or small happen to the unphilosophical, to the unlearned, and the unprepared. Your true philosopher is granted no adventures in his own person. What would I not have given to have been you, with those Hindu fingers locating the fracture? . . . You felt no pain, you say?-and yet you were able to observe nothing? Well, well!—it's no use my complaining. You must make up for it, by following out with absolute exactness the directions she gives you, and letting her treat you right on to the end. If the bone turns out to be badly set, I promise you I will break it again and reset it for nothing. You shall have no trouble with it. And there's not a good turn I can do you that I'll ever refuse after this.--Promise me, there's a good fellow ! "

As soon as he allowed me to speak I gave the promise readily enough, for, in my utter ignorance concerning the setting of bones, I had as much confidence in Nepenthes as in himself. He thanked me very heartily, and thereafter, seeing no doubt that I could hardly bear his talk, he was so considerate as to sit silent all the remainder of our drive. The poor horse, however, suffered somewhat, for he was made to double his pace, his master being in a fury of impatience till he should get me into the house, where he might, as far as the bandaging permitted, examine the treatment of the fracture at his ease.

Of that day there remain with me but two more recollections, slight and indistinct, owing to the fever which was now beginning to take a strong hold upon me. I remember Rose's coming into the parlour, where I was lying, brought thither by oft-repeated stentorian calls from Williams. Williams, an exceptionally kind-hearted man in his blunt, oblivious way, was easily moved to wrath by any appearance of cruelty, or callousness to suffering. He gave Rose a very vigorous rating for inhumanity towards me. What she could have meant by her untruth in saying I was gone to Dorchester he professed he neither knew nor cared; but he intimated, in plain and angry terms, his strong desire to know what she meant by this present hardness of heart and neglect.

Rose, all the while he spoke, stood frowning with eyes downcast. Her air was childishly sullen and obstinate; and his reproaches, no doubt, had the effect of putting her further and further from any feeling of compassion for me.

T

I myself said nothing, but my heart echoed his words. I began to recall, perhaps rather too self-pityingly, my frequent championship of this unfortunate woman, my eager endeavours to shield her, and constant readiness to do her service; and much I wondered how she could thus sacrifice me, and see me injured, without a movement of compunction, or even the common human prompting to render aid.

At the end of Williams' harangue she glanced at me, and caught my look, which perhaps was eloquent of my thoughts. She flushed; and then spoke sulkily, in slow, abrupt sen

tences.

"I am always being preached at. I am to think for this person, and think for that person. I am always to be kind, and to have sympathy, and to be unselfish. . . . But who has sympathy for me? Who is kind to me? Who?No one . . . I see evil in this house. It eats into my mind. Does any one care for that?—I speak of it; no one heeds. -I speak again and again; not once is any notice taken. Therefore I have been driven to act for myself. . . . It was necessary. I say, It was necessary for my safety, and for the good of all."

Williams listened to this speech in silence, and I am left to imagine with what looks of keenly observant attention; but I remember clearly being astonished at the friendly, pitying tones in which he next addressed her.

My last recollection of that day is of tossing wearily upon my bed, maddened by the feeling of a fire ablaze within my skull, and by pains all over my body; and, presently, of the entrance of Nepenthes and Polly into my room. Their figures seemed to move amid strange blurs of light and shadow; yet I was able to watch Polly arrange the customary seat upon the floor, and to behold Nepenthes take her place there not far from the foot of the bed. I felt her eyes fix themselves upon me with a gentle gaze,—oh, most strangely gentle, and yet withal deep, dread, and irresistible. Dimly I wondered with myself at it, and struggled,—until my eyes darkened, and I sank and sank away, into abysses of profoundest sleep.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

HUGH HEARS HALF THE TRUTH.

I AM not going to weary you with an account of my illness. It was sharp, but short. For one or two days I was made to keep my bed, and Mrs Batten sat with me and ministered to my wants. On first waking from sleep to find her bending over me, I was made so angry that I came near giving myself a fresh access of fever out of pure agitation. But this Martha Batten possessed a wonderful gift for the management of the sick. She soon had me calm and submissive; I began to like her hand upon my hot forehead, and her soothing voice in my ear. The pillows and bedclothes, when she arranged them, became cool at once and comfortable. Food and drink from her hand tasted strangely palatable; and it was a lazy pleasure to watch her moving noiselessly about.

