have eaten his salt and have received kindness at the hands of his kindred."

"How it should come to pass that those ladies are connected with such a man I can't imagine,"said Mr Clement, who had been making inquiries from the two domestics who had carried Paul,

"Yes, that's a singular thing, isn't it? I daresay we shall hear later on, meantime I am glad to know them. Those two hospital nurses are very good, but they are apparently silent creatures without much sympathy. They belong to some religious sisterhood, I fancy, from their sad looks, and will probably begin to preach at me later on from a sense of duty, if I don't slip through their fingers in the meantime. They say women can talk for ever about things they don't understand, when they think it's a duty."

"And what does Miss Weston talk about?"inquired Mr Clement, with a smile.

"Oh! she is a clever girl, and her father was a scientific man, who, it seems, taught her a good deal himself, and did not allow the parsons to fill her head with nonsense -- but you can see she is a kind and gentle young lady. I expect that comes by nature from long 'heredity.' To me it would be an interesting thing to find out what sort of people her ancestors were on both sides. I know something already of the kind of man her father was. People are particular about the pedigree of their horses and dogs, and know the value of a good strain of blood in ordinary animals, but they seldom or ever apply the principle to men and women. I know some of the descendants of a French family of dancing-masters who have followed that vocation for six generations and are perfect at it. If you tried to make a parson of one of them, he'd be certain to dance out of his pulpit the instant the organ began to play. He'd waltz through the thirty-nine Articles like a teetotum."

"Some of them do that already, who haven't had the advantage of having dancing-masters for ancestors,"said Mr Clement, who found himself, as usual, beguiled into conversation by Paul.

"I have heard of one who danced himself into a bishopric, but did all his dancing before he was ordained, and then always denounced the pastime,"said Paul. "You will say, no doubt, he was a 'hybrid.' Many of them are so called at Oxford just now, because of their flirtations with a certain scarlet lady."

"I hope you will be well enough some day, Paul, to dance and flirt, if so minded, with the young lady here who has prevented us from cutting your leg off,"said Mr Clement. "But, so far as I can judge, she is not much given to those amusements. She looks just now as sad as one of the nurses, who are, I believe, like yourself, under some sort of vow to remain single for life, lest matrimony should prove a hindrance to their vocation. But speaking seriously, my young friend, if you get well, with or without the use of these instruments, which I shall leave here in case of any emergency, when you will, of course, summon me by telegraph -- speaking seriously, I say -- you must not flirt at all with that young girl, who interests me deeply. I can see that she is suffering very much in mind at present, and, with your ideas of single-blessedness, you must not cause her any additional suffering. I speak now as an old friend, and from some experience of cases like yours. I am afraid, from what I have seen of you, nothing can make you serious, not even the prospect of death. Now, do not be over sanguine. A change for the worse may set in at any moment. We are running a certain risk, mainly because of the decision of the 'Angel.' I shall be here again early on the day after to-morrow, or sooner if sent for. I will tell Mrs Weston and her daughter to come and talk to you, but remember that vow of yours which you told me of some months ago, or decide at once to fling it to the winds, if you get the chance. Farewell."

Paul remained for a while silently thinking of what Mr Clement had just said. He remembered that he had told his friend of his serious intention to remain a bachelor for life, partly because of his devotion to certain scientific pursuits, which necessitated much travelling in savage countries, and partly because of opinions adverse to the sex, which had been, instilled into him by his father, who often described females as "fickle, frivolous, and vexatious, incapable, as a rule, of reasoning on any subject, given to contradiction, extravagant, and always liable to be priest-ridden as they grew older."The old gentleman habitually said many worse things of women unfit for repetition in these pages, which it is to be hoped will be read by women without prejudice, remembering that the opinions quoted are not those of the author but of a cynical old gentleman who had practised extensively in a profession which often brought him into contact with unpleasant specimens of womankind, and who, as it will appear hereafter, had an unfortunate experience of his own.

Paul had a very indistinct recollection of his mother. He had no reason to believe she was dead, but his father had intimated to him that it was better for him to make no inquiries regarding her, and seemed to be annoyed when any allusion was made to the subject, Paul had no near relatives from whom to make inquiries, and none of any sort who ever volunteered to inform him as to the reason of his father's mysterious silence.

There were no very old servants to drop hints about their recollection of his mother, and no female servants at all at the manor house to gossip on the tabooed subject. His father had so strongly expressed his dislike to the presence of female domestics in the house that even the village washerwoman never ventured inside the gates, but received the linen in a basket from one of the male servants, who called for it again and paid the bill almost in silence. All Mr Ferrier's domestics had seemingly been chosen especially for their reticence, and only under the indignant excitement caused by the accident had two of them enlarged on the subject of Paul's good qualities when they came to make inquiries at Madeley Court, and spoke with Mrs Weston in the hearing of the cook and Betsy, who stood somewhat in awe of the sedate looking men in quiet, dark clothes which could scarcely be termed "livery."

Paul's reflections were cut short by the entrance of Mrs Weston and Ruth. The nurse, who had sat up all night, had retired to sleep; her silent companion betook herself at once to the window with a book of devotion, much decorated and filled with crosses in red colour, and never raised her eyes from its pages until the two ladies of the house again retired.

Somehow the nurses had ascertained, perhaps by some freemasonry of the religious society to which they belonged, that the present occupants of their seats by Paul's bedside were not in sympathy with, or perhaps were sinfully unaware of the existence of the ascetic body, therefore as far as they could they had avoided all intercourse with ladies who could not pronounce their Shibboleths and were ignorant of the proper saints' days and festivals. Ruth had ventured to ask in the next room, on observing that they wore long rosaries of beads, to which were suspended large ebony crosses, "if tbey were of any Protestant communion,"simply with the idea of opening a conversation, and received a look of scorn as if she had accused them of being Pagans, with the words, "No, certainly not; we are Anglicans,"which left the young girl with the idea that these sour-looking females were vestal votaries of some revived form of faith which had existed at the time of the Saxon Heptarchy.

It was not to be wondered at that Paul found the hours pass slowly in the presence of these mystic nurses, although he admitted that they knew their business, which they performed with the exactitude of automatic machines.

He consulted a solicitor, who was largely engaged in criminal cases, as to the legal nature of the offence and was horrified to learn that, on conviction, he might be sentenced to a year's imprisonment, with hard labour; but as the lawyer knew old' Mr Ferrier by reputation, he expressed the opinion that it was more likely that the irascible gentleman would take " civil proceedings," by an action for damages, and in case his son lost his leg, or was permanently lamed, the lawyer had no doubt the damages would be heavy.

"What the devil made you do such a stupid thing!"he inquired of Tobias.

"I believe, sir, the Devil must have tempted me unawares, when I was alone in an old house where he had me at a disadvantage," said Tobias, wringing his hands. " I used to see emissaries of Satan at night time, and hear 'em wailing round the house like lost spirits."

"Were there any other spirits about, such as those that are kept in bottles?" the lawyer cynically inquired. "People often see strange things on such occasions."

"I understand you, sir," said Tobias meekly, "I did partake of a little more than I am accustomed to, being worried and lonely and depressed at the time; that, no doubt, made it easier for the Evil One to overcome me. Perhaps it would weigh with the judge if I am haled before him on this unfortunate business?"

"No; it would make it all the worse for you. The judge would probably deliver you to the officer, and the officer to prison; and if the young man dies, you may be sent to penal servitude for manslaughter -- it used to be a hanging matter."

"Wot ever am I to do, sir"?" inquired Tobias, from whose forehead damp drops began to fall.

"You have been quoting Scripture just now, Mr Miles. I think there is a text advising you to 'agree with thine adversary quickly whiles thou art in the way with him;' that's all you can do at present -- that, and to pay my clerk in the office outside for this conference. If the matter goes any further, as I expect it will, you had better come here again. Go home and 'pull a mug' as if you were in grief about the accident, and be ready to eat humble pie when old Ferrier tackles you. I expect he will give you plenty of pepper with it. He used to keep a large stock of that condiment on hand when I knew him."

"I fear I am delivered into the hands of a cruel Philistine," groaned Tobias. "He will have the law o' me to the uttermost farthing, like the heathen reprobate he is. Oh! that I had never taken the advice of brother Ramsbottom." With this Tobias went forth into the outer office and sorrowfully paid a guinea to the clerk, and then betook himself for consolation to the tabernacle of the Rev. Hosea Howler in the Tottenham Court Road, who on that evening was to hold forth, from a text in Revelation, on the subject of the "number of the Beast" and the spiritual meaning of his ten horns, as interpreted by Dr Cumming.

For the space of two hours, during which the exciting service lasted, Tobias forgot his mental trouble, and was filled with strange delight as he listened to the denunciations of the violent preacher, levelled against "all people that on earth do dwell" who were not believers in the new Gospel of wrath, propounded by Mr Howler, which he averred had been recently revealed to him.

It is strange that the beliefs which take most hold on the minds of uneducated people are those which include the certainty of awful punishments falling on people who reject them. The blessings which believers expect to receive seem wonderfully enhanced by the assurance that a vast number of persons will not only obtain no share in such blessings but will suffer eternal punishment because of their unbelief.

Mr Howler vehemently warned his hearers that "the learning of this world was foolishness," and strictly practised what he taught in that respect -- glorying in his own ignorance. He delighted to enlarge on the torments which would be inflicted on educated people, who relied on reason as a guide in examining into the truth of dogmas which they had been taught when unable to comprehend them; but when he went on to include all "those who had riches" in his denunciations, Tobias could no longer agree with him, because he had begun to fancy himself a rich man, since he had acquired, as he believed, the absolute right to win the coal under the land about Madeley Court, from which abode be felt he was just then wrongfully shut out by the accident to and the presence of Paul Ferrier.

Tobias was unaware that Paul's father was abroad, but he knew that the old gentleman was a magistrate, and he feared that if he openly returned to the neighbourhood of the accident he would be arrested, and would have to stand his trial for the offence he had committed. Mrs Weston had briefly written informing him of Paul's dangerous condition, and of the surgeons' consultation, and then her letters ceased. Recently she had sent a telegram with the words "Please keep away at present," from which he had begun to think that the young man's condition must have grown worse; indeed Tobias was in great fear that the next message would announce his death, and if so, he was prepared to fly to America, where -- if he could do nothing else -- at least he could speak the language.

