That there's my pole; I'll sue you for damages in the exercise of my profession-leastways I could!' Dandelow had left the door wide open, and there stood the painted pole. Foscini's eye was fixed upon it. Pole? take your pole, man!' Dandelow hurled it as if it had been a javelin. You've got something left in that arm of yours yet, master, for all you are so old. Come down, Lorry! D'ye hear?' Bomb! bomb! bomb! The imp dropped from branch to branch, and stood up a yard from his master, perched on one leg and shouldering the other as if it had been a musket.

'Come back, Lorry! Come back! we'll forgive you everything. O Lord God, have pity on him! Come back, Lorry, come back!' Mrs. Dandelow was sobbing and wringing her hands; she made as if she would have rushed to him; her husband held her, looking, as Polly told me, 'like thunder and lightning and rain and all.'

'Beg pardin, missus, I'm that reasonable I'm willing to sacrifice my own interest and the career of the young deebuttant to oblige you. If that young woman '-by this time Polly too was at the door, keeping her hold upon the boy Billy-will let that other young gentleman alone, you may have Master Lorry-if you can get him. Of course, you'll not let me lose? That ain't fair!'

'Come back, Lorry! oh, come back!'-The cry of utmost agony would have touched the heart of a tiger. As far as that wild boy was concerned, the wail reached his ears; but, as to his heart, it pierced vacuity. 'We'll forgive you, Lorry! We'll take you back! Come home!' It was Dandelow's deep voice that spoke this time. This time there was no tenderness, only serious resolve that sounded like the solemn oath of a great promise.

Lorry returned to the attitude of 'attention.' Then he capered round the silent drum, postured and danced fantastically, seemed as if he were really going to throw himself into Mrs. Dandelow's arms, stopped dead within two yards of her, then proceeded to smack himself all over, ended by putting his left thumb to his nose and extending his fingers, then he put the other thumb to the little finger of his left hand. Hook it, Billy!' he screamed. He sprang back

and was gone!

we laid her in her grave. Polly got to look savagely at on the edge of what was a

Mrs. Dandelow faded away and Dandelow proudly held up his head. people who seemed to be touching forbidden subject in the house, and was being for ever talked of in every other house for miles round. Nearly three months had passed since Nancy's death, and her husband had not been seen outside his gate except on Sunday. Following his mother's example and carrying out his wife's wishes, he was always regularly at church. He would bow ceremoniously still, taking off his hat with a sweep as he left the churchyard, as though saluting people in general. To the wonder of all, one day, after walking to the morning service

as usual, he drove to church in the afternoon with Angus at his side. In the course of the week I called to see him. There was a stranger sitting with him, a 'gentleman from London' as our rustics would say, 'the family solicitor' as Mr. Dandelow described him when he introduced us. Ah! mais c'est drôle. Voici le bienvenu.' It was a long time since I had heard him speak French. It was explained that two signatures were wanted. Angus's would do. Who should be the second witness? This gentleman cannot sign, as I have explained to you,' said the solicitor. There was an awkwardness. 'Tush! Mr. Dandelow!' I cried laughingly, 'I'll risk the loss, whatever it is; I'll sign!' The solicitor shook his head. 'There's no risk in trusting Mr. Norton,' said Dandelow. "Ah! but for Miss Battle?' 'What, doubt Polly?' I cried. The will was executed, and I signed as witness.

A few weeks later Mr. Dandelow tripped against the carpet in his bedroom and fell forward; he held a small paraffin lamp in his hand, the glass broke, there was an explosion, and Dandelow was severely burnt about the throat and chest. Things took a serious turn. Meeting the doctor at the gate one afternoon, and seeing his anxious look, I asked what he was afraid of. 'There's been a great shock to the system, and I'm afraid of erysipelas setting in.' Incredible as it may seem, Polly had actually taken the old giant in her arms that afternoon and carried him to his bed. She had undressed him as if he had been a baby; he looked like the ghost of his old self. He saw how grave I was. 'Yes!' he said, 'I shall not be long before I know all about it-all about it-all about it.' Was he wandering? No! I've been a coward and a thief. I never thought that could be said of me, but it's true. Nancy'd have been ashamed of me if she'd known!' I signalled to Polly to leave the room. By this time we two perfectly understood one another. Left alone with Mr. Dandelow, he became much agitated. At last he said abruptly to me, 'Open that little drawer! The chain had broken two or three times before; it was worn so bad; the last time I tied it together with thread; it was burnt off my neck the other day, and dropped on the ground. Polly never saw it. Take it out!' It was a large golden locket in the shape of a heart, to which was attached a light gold chain of peculiar workmanship. Both locket and chain were much worn, insomuch that the inscription which had once been carved on it was entirely undecipherable. On the other side there were traces of a foreign coronet. Mr. Dandelow placed it in my hands.

