of tears. You shall not be a slave. My papa shall come with his soldiers and set you free.'

Altogether the boy's vehemence, agitation, and terror, were such that Arthur found it impossible to do anything but soothe and hush him, as best might be, till his sobs subsided gradually, still heaving his little chest even after he fell asleep in the arms of his unaccustomed nurse; who found himself thus baffled in using this last and only opportunity of trying to strengthen the child's faith, and was also hindered from pursuing Yusuf, who had left the tent. And if it were separation that caused all this distress, what likelihood that Yusuf would encumber himself with a child who had shown such powers of wailing and screaming?

He durst not stir nor speak for fear of wakening the boy, even when Yusuf returned and stretched himself on his mat, drawing a thick woollen cloth over him, for the nights were chill. Long did Arthur lie awake under the strange sense of slavery and helplessness, and utter uncertainty as to his fate, expecting in fact that Yusuf meant to keep him as a sort of tame animal to talk Scotch; but hoping to work on him in time to favour an escape, and at any rate to despatch a letter to Algiers, as a forlorn hope for the ultimate redemption of the poor little unconscious child who lay warm and heavy across his breast. Certainly, Arthur had never so prayed for aid, light, and deliverance as now!

(To be continued.)

PHANTOM LIVES.

BY ANNETTE LYSTER, AUTHOR OF ALONE IN CROWDS."

CHAPTER I.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

'I WILL overlook it this once, but it must not happen again, Madge; if you persist in disobeying me, I shall dismiss you from your place as poultrywoman. The master will give you work on the farm, no doubt; but, if you are my servant, you must obey me.'

The speaker was a tall fair girl, dressed in a dark riding-habit; she spoke gravely, and with decision.

'Miss Katharine,' said the offender, an elderly woman with a shrewd, handsome face, which, however, was obstinate as well as shrewd, I will just ask you one question: is it likely that at my time of life I don't know how to feed hens so that they'll lay? I'm a sight older than you be, miss, and I just put it to you.'

Madge, that is not the question. Whose are the fowls?"

'Yes, Miss Katharine; but still, it stands to reason

'Not at all; the fowls are mine, not yours.'

'I'm thinking they belong to the master,' quoth Madge, with a twinkle in her eye.

Katharine Thorold could hardly help laughing, but she mastered the inclination and said coolly

'Give me the key of the yard, if you please.'

Madge produced it, saying, 'Who shall I send to put them up, miss?'

'I will do it myself until the master comes home,' Katharine answered, taking the key. She gathered up her habit and walked away, Madge looking after her with an expression of vexation mingled with admiration for the young mistress to whom she would not yield an inch in argument.

'There she goes,' she muttered, with her head in the air, and I suppose I shall just have to give in and obey orders-a thing I never took kindly to yet; but if fifty new-fangled books was to say that fowls ought to have but two meals a day, I wouldn't believe it; but no doubt the young mistress must have her own way. Now, I'd give a week's wage that there shouldn't be half the number of eggs; but Miss Katharine has a mighty provoking way of succeeding.'

Madge, I must mention, spoke broad Yorkshire, but even if I could attempt to write it, very few would understand it, so I translate.

Katharine walked on, never even looking back, and entering the

great stable-yard which lay on the west side of the house, she called aloud

• Peter, I am ready; bring her round to the hall door.'

And passing in through the kitchen to give some orders to her servants, she was at the hall door almost as soon as Peter, a hardfeatured old retainer, who led a beautiful bay mare, Katharine's pride and darling. She patted the creature, who stretched her soft nose towards the hand she knew so well.

Peter, I'm going to letter from the master.

ride to Knaresborough, to see if there is a I shall cross the fields to the old coach road and come back the same way, it shortens the distance, and I must be early to put up the fowls; so be ready for me at six, please.'

Peter nodded, and Katharine mounted her horse.

'Now, Aurora,' she said, 'off we go.' And off they went, cantering gaily along the straight old avenue with its great rows of Scotch firtrees on either side.

'Nice state I'll get 'Rory home in,' said Peter, looking after her; but I don't mind. Look at her now, she's going to jump into the big pasture; look how she gets 'Rory in hand-over it is; there's riding for you! And 'twas I taught her-I and the master between us!' Aurora was fresh, and Katharine was young; and had known but one grief in her twenty years of life. Neither father nor mother could she remember, but an uncle had lived at Kirklands to take care of the orphan heir and his sister, and of another child of whom I must speak presently. The death of this kind uncle two or three years ago had been Katharine's first sorrow, and it was a sorrow full of hope and comfort. Her heart was as light as it could well be, and it would be hard to say which most enjoyed a scamper across the fields, horse or rider. All too soon they reached the old coach road; a low gate was found, over which Aurora went lightly, and then cantered soberly towards Knaresborough; but before she had gone ten yards, a voice called out

'Katharine, Kitty Thorold, are you going to behave disrespectfully to your parish priest after all the trouble I've taken with you?'

Katharine drew up and looked back; she beheld a wondrous fat pony carrying a wondrous lean man. A tall man with a solemn face, the solemnity belied by a twinkle of humour in his eyes. He wore a soft wide hat, and a coat so long that it nearly touched the ground on both sides of the pony, giving the rider a look as if he wore two riding-habits.