Tobias blamed Mrs Weston for having delayed her journey by a day and so missed his telegram as to the removal of the gins. He blamed Paul for having put his leg in one of them, but he never pitied him or thought of his sufferings. Above all, he blamed his friend Ramsbottom for suggesting the use of the deadly engines, and attributed to him the petty motive of wishing to sell the gins, which he had previously bought as old iron, at a good profit; in fact Tobias blamed everyone excepting himself, and imputed motive to everyone else, and felt that he had a grievance against all concerned, which could not be mitigated by the preaching of any number of Howlers, especially when one of them took to denouncing that class of people to which Tobias was now so proud to belong, instead of confining his threatenings to the philosophers and men of science who were wicked enough to say that the world was not made in seven days out of nothing, with the coal laid in for the future benefit of believers, and that the story of the Noachian deluge was an Eastern legend.

Tobias had once seen a few cattle transported across a river in a ferry-boat, and it had entered to his head to calculate how large the vessel would be which could carry a few thousands of such animals, with sufficient food for them for a year, The dimensions had come out on an alarming scale, and he had appealed to brother Ramsbottom as to the difficulty, who explained that no doubt all the large beasts were reduced by special miracle to the size of mice when they entered the Ark, and so were easily accommodated without inconvenience to Mr Noah. This theory was abundantly satisfactory at the time to Tobias, and it appears to have satisfied learned theologians for some centuries, who probably inherited the faculty of belief from those wise men who imagined that the light of the stars was caused by gimlet holes pierced in the firmament. To inform such people that this poor planet, for whose enlightenment they believe they were specially created, is only an insignificant atom amongst the millions of great globes visible to us by means of telescopes, would be a waste of words, and would probably result in our being classed with the sceptical philosophers denounced by Hosea Howler and his associates. Black beetles have always seemed to us incapable of any idea of scale, or else they would not run about so freely in the presence of the cook, whose ponderous foot so often terminates their apparently useless existence. The world seems to be overrun with people of similarly limited capacity. There are scholars who can spend years of their lives in examining the "jots and tittles" of some ancient Codex and yet who have never learned to differentiate between the dimensions of the prophet Jonah and those of the great fish which we are told swallowed him. To the microscopic or distorted mental faculties of such persons it would appear equally possible that the prophet should have swallowed the fish, provided it was so stated in the Codex. Nay more, they would be prepared to write a thesis to prove that the miracle must be true, and would die under the delusion that they had proved it, and so were entitled to inherit a special mansion in another world, from which those who held the contrary opinion would be shut out.

Tobias was determined that, although he was shut out from his own particular mansion at the moment, he would try to do something to realise the object he had in view when he purchased the place; be therefore returned privately to Birmingham, and entered into negotiations with people who contracted for sinking coal pits, who informed him that, if he was quite certain of the existence of coal at the depth he indicated, it would be an immense saving in the cost of sinking to erect the steam engine over the pits, which would ultimately be required to raise the coal when won.

Upon this Tobias hied him to the makers of such engines, and finally agreed with tbe firm to whom he had apprenticed his son Oreb, whom he found diligently at work in the engine factory. Oreb had heard from Ruth of the accident to Paul, and informed his father that the young man was not yet out of danger, and that he had been at one time almost despaired of, also that if he recovered it was feared he would be permanently lamed.

Tobias cautioned his son to say nothing of his visit when writing home, and requested him to apply to Ruth for further information as to Paul's present condition, and also to learn, if possible, whether there was any prospect of proceedings being taken against him by the young man's father. He endeavoured to explain to his son that the disaster had resulted from pure accident, but Oreb had already heard the real facts from Ruth, and said with some feeling: "I wish, father, you would cut Ramsbottom and all such people in future, and send him back his accursed gins; they may get you into fresh trouble some day."

"Yes, I will get rid of 'em," said Tobias, upon whom it suddenly dawned that in case he was prosecuted the articles in question would be produced as evidence against him.

Tobias hurried in a state of great anxiety to a remote part of the town and entered a barber's shop, where he had his thick dark hair and whiskers cropped as closely as possible. From thence he went to a wigmaker's in another quarter and ordered a grey wig, alleging that his hair had recently been cut off during an illness. Then he purchased an old-fashioned pair of spectacles and some quaint second-hand garments, and finally a leather wallet such as used by travelling tinkers, with the requisite tools and materials for mending saucepans. It took him two days to collect all he wanted, and at length he set out by train for Madeley Court, and one evening, in the dusk, passed through the low stone archway leading into the courtyard of his house. The kitchen had a doorway opening into this court, and outside this door Tobias observed a wooden bench, on which he seated himself and commenced to cough.

Presently the door opened and Betsy appeared on the scene with her stout arms akimbo. Tobias could now see into the kitchen, from which the light streamed forth, and he perceived the cook engaged at her fireplace, with her back towards him, whilst a little way off sat Jem Ritson, engaged in fashioning clothes pegs with a clasp-knife.

"Wall, ode chap, wot brings yer 'ere?" asked Betsy, surveying Tobias with a suspicious glance.

"Any saucepans to mend, lass? any tin kettles out o' order? any ode iron or brass to sell?" whined Tobias, with the best imitation he could make of the cry of a travelling tinker.

"No, none on 'em; wot for d'ye come prowlin' 'ere at this hour o' night? Tinkers can't mend saucepans in the dark. Be off wi' yer."

"I'm a poor ode man fro' Dudley, and I'm clemm'd wi' cold," whined Tobias, who could speak the Dudley dialect to perfection. "I've seed yer in Dudley, I think, lass, when yer wasn't so uppish, as 'avin' an ode father as is a nailer wi' grey 'airs like my own."

"Were did yer see me in Dudley?" inquired Betsy, somewhat softened by the allusion to her father's grey hairs.

"I often seed yer, my good lass, luggin' sacks o' nails to Toby Miles' store in Derrick Street, as was an ode screw. I see'd yer the day, as ever was, when Tummas Jones putt peases in the key'ole, and folks sed yer giv'd it 'ot to Tummas."

"It warn't along o' puttin' peases in Toby Mileses key'ole I guv'd it 'im," said Betsy. "Tummas Jones might 'ave putt em in Toby's eye for wot I'd care. I wudn't care if he was dead and buried wi' tons o' rock atop of 'im to try to keep 'im from ode 'Arry, as 'ull be safe to git 'im from under a mounting -- the wicked cuss, as has nearly killed Squire Ferrier's son along o' setting steel traps wi' teeth like saws."

Tobias listened attentively to this strong accusation of Betsy's with his face averted. Strange to say, his first feeling was one of indignation at the fact that Betsy had not attacked Tom Jones at Dudley because the latter had put peas in the keyhole, which had made him take an interest in her at the outset, but because of some private reason of her own. He half determined that Betsy should be dismissed at the first opportunity, when he called to mind the names she had applied to him, and the railing accusations she had brought against him at Dudley, and now again within the precincts of his own house. For the moment he forgot the object of his visit, and the disguised character in which he appeared.

"'There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword,'" he muttered. "'Adder's poison is under their lips.'"

"Wot be yer saying?" asked Betsy, pricking up her ears at the sudden change of voice in the tinker. "'Pears to me," she added, drawing-closer, "you be talkin' texes like Toby hisself; p'r'aps you be another ode 'umbug like o' he."

"I'm sufferin' wi' the toothache," whined Tobias, covering his lanky jaws with his hands lest he should be detected by the keen eyes of Betsy. "I'm awful bad wi' toothache, lass, and dunno wot I sez. It's werry cold, and I've 'ad nivvur a morsel to eat all day. Trade is nowt."

"I'll give yer summat," said Betsy, disarmed by this reference to a state of things of which she had often had personal experience.

"Ef you calls to-morrow mornin', in daylight, I'll ask missus to let you put a new bottom in our small tin kettle, but you must 'ook it when yer's 'ad yer supper. We don't take in no tramps."

Betsy turned to ask permission from the cook to give the tinker some broken victuals, to which proposal Jem Ritson lent an attentive ear, with an inward foreboding that probably his own gratuitous supper would thereby be imperilled.

As Ritson looked through the open door he was surprised to see the tinker making signals to him. Jem placed his finger to the side of his nose and nodded, as if to say he would come directly, whilst Betsy, having collected some scraps of food and filled a mug with small beer, approached the door again and handed them to the apparently grateful tinker, who was inwardly wrathful at this secret waste of his substance, of which he now had personal evidence.

Betsy was anxious about the safety of the mug and plate, and remained at the door watching the tinker until he had finished with both; so Tobias, who had already dined at a public-house in Madeley, was compelled to munch some scraps of cold bacon and to drink his own small beer without a grimace, lest the lynx-eyed Betsy should penetrate his disguise.

"Now, be off," she said when he handed her back the mug and plate. "Here, Jem Ritson, see this tinker safe out o' gate, and bolt it arter 'im; it's a'most time yer was on yer road too. You can keep 'im company 'till yer gets to public-'ouse. P'r'aps he'll find sixpence in his pocket to stand treat wi', as he's 'ad his supper for nothin'. You've bin collarin' odds and ends all day wusser than a tom-cat, and you'll get nothin' more 'eve. The tinker has 'ad all we can spare, and didn't seem to like it as he oughter, if he's told truth 'bout his 'aving 'ad no dinner. So you jest stump off along wi' 'im. It seems to me yer's both birds of a feather, and might roost on same perch 'ithout breedin' much jealousy 'mongst t'ode hens, as 'ud be likely to hide their eggs at sight of ye."

Jem stumped off without reply, and led the tinker within the shadow of the archway.

"Wot's hup?"he said with surliness. "I've lost my supper along o' yer, 'sides drawin' down the tongue o' that lass, as 'ud turn the beer sour in a man's inside, though I guess yer 'ull say it's sour enough a'ready, being laid in by that ode screw Toby Miles as owns' this place. I'd give sixpence to see 'im drinkin' a mug of it hisself."

Tobias thought that he had more than earned the sixpence by drinking the mug of beer he had just swallowed, but his wrath was kindled at the idea that Jem Ritson should obtain even this wretched stuff at his expense, and a second time that evening he forgot the object of his visit.

"D'ye drink much on't'?" he inquired in a husky voice.

"As much as I can git, and that's little enough. The cook nor Betsy don't care for't, they prefers water, so they mostly gives me their share for doin' odd jobs for 'em."

Tobias felt somewhat relieved on hearing this statement, and decided he would have no beer supplied in future to the kitchen, as it was not relished or wanted; meantime he returned to the object of his visit.

"Is there any ode iron about for sale" he asked in a whisper. "I deals in ode iron, and don't ask no questions as to 'ow it's come by."

Jem Ritson peered closely, as well as the fading-light would permit, into the tinker's face, but could not learn much from his inspection. "You deals in ode iron, and in ode brass," he said with contempt, "and I s'pose silver spoons 'ud not come amiss to yer; but yer's come to the wrong shop -- the spoons is all plated."