My great desire, of course, was for news of Nepenthes and of Polly; but Mrs Batten, when I inquired about them, turned gloomy and reserved, and would tell me nothing beyond that they were safe and unmolested in the house. I did not persist in my questioning, for to talk of them with this woman was excessively disagreeable to me.

At noon on the third day, feeling better, I broke through restraint, got up, and went down to the parlour, and, an hour afterwards, my brother Hugh returned. Rose, holding Baby Hugh by the hand, met him at the door. The child, in expectation, I suppose, of his father's arrival, had been washed and brushed and cleanly clothed, with a completeness we seldom saw. Rose herself looked better than usual; she had taken unusual pains with her appearance, and had contrived to put on a look of cheerfulness. The meeting, so far as I could hear it, was bright and friendly, and all

three were smiling and talking as they came together into the parlour.

On entering Rose flung me a glance, not of entreaty or of fear, but of defiance and triumph. Hugh, not yet apprised of anything that had happened, started with astonishment on seeing my pale face and my arm in a sling; while Baby Hugh eagerly took it upon himself to explain matters.

"Poor Uncle Wobbie! His arm is all broked-broked in tiny little weeny pieces !-it's all tied up vewy, vewy tight to stick it togever again! Poor Uncle Wobbie!"

"How did it happen?" Hugh asked curtly.

"I was fighting," said I, "and Joe Ruggins caught me a blow on my arm which broke it."

"Joe Ruggins and two other men came here the morning after you left," said Rose quietly, "and I am sorry to say they carried off the Indian jewel - chest. Robin fought splendidly, no one could have done better, but, of course, he was no match for three full-grown men, and very strong men too."

Hugh sat down suddenly, looking from one to the other of us, dumbfounded with amazement. I, though for another reason, was scarcely less astonished than he.

"You mean to tell me," he said at last, "that the jewelchest is gone? It was taken out of the house?—by Joe Ruggins and has not been recovered?"

"Dr Williams and the county police are doing all they can to find out what has become of it," replied Rose, still with the same easy self-possession. "Dr Williams will be

here presently to see Robin, and will tell you, no doubt, all the steps he has taken. Robin has been ill with fever, so that he could do nothing."

"You take it very coolly," said Hugh, looking hard at her.

Her colour changed; still she did not flinch as she answered:

"I was very much upset when it happened, and nearly made myself ill; but Dr Williams has given me some medicine which has done me good. He says it is extremely bad for me to worry, so I have tried not to.'

This was all perfectly true, so far as it went; but the aplomb with which Rose set it forth was what made me marvel at her.

"Where was Madam Nepenthes herself? Has she been

hurt? Where is she now?" Hugh questioned, turning to me. Rose, however, would not suffer me to speak.

"Poor Robin only knows a part of what happened. Let me tell you the whole thing from beginning to end," she cried, seating herself in her customary chair. "The sooner you know all the details the better."

He bent his eyes sombrely upon her, and watched her attentively while she related the story. This she did in a very clever manner, only departing from the truth by omitting all mention of Mrs Batten, and by declaring that she herself, as the first act of the marauders, had been locked up in the parlour, and so rendered incapable of interference. In conclusion, she returned to her statement about herself, speaking with emphasis, and looking twice or thrice in my direction :

"I was most dreadfully frightened, really quite frantic. I felt, Hugh dear, as if I could never face you again; you would consider me such a poor creature. I believe Dr Williams thought I was on the verge of actual insanity. He told me, most solemnly, I must on no account let myself be worried. If I had any more trouble he would not answer for the consequences. So you see, since then, I have tried to keep quiet and cheerful; and I am sure no one could be so wicked and cruel as to throw me back again into the awful misery I suffered on that day. . . . But there! I am forgetting household affairs! You must know I am baking cakes this afternoon. .. Hughie likes cakes-doesn't he? That he does!-Hughie's coming to see mother make a little, little cake-man, with black-curranty eyes, and yellow sugary hair!"

She went off lightly, dragging with her the half-reluctant child; and her last glance, still defiant and triumphant, was for me. She was daring me to tell Hugh the truth; but she might have spared herself the pains. Long since I had made up my mind that from my lips at any rate he should never hear it.

Before we had time for further talk Williams arrived. I observed that he, too, was entirely reticent concerning Rose, though he must have had suspicions practically amounting to knowledge.

He made a report to Hugh of all that had been done; and a most highly unsatisfactory report it was. The men had got clean away. No one would confess to any know