6

'Said I to myself-here's a comet, or Kitty Thorold.'

"I never met a comet out riding, Vicar.'

Where are you going, child?'

To Knaresborough, Mr. Hooker. I expect a letter from Maurice, and as he may be coming home, I did not care to wait for it till morning. I cannot go at your pace, sir, because I have to feed the poultry when I get home.'

into Knaresborough with a mad maid on a mad mare? Why, I should get a letter from the Archbishop to know what I meant by it. I never heard what called Maurice to London?'

'He would not tell me, but he seemed a little put out. It makes me long to get his letter.'

'Have you heard from Miles Addison lately?' said the Vicar. Katharine's cheek lost a shade of its pretty pink as she answered'No-not very lately. What makes you think of Miles, Mr. Hooker?' and she added, as if to herself, I do wish Maurice would come home.'

'Well, ride on, Katharine I shall meet you on your way back and hear your news. I was a fool,' he added, as Katharine obeyed him, 'to mention Miles. I am not the judicious Hooker-I've always suspected it, but now it is quite clear. I hope Miles Addison has not got Maurice into trouble-but I have seen for some time that the lad is anxious and uneasy, though he kept up before Katharine. Ah, my poor Kitty! I never could like Miles-never could trust

him. If he gives Kitty a heartache, I'll'

The good man had a stout stick in his hand, and as he mused, he all unconsciously brought it down with a sounding whack, not on the head of Miles Addison, but on the fat side of unoffending Punch. Punch revenged himself promptly-he sat down. Mr. Hooker often said it was his only fault, but when annoyed, Punch sat down like a great cat, and the moment he felt the stick down he went. Mr. Hooker slid off his broad back and came to the ground in a sitting posture, just behind the pony. It was a comical sight. Punch sat quite still until his master had disengaged his feet from the stirrups and got up-then he also rose, and the Vicar remounted. I didn't mean that for you, Punch,' said he-and Punch jogged on contentedly. They were within a mile of the town when Katharine met them again.

'Maurice will be home to-night,' she said; and he says he will tell me all-that he has spared me long, but that he can keep it from me no longer. What can it be, Mr. Hooker?'

'I don't know, my child. But whatever it is, you will be brave, Kitty; and both you and Maurice know that whatever comes is from a Father's hand.'

'Yes,' she said, bending to speak low, we know that, thanks to you and Uncle Robert. But I have a fear that this is no light misfortune. Ride over to see us to-morrow-if Punch will let you,' she added, with a sudden saucy smile.

'Kitty, it will need more than one misfortune to take the impertinence out of you. Go home and feed your hens, child-that's all you are fit for.'

Katharine touched Aurora with the whip and away they wentlike the mad pair they are,' muttered the Vicar, looking affectionately after the girl.

Katharine sped home, tucked up her habit and fed her poultry, and then went to the house, and called the cook to her.

Molly, send me up some tea and bread-and-butter, and have a good supper ready at nine, for the master will be home to-night.'

You may trust me for that-I know what the master likes. And what took him away, miss, if a body may ask?'

A body may ask, but another body may not be able to answer, Molly. He did not tell me--but he will to-night,' she added absently.

She went up to her own room-the pretty room with snowy draperies, in which she had slept ever she left the nursery-and then she sat down to think. And while she is thinking, let us have a good look at her, and decide whether we like her appearance or not.

First, then, she was tall-too tall for a woman, for she was five feet seven at the very least. But she was perfectly well made, with beautiful hands and feet. Quick and decided in every movement, she was yet graceful; in fact, she was too well proportioned and too full of youthful vigour to be awkward. About her figure, there could be but one opinion-it was very fine. About her face opinions varied; but children and dogs would give one look, and then make friends: and that is a good kind of face to have. It was perhaps a little too square for beauty: the forehead was very fine, low and broad, with dark eyebrows well defined and wavy chestnut hair brushed back, leaving little wilful curls here and there, just where they chose to be. She had a straight, saucy little nose, and a very short upper lip, a little scornful sometimes; but she had a lovely smile! bright and sudden, sweet and saucy, and half-a-dozen other pleasant things as well. Her eyes were of a pure, deep blue, her skin fair and smooth, with a faint rose pink on her cheeks, which deepened a little when she spoke. Altogether she was a pleasant and a graciouslooking maiden, though she could look very angry; and those wellmarked eyebrows had great capabilities for a frown. She was one whom you might like or not-but you would trust her, whether you liked her or not.

Presently a servant brought up her tea, and she roused herself to eat and drink, for she was hungry after her ride. Then she put off her habit and dressed herself, and being ready, she knelt down and prayed very earnestly for strength to bear the coming trial, and to be a help and a comfort to Maurice.

The large, low sitting-room, with its quaint white dado and panelled walls, looked both pretty and comfortable when she had lighted the lamp, poked the fire until it blazed cheerfully, and rolled a great easy-chair into a warm position, placing a low seat beside it. Then, that she might not worry herself into nervousness before Maurice came, she opened her piano and began to sing. She had a splendid voice, and had been very well taught. At first she paused every minute to listen, though it was too early to expect Maurice