"I don't meddle wi' silver," said Tobias, rubbing his chin; "ode iron or steel is my line."

Jem cogitated for a while in silence, and said at length, very slowly: ''There was two steel traps, as belonged to Toby Miles and caused mischief. I was told by the lady of the 'ouse 'ere to tak' 'em away and bury 'em, so as they'd cause no more on't; but I kin lay my 'ands on 'em agin if you'd mak it worth my while. Wot 'ud yer give for em? They are 'eavy, and spring steel is always good to work up for the backs o' knives, such as this." Here Jem suddenly opened his large clasp-knife, and Tobias started back from its neighbourhood.

"Putt it up -- putt it away!" he exclaimed in his natural voice. "I can't abear them dratted things so near me in the dark."

"Suppose, then, we 'ave a light," said Jem, taking from one of his pockets a piece of candle end which he had just stolen in the kitchen. Jem turned on his timber leg as he spoke and closed the wooden gate behind him, shooting the iron bolts as he did so.

"Now I can strike a light properly, out of the draught," he said as he produced a match box and proceeded to light the short piece of candle, which he brought near to the tinker's face. The instant he did so Tobias raised his hand to his mouth and chin, as was his custom when perplexed. The peculiar action, which Jem Kitson had often previously seen Tobias use, betrayed him at once, but the cunning poacher kept his knowledge to himself for the moment.

"Wot 'ull yer give for them two steel traps?" he asked. "The candle isn't very long, so we 'aven't much time to haggle over 'em afore it goes out, and I fancies you don't like being in the dark."

"Say thirty shillings," said Tobias; " they're not worth it, but I am curious to see 'em."

At this liberal offer Jem gave vent to a prolonged whistle. "I've no doubt you are," he said, "werry curyus -- and you'll see 'em when you've paid for 'em -- but thirty pounds won't do it."

"Nonsense, man," said Tobias angrily; "if they was solid silver they wouldn't be worth 'arf the money."

"They are worth their weight in gold to a man I knows of," said Jem with a chuckle. "I'll tell yer who he is, and you can sell 'em to 'im at a profit when you've got 'em. I want fifty pounds, for 'em."

Tobias remained silent with indignation, still rubbing his chin. "Who is the man you think 'ud give that monstrous price for 'em?" he said in a quavering voice. "He must be an idiot."

"P'r'aps he is. He calls hisself Tobias Miles, Esquire, of Madeley Court. Maybe he sent you to buy 'em for 'im, 'cos he wants 'em partickler to putt in a curiosity shop, as is their proper place; but you'd better be quick about it -- the candle is burnin' my fingers."

"Will you 'and em over to-night if I pays for 'em?" inquired Tobias in a whisper. "But I 'aven't got so much money 'ere by ten pounds," he added quickly; "say forty and it's a bargain."

"I'll tak yer watch as s'curity for the odd tenner."

"You are a bad, hard man. 'The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel,'" said Tobias.

"That's wot they says o' Toby Miles; he's 'ard as nails and cruel as wan o' them steel traps your buyin' for 'im, 'cos I s'pose he wants to snap a leg off someone else, like he did to young Mr Ferrier.

"His leg isn't took off, I 'opes?" said Tobias in unfeigned alarm, all his tricks of voice and manner now cast aside.

"Yes; it was took off yesterday by the same darn'd doctor as cut off mine. It's buried out there in the yard -- but, see here, the candle is a'most gone. Are you goin' to hand over or not? I'll not trust yer to count notes c'rectly in the dark, you are all in such a tremble, and I'd like to see the figures on 'em."

"Shall I have the gins in exchange for the money -- here, this minute?"

"Yes, I'll show 'em to yer, and yer can tak 'em or leave 'em where they are till convenient to move 'em in daylight; but mind me, ode chap, ef you don't hand over, when you sees 'em and 'andles 'em, you see this." Jem here held the knife open before Tobias' eyes in a menacing manner.

"Please the Lord, you shall 'ave the money you are extorting from me," groaned Tobias.

"Then come along wi' yer; follow me, aud let's 'ave no more jaw."

Tobias meekly followed Jem Ritson, sadly muttering to himself quotations from the "Lamentations of Jeremiah."

"You seem very much at 'ome here, my friend," said Tobias. "I'd like to know where you got that key."

"I has keys for most o' the doors," said Jem. "You see I was here before ever Toby Miles kem along, and I used to amuse myself fitting ode keys to the locks, in case of the accident of wanting wan of 'em. There was a bunch o' rusty keys 'anging on a nail when I came here, and most of 'em only wanted oiling. Come in here and I'll show you summat curyus."

Tobias ground his teeth in suppressed rage as he followed Jem Ritson, vowing at the same time he would be even with the poacher at the first opportunity. Inside the door a circular stone stairs led up to the old chapel. Tobias knew it well; he had often used it, and also another short flight of narrow steps beneath it which led to the crypt under the chapel. He was wondering just then whether Jem knew of the means of access to these steps whilst they both stood in the dark, inside the outer door from the courtyard, which Jem had closed. The poacher took from his capacious pocket a second short piece of candle, and lit it as before; then he pushed Tobias aside and produced a smaller key, and seemed to search along the wall for a keyhole.

"You didn't find that key in the bunch on the nail," said Tobias; "it's a new wan."

"That's werry curyus, now, the way you notices little things," said Jem, grinning. "It's a new key, sure enough. Toby Miles bought a new lock and put it on this queer ode door hisself; if he 'adn't bin so partickler I'd never 'ave known there was a door here, 'cos it was coloured over to look like stone, and in putting it on he rubbed off some of the colour. Whenever the other door is open to let in the light then this little door is hidden away behind it. I've found the key'ole at last, but this key doesn't fit so well as usual; it wants humouring a bit. I'll trubbel you to hold the candle."

Tobias took the candle with a groan. He knew now that the cunning poacher had in some way discovered the secret entrance to the crypt and was using a skeleton key to open the lock. Tobias had the proper key for the lock in his pocket, but dared not say so, as he fondly imagined that Jem Ritson had not yet penetrated his disguise, whilst the old rascal was all the time using every means he could think of to torment and terrify Tobias, without in any way admitting that he knew the victim in whose torments he gloated.

Tobias had always taken every opportunity to insult and harass Jem Ritson when he lived alone with him at Madeley Court, and now he was reaping the crop of insults and annoyances he had sown. He had determined long ago, as soon as he had got the place to rights, to discharge the man, and engage some more trustworthy person in his place, but the wages he offered were so small, and his reputation for hardness was so great, that as yet he had not found it possible to obtain a substitute; and so Jem, who was obliged to accept low wages on account of the loss of his leg many years before in a poaching affray, remained under renewed notices to quit, and was now revenging himself on his employer for the unsettled discomfort he had experienced.

The candle which Tobias held was short, and he had already begun to calculate on the period which was likely to elapse before the flame would reach his ringers, and as to what would happen in case he was left in darkness with the wooden-legged ruffian in such narrow quarters. Tobias was a strong man, and could easily overturn Jem Ritson in a struggle, but he saw that Jem still retained the long knife, with the blade exposed, in his left hand, whilst he manipulated the key in the lock with his right; therefore he decided to flee up to the chapel by the circular stone stairs whenever he was obliged to drop the candle, He knew Jem could not overtake him in his flight, and that when at the top he could lock the upper door and hold the enemy at bay. He imagined, now that he knew tolerably well where the gins were concealed, he could readily find them on a future occasion, and so cheat Jem out of the extortionate price he had demanded for restoring his own property.

Tobias was anxious that the gins should be speedily destroyed, and had reflected on the effect the horrible engines would have, when produced in court, in enhancing his punishment or the damages.

Now that Jem had declared that young Ferrier's leg had been cut off, Tobias was certain that before long old Ferrier would be on his track with the weapons of the law. Meantime there seemed no prospect of Jem Ritson succeeding in opening the lock. Tobias remembered that it was a very good lock, and not likely to be easily opened with a skeleton key. Jem glanced now and then at the candle, and at length turned and took it again from between Tobias' fingers, and stuck it upright on the point of the blade of his knife.

"Drat the darned lock," he said; "my fingers are 'arf froze, and I can't turn the key in't. Here, p'r'aps you can manage it? Tinkers is always 'andy 'bout locks."

Jem pushed Tobias towards the small door and stumped round between him and the ascending stairs, as if he had divined his thoughts. Tobias felt in his pocket for the proper key and then withdrew the skeleton key from the lock, and contrived to substitute the other without being seen by Jem. His retreat to the chapel was now cut off, and he deemed it best to proceed on the course originally proposed, so he opened the small door and turned to Jem for fresh orders.

"You go first, Mr Tinker," said Jem; "it's a tight place, but yon can't miss the steps, there's on'y six: on 'em. You'd better take that wallet off your shoulders and carry it in front of you."

Tobias complied, and slowly descended the six steps, wondering whether he would reascend them alive. He had decided that he would adopt some means to circumvent Jem, if he possibly could, before parting with so large a sum of money as fifty pounds. If he could only contrive to open the wallet unseen, he knew he could readily lay his hand on some weapon therein with which he could dash the knife out of Jem Ritson's hand; then he would have the "one-legged idiot" at his mercy, and if he resisted, he could knock him on the head.

Tobias began fingering the straps and buckles as he carried the old wallet in front of him down the steps, but his hands trembled with excitement, and before he could get a single buckle undone he was aware that Jem was peering over his shoulder, and so he had to desist.

"Straight on, tinker," said Jem peremptorily, "there bain't no saucepans to mend down 'ere; you may hump your kit again, it will be more comfortabler."

Again Tobias had to obey the brutal poacher. He cautiously proceeded in front towards the apsidal end of the vaulted crypt, passing on his left hand what appeared to be a huge pillar of masonry supporting the stone roof, but which was in reality a hollow cylinder, concealing and protecting the mouth of the well or shaft. Tobias knew that the small opening leading to the stone steps, by which he could descend into the well, was at the other side, and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Ritson had not discovered this, and that he might escape down the shaft, where Jem could not follow him; but first he wished to see the gins. How to get possession of them without paying the money was a puzzle. Tobias rapidly planned, as he cautiously moved along by the light of the solitary candle, which Jem held aloft, that when he had seen the articles he was in quest of then he would extinguish the candle and take to his heels, so as to reach the short stone staircase first and lock the door before the wooden-legged man could overtake him. Then he could dictate terms to the poacher from the other side, or leave him in the vault to starve until he submitted.

Suddenly Jem cried out: "Halt! Lay down your kit, and go straight on to the end wall. You'll see a big tombstone there as is like a stone box; the top of it ain't so 'eavy as it looks. Open it up agin the wall, and I'll come and show yer wot you want inside. You mus'n't 'oller out it's arf full o' bones, and the skulls of dead men grinning up at you ain't pleasant to look on; but they won't bite, like them gins do as is lying on top of 'em."

Tobias remembered the large stone object Jem indicated, which he saw dimly in the distance, but which he had always imagined to be a stone altar. He now crept up to it in awe, and put forth all his strength to lift off the thin slab of stone forming the cover, which was loose and not very heavy. When he had succeeded in doing this, Jem approached from behind and let the light from the candle fall into the tomb. Tobias saw a quantity of dry human bones, with half-a-dozen skulls amongst them, and lying on the bones he beheld the two gins he was in search of.

"All c'rect, Mr Tinker, just as I said? Now, shut down the stone cover agin, and lay out the notes on't, side by side, so as I can count 'em, and be quick about it; there bain't more'n inch o' candle left, and I've got no more, along o' that sharp lass Betsy, as never leaves a scrap she can 'elp out of her sight."

"We had better go elsewhere to count the notes," said Tobias. "I'm half frozen in this 'orrid place, and all in a tremble at the sight o' them grinning skulls. Why ever did you choose such a place to 'ide the gins in?"

"'Cos I liked, Toby Miles, so that I might keep 'em safe to sell to Squire Ferrier when he comes 'ome. Shell out what we agreed on 'ithout more ado or by the living Jingo you'll never leave this alive."

Jem rapidly transferred the candle end from the knife to his fingers as he spoke, and as rapidly brought the point of the knife to Tobias Miles' throat, pinning him against the side of the tomb and barring his escape with his body.

"Hand over yer pocket-book, there's no time for countin' now,"he snarled out -- "yer said yer 'ad on'y forty pounds in't -- and then out wi' the watch."

Now Tobias had really over two hundred pounds in his pocket-book, which he had provided himself with in case it was needful to make that projected trip to the States, and deep anguish filled his soul at the idea of losing such a sum; but the point of the knife was steadily pressing on his windpipe, and the eyes of the poacher seemed to glare on him like those of a demon.

Tobias saw the candle end flare up, as it was compressed between the finger and thumb of the poacher, and he thought that with its last glimmer his fate would be sealed -- the knife would be in his throat, and Ritson would leave his body to the rats in the vault.

A sudden fiendish expedient occurred to the poacher to bring the deadly contest to a close. He passed the flaring remnant of candle close under Tobias' nose, and at the same time sharply pricked his throat with the knife, drawing a few drops of blood. The tortured man straightway plunged his hand into his breast pocket and surrendered his pocket-book, which Jem Ritson thrust inside his jacket, and then with lightning quickness snatched the watch from Tobias' vest, and slowly backed away, step by step, in the direction of the stone stairs, holding aloft the expiring light, which now actually burned his fingers.

"You stay w'ere you are, Toby Miles," he growled savagely, "till I give yer leave to stir, or I'll come back and cut yer throat in the dark, and drop yer carcase into that stone coffin atop o' them bones. I've 'arf a mind to lock yer in forever. Down 'ere no one 'ud hear yer 'ollering ef you was to bust yer lungs. But as Squire Ferrier 'ull want to see you in the dock -- along o' yer trying to murder his son -- you'll be let out p'r'aps to-morrow night at this hour by someone as I'll give the key to."

Jem could endure the burning of his horny fingers no longer. As he spoke he turned suddenly to make sure of the distance and direction of the steps, from which he was now not far off; then he flung the end of candle towards them, and in an instant the crypt was in total darkness.

Tobias had carefully observed Jem's distance from the outlet, and with a sudden flash of intelligence he remembered that he had in his pocket the key of the small door at the top of the steps. He thought that by a rush he could overtake and pass the poacher, or thrust him aside as he dashed past him in the darkness, then he could turn the tables on him by locking the small door, and deliver him into the hands of the police, in broad daylight, when he had got rid of his disguise.

Tobias darted forward in a straight line, in the solid darkness of the vault, with his hands outspread so as to catch Jem Ritson a sudden blow on either hand as he sped past, and but for a mere trifle he might have succeeded, and rejoiced evermore. But, alas! in his headlong rush his feet caught in the old wallet he had flung on the floor in obedience to Jem's order.

Tobias was precipitated violently on his head on the stone pavement, and lay there for -- how long he never knew -- stunned and bleeding. When he recovered consciousness he slowly picked himself up and groped about for the obstacle which had overturned him. He hazily remembered that he had a box of matches, and finding them in his pocket, struck a light and saw the tinker's wallet, on which he sat down to think in the darkness. Never was man in so forlorn a plight. He sadly rubbed his stubbly chin, and slowly collected his ideas. He remembered that the accursed poacher had said he might be released on the next night, but how long he had been already imprisoned he did not know, or how long he would be kept prisoner in that miserably cold dungeon he could not safely say -- perhaps for days, to die slowly of starvation. Already he felt weak and hungry and dizzy from the loss of blood, and so cold that his teeth chattered and ached.

Tobias would be thankful now for a few of those scraps of cold bacon and a mug of that small beer he had despised at the hands of Betsy. He thought that, perhaps, if he were to creep to the top of the steps and to howl through the keyhole in the outer door, his voice might be heard across the courtyard by Betsy in her kitchen, and if she came to set him free, how thankful to her he would be. He would forgive all her iniquities and rough language, and, perhaps, he would raise her wages, provided she did not scoff and jeer at him and call him names. Tobias lit another match, and saw by its feeble light that there was much blood on his shirt and vest. He still felt the sharp pain of that puncture of the poacher's knife in his throat, and wondered would he ever have the pleasure of bearing witness in court against him for the deadly assault. But then he remembered that he himself had caused a deadlier wound to be inflicted on Mr Ferrier's son, and for that he might have to appear in a criminal court on his own account, Tobias fully believed he had been sufficiently punished for his offence already, and foully robbed of his money and watch, all indirectly because of those unlucky gins, and so he fancied he ought not to be made to suffer any further penalties in person or purse; but he was fully satisfied that Jem Ritson deserved to be speedily hung, and then he believed that the poacher would drop straight into the lake of fire and brimstone, and remain there for ever.

Tobias thought it would be decidedly wicked to allow such a reprobate as Ritson any time to repent. Burning brimstone was, in his opinion, far too mild for him -- phosphorus, he knew, was said to cause more horrible burns than anything else, and should be laid, on thick on the wretch who had dared to apply a lighted candle to his nose in his own house. Tobias lit another wooden match, which smelled of brimstone and phosphorus combined, and the abominable odour comforted him a little, although the end of his nose smarted all the more. He now saw that there were only half-a-dozen matches left, and then he stood up, with stiff, aching limbs, and slowly crept towards the little stairs. Tobias expected to find the small door at the top of the stone steps open; he knew he had the two keys, but to his horror he found it tight shut. He threw his weight against it and it yielded slightly at the top, then he became aware that the accursed Ritson had inserted wooden wedges at the bottom of the door, after the manner of burglars, when escaping. He thought the poacher must surely have the cunning of Satan, or perhaps was Satan himself, which would account for all his misfortunes, and the presence of those blue-devils he had seen about the house. If Tobias could only open the small internal door, he hoped he could obtain a glimpse of daylight through the keyhole in the larger outer door, if there was any to be seen; he might also ascend the circular stairs leading to the chapel overhead, and call for assistance from thence. There was another entrance to the chapel from a corridor in the house, but it was always kept locked and bolted, and no one was likely to make use of it in his absence. Still, if he could get into the chapel he could soon call the attention of someone to his plight through a window. But, alas! Jem Ritson, alias "Satan in the flesh," or one of his dark angels, knew all this better than Tobias, and had taken the precaution to secure the door.

Tobias concluded, at length, that if he were to go back to the wallet on the floor and select some tools therefrom he could force out the wedges under the door from the inside. So he descended the steps again and sought for his matches, but not finding them in his pocket, he slowly remembered that he had placed them by his side near the wallet, as he sat thereon in darkness. Tobias straightway set out to find them, cautiously taking his bearings from the face of the steps and steadily walking straight on, as he fondly imagined. It is a singular thing that no one can cross a large room in a straight line in total darkness, and, as a rule, in a few minutes the adventurer will become utterly incapable of knowing his exact position.

In a short time, which seemed over an hour to Tobias, he found his outstretched hands in contact with the circular wall which surrounded the well, but he did not then discover that it was circular, or what wall it was, and so he crept round it until he came to the opening leading to the steps by which he could descend to the bottom. Fortunately he touched the iron handrail, and then started back in horror, knowing that two steps further within the opening would have plunged him into space.

Tobias fled away from the aperture and resumed his weary wanderings to and fro, now touching the outer walls, now the wall of the well enclosure, and at one time in groping round he actually reached the old tomb at the end of the crypt -- the scene of his sufferings at the hands of Satan -- and shrank away from it lest he should encounter the Evil One again, with his mind totally unhinged. A few minutes later on he stumbled over the old wallet a second time, and then at length clutched his matchbox on the floor beside it. He was now a little warmer from the exercise he had undergone, and straightway commenced to unbuckle the straps which held the wallet closed. When he thrust in his hand it encountered something clammy, which he pulled out and inspected with the aid of another match. Eureka! it was a tinker's grease-lamp, used for soldering with a blowpipe. The coarse cotton wick was in its place, and soon a strong steady flame appeared and made surrounding objects visible. Tobias saw the grey wig and his battered hat on the floor a little way off, and gladly resumed, possession of them to protect his shorn head from the cold. He warmed his.hands over the lamp, and began to look in the wallet for the tools best suited for his purpose.

At this moment it occurred to Tobias that Ritson might return again some night and resume possession of the steel gins for which he had paid so dearly, and he decided, now that he had sufficient light, he would take them out of their present hiding-place and cast them down the shaft. Ritson, he knew, could not go down those narrow winding steps with his wooden leg, and if he did he would be likely to fall over and break his neck, a consummation Tobias devoutly wished for as a preliminary to the fire and brimstone.

Tobias again raised the lid of the old tomb, lifted out the gins, and carried them to the opening to the shaft to throw them in, but as he approached it he was surprised to see the flame of the lamp blown back by a strong current of air ascending from the shaft. He paused to think and to sniff the air, which felt fresh and cold. Surely that could not come all the way from the distant river, to which he had fancied the adit at the bottom led? It must have a nearer outlet, and if so he might escape by creeping over the obstruction he had encountered on a previous occasion. Tobias decided he would descend and try, and bethought him that he might as well carry the gins down the shaft and not throw them from such a height to be shattered at the bottom. Some day he might be able to return them to brother Ramsbottom, and claim back the money paid for them. One of them was still wound up ready to catch its prey, and required to be cautiously handled. Tobias took off a leather belt he habitually wore, and slung the gins over his shoulder, then grasped the rusty iron handrail with one hand, and holding the flaring grease-lamp in the other, slowly descended to the bottom of the shaft and laid down his burden. He looked with renewed pleasure for a moment at the thin coal seam, and then at the mouth of the adit, and beheld to his surprise some kind of small furry beast blinking at him and showing its teeth. Tobias flung a piece of coal at the little animal, which scuttled away down the adit. He could not say exactly what it was; but fancied it was a stoat, and guessed now that the adit led into the open air at no great distance; but, as he objected to the presence of such vermin beneath his house, before he entered the adit he placed the wound-up gin therein, so that it might close on any live creature coming there from. He had no bait, but trusted that the natural curiosity of such animals would tempt the one he had seen into the jaws of the trap, and then be proceeded on his way feeling the air fresher and colder as he went on, until he met what he had previously imagined was a "fall" from the roof. Now that he had a better light than that he had carried on his former visit, he saw that the rock roof was sound, and that the obstruction was caused by rubbish, over which he crawled on all fours, keeping his lamp alight with difficulty.

Suddenly Tobias felt a furze bush in front of him, and pushing this aside he emerged into the open air, and saw stars shining above him in the frosty night. The faint sound of distant church bells broke on his ear. He listened intently, and recognised the Christmas chimes rung from Madeley Church; then he looked around and decided that he was near the bottom of the Dingle, on his own land, about two hundred yards from his house. There was a mound there, on which he now stood, which previously had puzzled him to account for in daylight, but which he guessed was formed of the waste material excavated from the adit. He slowly walked up the Dingle to the house, and saw lights burning in two of the rooms, which, he suspected was on account of the injured man within. He could not ask for admittance in his present disguise, nor did he think it safe to appear at all under the circumstances, lest he should be arrested; so he turned away and plodded slowly in the snow by the road to the railway station, outside which he remained pacing until daylight, when the first train for Dudley came in.

Tobias had a few shillings in his pocket, with which he purchased a third-class ticket and immediately entered the carriage, which was cold and empty. Just as the train was starting, the door of the next compartment was opened suddenly by a late passenger, and he heard the thud of a wooden leg on the bare floor of the carriage. He peered cautiously over the partition and beheld his enemy Jem Ritson, standing with his back to him, arranging some parcels on the opposite seat.

"Please the Lord,"muttered Tobias to himself, "I'll give that old scoundrel into custody at Dudley, if his master Satan does not interfere again to save his emissary. Peradventure he may have the pocket-book upon him with my notes in't. 'Verily the years of the wicked shall be shortened, but my horn shall be exalted like that of a young unicorn.' ' Let the wicked man fall into his own net whilst I withal escape.' 'Let death seize upon him, and let him go down into hell, even to his own place. Selah!'"

Tobias seemed to have stored his memory with many texts like the foregoing, which he now repeated with intense satisfaction, whilst 'the wicked man' at the other side of the partition lit his pipe and smoked some strong tobacco, which made Tobias to sneeze.

Paul was just then comfortably seated in a large arm-chair near a blazing fire, with his wounded leg, still enveloped in bandages, raised on a rest.

Jem Ritson had lied to Tobias Miles, with a view to adding to his terrors, when he declared that the limb had been recently cut off and buried in the courtyard.

Paul has evidently suffered much since we saw him last. His cheeks are sunken and pale, but his eyes are bright, and he laughs pleasantly at Oreb's imitation of brother Ramsbottom's drawling cant when holding forth to the few "elect," whom he is wont to call "Gawd's people."

Oreb and Zeeb have come, to spend Christmas at Madeley Court, and are already on friendly terms with Paul, who has been telling them interesting tales of his foreign travels and adventures. Ruth sits by, equally interested, and no longer looks sad and anxious. The patient, who has borne his sufferings so patiently, is at last out of danger, and will probably soon take his departure to his own home not far off, from whence he has promised to come to see them often, provided they will also visit him in his solitude.

Mrs Weston has promised that she would call with Ruth, now and then, at the manor house, until such time as Paul had quite recovered, when she is afraid their visits must cease, before Mr Ferrier's return from Italy. She has heard of the old gentleman's strange dislike to the presence of petticoats in or near his abode, and for this and other reasons she thinks the visiting must soon be all on Paul's side. He will always be a welcome visitor to her and her daughter, but as to how Tobias Miles will take such visits she is doubtful, because no two men could be wider apart in their ideas and character. Paul she recognises as a highly intellectual, well-educated young fellow, with large views and sympathies, and the polished manners which travel and intercourse with educated foreigners confer. His gospel has been that of "culture," and he has evidently been a diligent student of the cult. The extent of his knowledge of men, animals and things appears to her to be marvellous for a man of his years, and yet no one could be more modest regarding his acquirements, more ready to share his stores of information with others, or more industrious in seeking to add to his knowledge by drawing out new facts from the experience of his hearers.

It is in this way that Paul has become so friendly with Oreb and Zeeb. He has questioned them with acute interest as to the acquirements of their teachers at school and their manner of teaching, and made suggestions as to the things taught and their future expansion by study, offering to lend them books and to assist them whenever he could.

The namesakes of the slaughtered princes of Midian think Paul is a prince-amongst men -- like Gideon -- and a giant in intellect, fully a head and shoulders above any scholar they have yet met, but also a scholar who can talk of scientific things in simple language, with easy illustrations fitted for young thinkers and encouraging them to think. Paul has explained to them the latest theories regarding the formation of coal, and shown them, under a microscope, the appearance of the club-mosses and ferns still visible in the fuel which now warmed them, after millions of years compression iu the earth. Tobias Miles, if he had been present.would have been tempted to shatter the microscope -- which was Ruth's property -- as an invention of Satan especially designed to discredit the book of Genesis. Ruth had often used it for similar investigations, but she felt that she never understood the subject so well as now.

Paul was certainly a great talker, as he admitted, and he made his hearers talk or answer questions, but what he said was worth remembering, and had not the somnolent effect of pulpit eloquence. He did not "hold forth"like Tobias Miles or brother Rarnsbottom; he merely indulged in animated converse, and listened attentively when other people spoke, especially when Ruth explained to him the nature of some of her father's inventions. Zeeb promised to take Paul down a coal mine, and told him what a clever man his master, Mr Perkins, was, although rough in manner; whilst Oreb undertook to show him over the engine factory and to introduce him to the German manager, who smoked all day over his drawings, and was believed to sleep with a pipe in his mouth.

There were two inhabitants of Madeley Court that evening whose useful functions were now drawing to a close, and who not only took no part in the conversation, but deemed it proper to enter a silent protest against the discussion of mundane subjects on a night which was to them the most sacred in the year. The two lady nurses had retired from association with the family at an early hour. They had ascertained that there was an old chapel attached to the house, to which access could be had through a door at the end of the corridor outside the room where the little party sat, and thither they betook themselves alone, with several tall candles, which they had sent for to the village and insisted on paying for themselves.

Mrs Weston had remonstrated with the nurses in vain, telling them the chapel was fearfully cold, and had no fireplaces, also that the windows had no sash frames or other protection from the outer air. The devout women bent their heads in meek protest, and begged all the more for the key of the door to the chapel, which was reluctantly given to them, whereupon they retired within, and locked the door behind them. Betsy had curiosity enough to look through the keyhole, and saw that the good ladies had lit their long candles and placed them on the stone altar at the end of the chapel, and were kneeling with bowed heads on the bare stone pavement.

At that moment Tobias Miles, disguised as a tinker, was engaged in deadly strife with Jem Ritson in front of the old tomb, which probably had been used at one time as a second altar, in the crypt beneath. Later on, Tobias was hurling maledictions after his retreating assailant, but no sound could penetrate those massive arches which separated the devout women from the wretched man. All three suffered intensely from cold, and were unconscious of each other's vicinity. The women accepted their misery with the feeling of martyrs, and seemed to live through the long hours without collapse simply by reason of the fervour of devotion in their hearts, whilst telling their beads with half-frozen fingers. Tobias Miles survived that dreadful night by reason of the strong animal instinct which made him cling to his selfish life, and in the hope of recovering his money and wreaking vengeance on the man who had betrayed, despoiled, and insulted him, but he never repented nor deemed himself in anywise a wrong-doer, whereas those poor women overhead, magnified the trifling errors of judgment into which they had fallen, or the slight faults of temper they may have indulged in during the past year, into heinous crimes, and smote their breasts and bowed their chilled foreheads on the icy pavement, calling themselves miserable sinners, and praying for pardon for the sake of the great MARTYR, the anniversary of whose birth they were celebrating in this sorrowful fashion, courting death from exposure to the biting cold.

These nurses are educated women who kneel there, in self-torturing anguish of soul, where priests and monks, whose bones are now tossed with the old gins into that receptacle beneath, knelt before them and counted beads and muttered prayers. Have they been taught aright? and who is responsible for the teaching? Have the souls of the mediæval priests, who knew little that is now worth knowing, and who spake of mysteries to their hearers in dog-Latin, entered into the bodies of the modern priests who have taught those two melancholy nurses, and sought to revive their ancient superstitions? Cui bono! "All is vanity, saith the preacher." Or is there afar off, beyond the pale stars, whose shimmering light pierces through the mullioned windows of the chapel, and falls in soft radiance around those two kneeling figures, a Heaven of wondrous bliss to which such feeble prayers can penetrate and will the form the safest passport? and if so, where will be the abiding place of the two men beneath their feet, whose teaching has been of another kind, of one of whom has learned to pray in a louder and coarser fashion, and both of whom have grown hardened from rough contact with the world?

Such curious problems are beyond us. We fancy, rightly or wrongly, they are beyond everyone, and may for ever be insoluble. The priest of ON, who gave his daughter in marriage to the patriarch Joseph, and probably taught him much of the wisdom of the Egyptians, knew just as little about them as the old abbot who built Madeley Court, or his successors, who wear doctors' hoods at Oxford. We have as yet no optical instrument that can find for us, in the starry heavens, that special Heaven those forlorn, shivering women are thinking of, although astronomers can detect objects in space that are "billions of miles"off. Few people have any clear idea of what a "billion" really means; but if those poor women were endowed with wings, and could fly from this earth at the speed of light, and were each to live to the age of Methuselah, they would probably not have lived long enough to reach one of the "fixed stars" whose rays fall on them at this moment.

Amongst those far distant stars, or suns, we can see through our telescopes great purses of light called "Nebulas," of whose vast size we can form no idea. Perhaps the Heaven of our devoted nurses lies there -- we hope so -- as they certainly deserve all the reward in happiness we can wish them for the conscientious care they have bestowed on Paul Ferrier, and on others similarly afflicted. But, alas! it is but a nebulous theory. The "insoluble" is not to be resolved into the "soluble," as the diamond can be into carbon, by any alchemy we know of.

A great thinker discovered the wonderful law which controls those heavenly bodies and "rolls the stars along," consequently we can tell where most of them are to be found in the heavens, although they may be unseen at the moment, by reason of the law, which is never at fault; but we cannot tell whether the beliefs of this age will last for another half-century, or fade away like the beliefs once taught by the priest of ON. The mere name of the priest and that of the sun-god he worshipped is all that remains to us of his creed, and already there are signs of a similar eclipse of faith. The laws of Nature alone remain constant; they rule the stars in their courses; we cannot see, with the author of Revelation, a new Heaven and a new earth; but we can learn to make the best of our time on the small planet upon which our fleeting life must be passed.

Hark! there is the sound of bells from a distant church tower, telling of the dawn of one of the faiths that has lasted, with some variations, in a part of this little world through nearly nineteen centuries. We can imagine a smile flitting over the battered face of the granite Sphinx near the pyramids as she thinks of the dawn and setting of many religions she has looked down upon. She saw the priest of ON invoking the aid of the Deity of his epoch; perhaps she has seen a remnant of the priests of a previous faith who made sacrifice to gods whose names were an abomination to the priest of ON. Dynasties and religions which lasted many centuries have risen and fallen under her stony gaze. She may have witnessed the marriage rites of the great Hebrew statesman with the daughter of the priest, and seen the exodus of Joseph's kindred, bearing away his bones as precious relics, perhaps to be worshipped when Moses' back was turned, just as devout people worship the bones of St Borromeo in the crypt at Milan at this day, and as the Hebrews worshipped the golden calf whilst Moses stole away to engrave on tablets of stone the laws which were to govern the ignorant, stiff-necked people whom he led forth into the wilderness, laws which existed in Egypt long before Moses was born, and contained the wisdom of ages, concentrated by the evolution of centuries of experience. There are records of civilised nations in Egypt during centuries before Noah is said to have entered into the Ark, and civilised nations are invariably governed by civilising laws. It needed no special Revelation for Newton to discover the law which governs the motions of the stellar universe: previous great thinkers had paved the way to the discovery, evolved at length in its fulness from a brain untrammelled by a belief in miracles, so perhaps, in the remote future, some man gifted with a gigantic intellect like Newton's may stand upon the seashore and discover the dim boundaries of the great ocean of Truth.

Hark! again the bells peal forth on the night air. The two chilled praying nurses have painfully struggled to their feet, and taking their candles, still alight, creep forth from the chapel with aching limbs, in which acute rheumatism will dwell for many a day, They are met in the corridor by the watchful Betsy, who has foreseen their sad condition, and fearful of fire on the premises, comes to put out the lights. But, NO -- those sacred candles must be allowed to burn out in their sleeping chamber. Betsy begs them to join the merry party by the hot.fire in the room close by, to whom Paul is speaking of the recent discovery of the planet Neptune by means of calculations based on Newton's law. He tells them there is a large telescope at the manor house, and that some fine night he will try to show them the rings of Saturn, and the belts and satellites of Jupiter, if those huge planets come along in time. The nurses send a frigid message by Betsy, as a minder that it is high time Paul went to bed and had his leg arranged. He makes a grimace, but dutifully prepares to obey, and in wishing Ruth "Goodnight" he holds her hand in his for an unreasonably long time, then stoops and kisses it, before them all, and wishes her many happy Christmases, "such as this," he says, forgetful that he can only hop on one leg, leaning on the shoulders of the young Midianites. None of those present will soon forget that evening -- Ruth and Paul least of all -- but there are the solemn nurses waiting impatiently, with pallid cheeks, and there are also two shadowy figures in the background who are visible only to the mental vision of the young man and maiden. Ruth is thinking of her fanatical uncle, and Paul of his stern, cynical father, and both of what those difficult persons are likely to say to this pleasant friendship. The former will no doubt denounce the son of the heathen lawyer, the latter the niece of the fanatical master nailer, or blacksmith, or whatever he is, and will call the gentle, pure-minded Ruth a "designing hussy"; but the more names they invent the stronger will grow the friendship, and of one thing we are assured, that no two people on this earth can think more highly of each other than Ruth and Paul do on this Christmas eve.

Ruth, as she knelt that night beside her mother's bed, for Paul occupies her own, asks her guardian angel to tell her if he deemed it right that she should think so much of this stranger, and by her joyous look and lustrous eyes and parted lips we know well that the answer has been pleasant to her. Ruth seems to hear the rustling of wings within the chamber; she folds her hands across her breast, and buries her face in the coverlet, as she did before the surgeons. She has no secrets to keep from her mother, who is looking pensively at her, excepting this little one, still she feels that she must keep that sacred between her and the angel, who knows all that is in her heart.

And what of Paul? He is restless and perturbed and feels that there are things in Heaven and earth he has not dreamt of in his philosophy. The attentive nurse thinks it is because he has sat up so late and talked so much. Perhaps it is. He has done so that he may study Ruth with keen, experienced eyes, as she sat near him and listened; and he has often talked to make her answer in her low, sweet voice, in order that he may learn the nature of her mind, and find out its depths and shallows. Her mind seems to him so deep and clear, so calm and spiritual, that no sounding line of his can fathom it. Ruth thinks before she speaks, and, if a thing be hard or difficult, she pauses for the prompting of the angel in whom she trusts, and then answers with a smile. She is not emotional, although Paul can see that with her mother and cousins she is affectionate. They love her dearly, but there is one poor girl in the dwelling who worships her, and who desires that all others should worship her afar off.

"There is no one in all the world so good as our Miss Ruth" was the first article in Betsy's creed, oft repeated to all comers, "and there never was, or ever will be, anyone so good" is the second.

Paul has often talked with Betsy as to the merits of her young mistress when the outspoken girl has come with some carefully prepared delicacy to tempt his feeble appetite, which Betsy declares Miss Ruth has seen to and planned with cook, for Ruth carries her laboratory practice into the kitchen, and is skilful at compounding dainty dishes. Paul has learned from Betsy, in those quaint conversations which seem to amuse him greatly, all that Ruth has done for her, and how patient she has been with the poor ignorant girl to whom she has taught so much in so short a time, with skilful appreciation of the difficulties in the way of teaching a retarded mind, and ready invention to overcome the difficulties, and, above all, with a zealous purpose to fit the pupil for the battle of life, and to train her in self-reliance and self-respect.

Another year in the streets of Dudley, at a critical period in her career, and probably poor Betsy would have been lost, as thousands of such waifs and strays are lost, to be found again in the river or the hospital. Now she looks forward to a life of usefulness with hope, watching and aiding her good friend the cook with keen interest in all she does, and bearing the results of their joint labour in triumph to the invalid, who was always so thankful and so ready to listen to her simple talk. In Betsy's mind there were no fine hair-splitting definitions about right and wrong. She held that people who worked hard, like her father, and tried to keep their families in tolerable decency, were "honest folk," and would surely go to Heaven, wherever that was, when they died, even if they never went to church because they had no Sunday clothes, and that the "loafers" who hung about public-houses, leaving their wives and children hungry, and the hard task-masters, like Tobias Miles, would as certainly be found in permanent residence with the being she called " ode 'Arry," who would know how to reward them for their sins of omission and commission. There the articles of Betsy's belief ended; but she fully accepted whatever else Ruth told her was true, and willingly obeyed her slightest wish, and as Ruth had told her to be attentive and obedient to the cook, she attached herself to that sagacious woman, like a faithful dog, and held but little converse with the other two domestics, who spent most of their time on the upper floor and were inclined to look down on Betsy.

At length came the day, early in the new year, when Paul was permitted by Mr Taylor to remove to his father's house in a closed carriage, for the snow still lay on the ground in that long, severe winter. The nurses had gone the day before, leaving with him, as a gift, a copy of St Thomas a-Kempis' little book, which Paul had promised to read, and did read because he had promised. This was the only approach they made to his conversion. They could not understand him. He had never complained or been fretful, even in the worst period of his sufferings; he was very grateful for their skilled attention, and wrote to the secretary of the hospital, enclosing a cheque for the nursing institute, with his testimony to the excellence of the two members of the community of whom he had personal experience. The two ladies had never before nursed so good a patient, but they knew well he was an unbeliever. Mr Taylor had told them so at the outset, and so they sadly remembered Paul in their prayers as one of the lost souls doomed to drift away like a wandering comet into outer darkness, or perhaps to spend ages in the cleansing fires of some penitential limbo, for they believed in purgatory, and in fact accepted every doctrine of the Romish Church excepting the headship of the Pope. Their practical knowledge extended only to the modern science of nursing, which they knew thoroughly. They had inquired diligently of Paul as to certain methods of treatment adopted in foreign hospitals, and he had carefully explained them; with that inquiry their intercourse with him ended. It was evident he and they moved in different planes of thought and had no other point of contact. They spoke but little to Mrs Weston during their stay, and scarcely at all to Ruth. The fact that mother and daughter were "Unitarians" raised a harrier which these good women could not overlook; but they often looked sadly at Ruth, thinking what an excellent nurse she would make if only she could be taught the error of her ways.

Ruth looked sad enough when she resumed possession of her room. She had never had a doubt as to the certainty of Paul's recovery -- with the use and possession of both his limbs -- once she had been so assured by the unseen spirit, but she wished he had remained a little longer.

On the day after Paul's departure Tobias Miles returned to the house. He had seen his son Zeeb at Dudley, who assured him that Paul was still in possession of both his legs, and likely to retain them, and Mrs Weston had written to him to say that the young man desired her to inform him that there were to be no legal proceedings of any kind, also that Paul's father was abroad and as yet knew nothing of the accident.

Tobias had been occupied lately in endeavours to effect the capture of Jem Ritson. It appears that when the train arrived at Dudley, on the morning when we last saw the worthy pair, Jem was not to be found in the compartment in which Tobias fondly thought he had him safe, and from information given by the guard it was ascertained that a man with a wooden leg, carrying some parcels, had hurriedly got out at.a small station before the train reached Dudley, and had given up a ticket for Birmingham, pleading illness as a reason for breaking his journey.

Tobias could learn no tidings of Jem Ritson after the latter had left the. station, but he had put the police of the whole district on his track ineffectually. It was probable that Jem had looked over the partition in the railway carriage and discovered his enemy, whilst Tobias sat moodily brooding over his wrongs and thinking of the means he would adopt at Dudley, where he was well known to the railway authorities, to secure his assailant. Now Tobias became fully convinced that Ritson was in league with the Evil One, or was Satan himself, who had adopted the disguise of a wooden leg to conceal one of his hoofs. The fact that Jem had hitherto appeared without horns did not seem to weigh with Tobias. He recollected that nothing was said in Scripture as to horns when the Devil made that journey up the "exceeding high mountain" to exhibit all the kingdoms of the earth from a single point on the surface of our globe. Physical difficulties of that kind never weigh with believers in demons. Tobias was satisfied that no one but a demon would have thought of putting a lighted candle to his nose, which on his return to Madeley Court was still inflamed, so that Mrs Weston had a sad suspicion that of late he had been over-indulging in strong waters, which really was not the case.

Tobias was glad to hear that Dr Ferrier had gone home at last, leaving kindly messages, and even regretting all the trouble he had caused by his illness. He said that Mr Perkins was coming over for a day or two about the coal, and desired that he might have the room Paul had so long occupied; but although Ruth had rejoiced to surrender her bedroom to Paul, which was the best furnished room in the house, and contained all her little accumulated treasures, she did not seem at all happy in the prospect of Mr Perkins' occupation, and feared he would be a grimy "colliery-viewer" addicted to smoking cutty pipes. She was therefore glad to hear her mother object to the arrangement in decided terms and suggest, that Mr Perkins could find accommodation at the village inn.

"This is a dreadfully cold house," she said," and we have had to keep up large fires in every room."

"Yes, it's a draughty place, no doubt," said Tobias, rubbing the end of his excoriated nose, which was still troubling him, and reminded him of the cold night he had passed in the crypt, "but please the Lord," he added more cheerfully, "we will soon find coal enough, under the house to warm it. That's wot we are here for -- to win the coal, in spite of the Devil and his works."

A dwarfish man, with a large head and prominent eyes, opened the iron gates at the end of a long-avenue of elm trees, and looked sourly at them as they passed, then retreated to his lodge shrugging his shoulders. Ruth noticed that he was clad in the same kind of dark woollen garments as the driver and footman seated on the carriage, and on arriving at the porch of the house an individual similarly attired opened the hall door and gravely saluted them, but did not look particularly pleased at their advent. He pointed to a door at the side of the large hall they had entered and said, "You will find Mr Paul in there," but he did not offer to open the door, and straightway resumed his seat in a leather covered chair, with a hood over it, close to a good fire, and took up a magazine he had been reading.

Ruth noticed that he had deformed feet, as he drew a shawl over them when he sat down, taking no further notice of her, but silently resuming the perusal of the serial.

The door which this strange hall-porter had indicated was opened from the inside at this moment, and Mrs Weston deemed it best to enter. As she did so a young man in the same kind of dress, and wearing spectacles with thick convex lenses, confronted them and pointed to an arm-chair near the fireplace, where they were glad to see Paul seated, with his wounded leg on a surgical rest.

"I can't go to meet you, ladies," he said ; "please to come here. I am still crippled, as you see, and quite in character with most of the inmates of this house. You will find that nearly everyone here has something or other the matter with him; that is one of the best qualifications for admittance." Paul raised his hands as he concluded, and began to indicate rapidly, in the deaf and dumb alphabet, on his fingers some direction to the young man with the odd-looking spectacles, who straightway placed two chairs close to the arm-chair in which Paul sat.

He is deaf and dumb and has miopic eyes," he said, indicating the attendant, who had retired to the other end of the room. He is our librarian, and most useful. He knows were to find any book one wants out of all those volumes you see round the walls, and he delights in hunting them up -- just as dogs do who are taught to fetch and carry. He is especially useful to me now that I cannot move about."

Mrs Weston hastened to make inquiries as to the state of his wounded limb.

"Well, it has been paining a little during the last few days," he said. "Mr Taylor thinks there are some minute splinters of bone to come away yet, and when that is over I shall begin to mend more rapidly, I miss my excellent nurses, especially this one," he added, taking Ruth's hand. "I hope," he said to her, "you have resumed possession of your bedroom. I have made a mental inventory of all the pretty things therein. It must have been a great privation to find yourself displaced by this selfish invalid."

"No, Dr Ferrier, we have only regretted that you went away before you were quite well; but in this beautiful large room, and with all those books to read, you ought to be much better off."

"And with no one to talk to or to talk to me," he said, "unless on one's fingers, which is slow work. Now you will understand why I'm such a talker whenever I get the chance of a good listener."

"Could anyone read all those books in a long lifetime?" inquired Ruth, as she looked round on the shelves filled with volumes in rich and varied bindings.

"Well, I scarcely think they could read them all; but the average student would only want the greater part of them for reference. My deaf and dumb friend over there knows the titles of every one of them by heart, and I think that's the most of what he does know about them. He is very particular to have them put back in their places when they are taken down to be read in the evenings by our --domestics. " Paul hesitated a little before he used the last word.

"Do you permit the men-servants to make use of this splendid library?" inquired Mrs Weston in surprise.

"We have really no men-servants here," said Paul; "all the people you see, or will see, in or about the house are 'gentlemen-companions,' rendering certain services, when required of them, mainly on condition that they are fed and clothed and have the free use of this library at certain hours. You will find the rules posted up on cards in various places in the room."

"And the quiet-looking coachman who drove us, does he come here to read with his companion when he puts his horses up?"

"The 'quiet-looking coachman,' as you term him, is a Cambridge scholar. His companion was educated at Oxford for the Church, but threw up the pursuit because he could not swallow the Thirty-nine Articles, or any one of them. He suffers from a weak digestion, which is an unusual thing with clerical candidates who have fair chances of good livings. Such prospects act as marvellous tonics, so that in time the plastic neophyte can enter into competition with a full-grown ostrich in swallowing strange things. Faith feeds on a curious diet, sanctified by age and seasoned with supernatural elements. By-the-way, Mrs Weston, our cook here is a wrangler, who was crossed in love, and had differences on religious questions with the heads of his college. He is a great reader, but squints horribly. Your good cook can beat him hollow at his present vocation. I think my friend Betsy would snap her fingers at him -- how is she? I have had no good soup since I lost sight of her."

"Betsy is quite well," said Ruth, laughing, "and desires to be remembered to you. She told me to tell you that Mr Jocko will soon be at Dudley, and she is to have some holidays to go and see him with her father and sisters."

"Ah! how. I wish I could go too with you all. I have found out, I think, the true species Jocko belongs to, or rather is descended from. I will show you a picture of his great-great-greatest grandfather, who lived with his sportive kindred in the forests of Germany and the south of France in the middle Miocene period, before England was separated from the continent. Jocko's ancestors are called Dryopithecas, and were undoubtedly highly organised creatures of a stature equal to man. Size is not, however, of much consequence in considering the question, and depends on climatic and other conditions. I will show you Jocko's portrait side by side with a constructed portrait of his tailless ancestor, founded on a fossil skeleton by a clever Frenchman. They do such things wonderfully well in France -- I suppose because they have more of the monkey in them than any other race of people. We all like portraits of our ancestors, you know, if we have any with tails -- I mean titles to their names. I believe two of mine were hung for high treason in the Jacobite times, and I think they richly deserved it for trying to bring back greater superstitions than we are plagues with at present. But I forget, I must show you the Dryopithecas."

Paul clapped his hands above his head and straightway the deaf librarian rose and came to him. Paul engaged in manual conversation with him for a little space, and then the young man hurried away in search of the volume required.

"I thought he was quite deaf?" said Mrs Weston.

So he is, but he can feel the sound waves on his face. He could not hear the report of a cannon, but he would feel the concussion of the air if he were a mile off. If he lived in the moon I think he would know when a battle was being fought down here, but he'd have to take a supply of air with him or manufacture some chemically."

"I could do that," said Ruth. "Do you think, Dr Ferrier, that people live in the planets which appear to have atmospheres?"

"Most probably there is some kind of organic life in them, but it may be totally different from our life. For instance, if people exist in Mercury they must be like the fabled Salamanders to bear the intense heat; and in Mars there are apparently 'ice-caps' on both hemispheres at present, such as we had over this country during two vast Cycles or oftener. Men like us would probably be all right in our sister planet Venus. You must both come here some fine night to look for them through our large telescope. I'll try to hobble out and show it to you, as our astronomer is away just now with my father."

"Do all your -- 'gentlemen-companions' do some kind of work?" inquired Mrs Weston.

"Yes, all of them, when they can; but there are only half-a-dozen in residence just now. They go away at this season to travel in couples, or to see their friends and satisfy them as to their sanity. The only man who I think is really mad is the dwarfish lodge-keeper. He sees the outer world oftener than the rest from the gateway, and grows vicious in consequence. He is a violent woman-hater. Did he look crossly at you as you drove in? I warned him not to show his fearful teeth."

"Yes, he did look cross," said Ruth, "and I think particularly so at me."

"Ah! that's because you are young and good-looking. He has only been seen to smile at a female on one occasion since he came here, and she was an old wrinkled hag as ugly as himself. I'll tell him to leave the gates open and keep in his den when next you are coming."

"Do they all obey you " asked Ruth, who began to wonder how the singular establishment was managed.

"Yes, tolerably, in my father's absence, if they are on duty at the time. When he comes home, I have to take my turn in 'obeying' with the rest, but I can go away whenever I please and return when I like."

"Are there any serious quarrels among the members of your association?" inquired Mrs Weston.

"Well, not often; there are little private squabbles now and then, no doubt. A serious quarrel might lead to expulsion of the man who made the quarrel, or of both persons engaged in it, if needful. They all value their places so much that they seem to avoid quarrelling, and take to absolute silence if they fall out until they recover composure -- perhaps you have noticed our people are rather silent. When, a vacancy occurs, by resignation or death, we always have several applicants for the place within a short time. In the large foreign establishments similar to this, such as the Hernhutters, there is a religious test, but here there is none. We are 'Secularists,' and take no vows."

"I fancied you were under a vow of celibacy," said Mrs Weston; "Mr Taylor said so."

"Not exactly," said Paul, growing red; "if anyone here desires to marry he can go forth and do so, but then he never can return. Perhaps he would not want to."

Here the deaf and dumb librarian brought a folio volume, with Paul's sketch of Jocko, and the discussion on the manners and customs of the inmates of Madeley Hall ended for the time being. The ladies saw considerable resemblance between the great ape as depicted by the scientific Frenchman and Jocko, and asked how it was possible to delineate an animal which existed on the earth at such a remote period from its fossil skeleton.

"It's quite possible, within certain limits of accuracy," said Paul. "Professor Owen is said to be able to perfectly reconstruct more complicated creatures from a few bones. It is admitted that these apes shown here correspond in their anatomical structure, bone for bone and muscle for muscle, with man; they must have descended from a common ancestor. I regret that I did not make a higher bid for Jocko. I have plenty of leisure to study him just now, and he would have been good company."

"Better than the deaf and dumb gentleman yonder?" asked Mrs Weston. "Perhaps Jocko would have taken to pulling down the books, and I fear would not replace them properly."

"Even so, it would have been interesting to watch him, and he could hear me remonstrate, and would no doubt argue the point in the language of his tribe, whereas our poor librarian here can neither hear nor speak, but has been trained by some benevolent person to obey like an automaton. Now I should like to train Jocko to think a little for himself; that will be the first step upward. You see I have missed a great chance. It might have been as important in results, from a scientific point of view, as the recent discovery of Neptune, which I take to be the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in astronomy. Fancy, two men -- Adams and Le Verrier -- reasoning it out by mathematical analysis, at almost the same moment and quite apart, that a planet, six times as big as our earth, would be found out there in space, nearly three thousand millions of miles off, and fxing the spot within a degree. I would rather have done that than have won the battle of Waterloo or made the fortunes of all the Rothschilds combined. The men who could do that are god whom I could worship, and yet they are descended from the same ancestor as Jocko.

"I cannot quite think so," said Mrs Weston. "It appears to me to be probable that during the long period of descent or ascent a spirit was breathed into man which is wanting in the ape."

"That is, no doubt, one of the forms of dealing with the difficulty created by Mr Darwin's discovery, and of subduing it to agreement with the story of creation. But you must not forget the vast extent of time that has elapsed since the separation imperceptibly took place, and the slow accretion of intelligence in man during ages of experience, and gradual survival of the fittest. One branch of the great human family, now represented by the apes, seems to have suffered in some way from retarded development. The other slowly forged ahead under more favourable conditions, and developed into homo sapiens -- an animal which in its highest state can discover planets by means of its faith in an inflexible law, even without the aid of telescopes, and an animal who in a lower stage of mental development thinks that the laws and order of Nature could be and were often interfered with in response to the prayers of individuals."

"I am afraid you are going beyond me, Dr Ferrier," said Mrs Weston, who saw in Paul's flushed cheek and knitted brow how deeply he felt when discussing his favourite hobby, which so often ran away with him. "I think," she added, smiling at his enthusiasm, "that Ruth would like to walk round and read some of the titles on the backs of the books. I see her looking wistfully at them, and I have no doubt there are some interesting objects under those microscopes yonder."

"Oh, I am so sorry 1 cannot go round with you," said Paul, turning to Ruth. "If I had the two princes of Midian here to lean on I would try to get about and show you many interesting books. I hope you will come often to make their acquaintance."

"Dr Ferrier," said Mrs Weston earnestly, when Ruth had departed, "it would give us both great pleasure to come here to see you, but do you think your father would be pleased? It appeared to me that the few 'gentlemen-companions' we have yet seen, seemed surprised at our invasion of the establishment, into which, I understand, no women are permitted to enter. You know, if your father has laid down this rule, we are trespassers, therefore -- although I am sorry to say so -- I am afraid we cannot come again, but we hope soon to see you able to visit us."

"I have written to my father," said Paul, "explaining that I had met with an accident, and that you kindly took me in and nursed me, also that I had invited you to call here. All rules must have exceptions."

"Excepting those laws yon were speaking of just now," said Mrs Weston. "But really, Dr Ferrier, unless your father should willingly endorse your invitation, I think we must be content to hear of your progress by messenger or letter until you are well enough to come and see us. I am glad we came to-day to see what a splendid library you have to spend the weary hours in. I am afraid when your father hears of the cause of this sad accident he will be very angry, and forbid all intercourse with us, which will be to me a matter of deep regret, and a great trial in addition to what I have already to endure."

Paul knew she referred to Tobias Miles, and hastened to assure her that his father should never know of the share the latter had had in his misfortune.

"It will surely be known some day, Dr Ferrier, and I think he ought to know the truth. I hope he will be merciful when he hears it."

"He is always just," said Paul, "and he has never refused me anything reasonable as yet. Indeed, he has been indulgent regarding many fanciful whims of mine. He has many fanciful whims of his own. This institution, for the benefit of people who are either crippled in some way, or who are what the Americans call 'cranks,' is one of them. I am rather tired of it since my visit to you."

"Our house is a desolate place compared with this, Dr Ferrier, and I think our occupation of it just now is due to a whim of my brother-in-law's; but I am glad we came there when we did, to have had the opportunity of succouring you a little and trying to atone for his wickedness."

"What made him think of purchasing the queer old place?" inquired Paul.

"He fancies, and indeed seems certain, that there is coal beneath the land. He is busy to-day with an expert examining into the question."

"I never heard there was coal underground in this neighbourhood, Mrs Weston. I fancy Mr Miles will be disappointed in his search, and in any case I would not care to have colliers and collieries in the vicinity. I know it would annoy my father dreadfully. Sometimes he fancies, when the wind blows for a time from Dudley over here, that he can see and smell the smoke, and the fancy sets him coughing. He is weak in the chest, and will probably have always to spend the winters abroad."

"I think I shall go abroad in the spring with Ruth, Dr Ferrier, if they begin to sink coal pits and erect steam engines over there. I dislike noise and smoke -- also the old house is, as you are aware, very cold."

"I was very comfortable over there," said Paul, "but I suppose I had the snuggest room in the house, to the exclusion of your daughter. I must try to make amends to her, with your permission. I wish to give her one of those microscopes she is looking through. It is mine, and more modern in construction than hers. I have several others."

"You are very good, Dr Ferrier, but she could not accept so valuable a thing."

"Then you must try to strain a point and come here often, so that she can use it here. I have a lot of interesting prepared specimens to show her."

"If your father writes in answer to your letter approving of our visits then we will come sometimes. Perhaps if he does you will kindly show me the passage in his letter."

"He writes but seldom," said Paul, who felt doubtful as to having any such passage to exhibit.

At this Mrs Weston shook her head sadly. "I hope you will write now and then, Dr Ferrier, wherever you are, and let us know how you get on," she said, as she rose from her seat and made a little signal to Ruth to leave the neighbourhood of the microscopes and come to her.

"This will be a red-letter day with me," said Paul to Ruth. "I have had a good talk, and now if you do not come soon again you will find I shall lose the use of my tongue and become unable to articulate words, like Jocko. Then the finger alphabet will be my only resource, and perhaps you do not know it."

"Oh, yes, I know it," said Ruth. "I have spoken with your librarian when you were not looking. He tells me there are over fifty thousand volumes here, and he has shown me the catalogue he has made."

"Then you must be a highly favoured person. He never volunteers any information. When you come again I will tell you his history, and the story of this queer place as far as I know it. The readers will come in presently, and seat themselves about the room in silence, and I shall fall asleep and dream I am back at Madeley Court, and that it is Christmas Eve again. You can see the little conical roof over that circular staircase to the chapel from here, above the fir trees where you found me lying in the snow. There is an arrow-slit, which I can easily see with a glass, in that little tower, high up -- perhaps when you are at home and disengaged you would tell Betsy to go up the stairs -- it goes to the top -- and hang out a piece of red cloth through the opening, then I would know, and if I can would drive over to see you both. It would save your mother the trouble of writing and sending messengers. But try to persuade her to come while I am a prissoner here. It does me good to see you."

Paul had resumed his old habit of taking and holdling Ruth's hand as he spoke. "I shall try to persuade her, Dr Ferrier," she said quietly, "and I hope soon to see you much better. I wish you had stayed with us longer."

"I wish now that I had. Tell Betsy to bring back all the information she can about Jocko, and kindly translate it from her dialect for me. She is not to give him too many nuts, nor too many kisses; she may spoil him and make him conceited. Farewell."

Paul lightly pressed Ruth's hand as he concluded, and indicated to the librarian that he was to see the ladies into the carriage, which was waiting. Ruth thanked the deaf man on her fingers for doing so; he bowed gravely, but made no reply, and then remained standing bare-headed, looking after them from the doorstep, until the club-footed porter came and tapped him on the shoulder and told him, with rapid gesture, that he was chilling the hall by keeping the door open in such freezing weather, pointing at the same time to several of the "gentlemen-companions" who were standing listlessly about waiting to enter the library. The dumb librarian re-entered the room, followed by his companions, and busied himself in selecting the volumes they required, in which they all speedily became absorbed, seated at tables far apart. One of them sat down near a large globe and slowly turned it round, referring now and then to a book of travels; another glanced occasionally at an object under one of the microscopes whilst he turned over the leaves of a folio filled with botanical plates.

Paul was seemingly asleep in his chair, dreaming perhaps that he was in livelier company and that Christmas Eve had come round again. The book he had been reading had fallen from his hand on the floor. The librarian approached and picked it up, and placed it on a table beside Paul, who looked pale and worn, but opened his eyes for an instant and indicated to the young man that he might replace the volume on its proper shelf. Just then the hall-porter, who seemed to do his reading outside in his comfortable chair by the fire, opened the door and shuffled across the room to Paul with some letters on a tray, which had just been delivered by the postman. He handed Paul several, amongst which latter recognised one addressed in his father's handwriting, which he opened and read as follows: --

"CANNES.

DEAR PAUL, -- I am very sorry to hear of your accident, and hope it is not so serious as you imagined at first. It was well that you called in Clement. There is no humbug about him as there is with many medical men who make mountains out of mole-hills, but I cannot understand what made him insist on your being treated out of your own house for so many days. If Dr Taylor had ordered you to remain with strangers it would not have surprised me, but I thought Clement had more sense. You must invent some way to compensate the ladies mentioned by you as having been so kind, for all the trouble you have given them; but I must impress on you the fact that your inviting them to call at the Hall is a breach of our strict rule which must on no account be repeated. Probably they have common sense enough not to avail themselves of your hasty invitation; but if it is otherwise, I regret it, and request you to drop your new acquaintance, and politely inform the ladies, in whatever way yon wish, that the visit must not be repeated. I rely on you not to disobey me in this. The weather here has been unusually severe, and I am sorry that your accident has prevented you from coming to Algeria with me at an earlier date. I think there will be a chance of my getting there in a steamer now lying off here, and if so I shall leave immediately. Send me a report regarding yourself and companions to care of the Consul at Algiers, and believe me, yours faithfully,

"ROBERT FERRIER."