"There! I stole it! When I came back to my mother, she told me it was to be buried with her; she had worn it round her neck night and day for nearly seventy years. I didn't promise. I wanted to find it all out. She thought I'd promised. I thought-though there was no picture of him—his hair might help me to find out something. She never would tell me about my father. Sometimes it was as if the Dukkerim, that the Romaney

thieves used to talk about, had got hold of me. I swore I'd wear the When the flame burnt it off my He wouldn't rise from the dead

thing as she did, now I'd got it. throat, I knew what that meant. for all my hankering, and she, if she had risen up too, she wouldn't have told me. I'm going to set myself straight with them soon. Put the thing in my coffin with your own hands. Will you? Let me hear you say you will!'

6

I spoke gently and tenderly to him-was for leaving him, dreading the effect of his emotion-but he held me back. There's another thing! She told me to keep the letter-box-there were tidings there, she said. She would have me read them all, and then burn them.' He paused, and could not bring himself to go on. I endeavoured to reassure him-told him I would do whatever he enjoined; said he might live for years yet; advised him to wait till he got better, then he might nerve himself to do as his mother had asked him to do. I fear I relapsed into platitudes. He shook his head again and again. I've never dared-I've never had the heart to open the box. I was afraid. I couldn't open it now-I daren't. Take them! Read them for me, then come and tell me what they say, and set me straight with—' He stopped again, and went on shaking his head, quite unmanned.

'Friend!' I said, 'do you remember our bargain when Mrs. Dandelow was buried?' He looked full at me and then dropped his eyes. There was a wonderful dignity and nobility about his expression when he spoke again. I was coming to that last,' he said firmly. As to Lorry, I'm sure of this—that boy hadn't a soul. I hated him like hell till that came into my mind. . . . I'm sure it's true; I'm as sure as I am lying here. And I've no grudge against him now, ... poor boy! poor boy! What's come of him? ... But if he stood where you sit now, I'd kiss him to show him I'd help him if I could. Our bargain's off. You may call in Polly, if you will, and we'll have the Pater Noster.' He followed me aloud, clause by clause, Polly responding too, tremulously: 'As we forgive them that trespass against us.' His voice rose to emphasise the words; he ended with a deep Amen.' He showed Polly where the precious box was; a rusty key was in it, which he had never had the courage to turn. I carried it away with me. It was a box of foreign make, about nine inches long and six wide, and perhaps six inches deep. It was made of the stained pearwood, so common in Swiss ware.

It was late before I found myself alone. I set the box before me on the table. I had to struggle with myself for some minutes before I could overcome my reluctance to turn the rusty key; the lid moved stiffly on the hinges. The box was quite full of letters; lying on the top of them was a sheet of note-paper of modern make. It was unfolded. On it was written, in a woman's hand, the following lines:

VOL. XXVI.-No. 149.

M

'It was false that Mahalia and her baby died of small-pox. She lived more than twenty years after you left me. Your son is now in Pittsburg. He has prospered. I sent him away with all his gipsy kindred eleven years ago. His eldest daughter, Keomi, alone remains behind. She would not leave her husband, and your son would not have him. It was not I who deceived you; I was myself deceived. When the truth came to me, there was nothing that you could do. I did my best to spare you.'

There was no date and no signature. I took out the letters and laid them in a heap upon the table. They were written on foreign paper and all written in French. Very few of them were dated, so far as to specify the year, but one had come from the Hague in 1803, and far the larger number had been sent from Java a year or two later. I think there were none sent after 1805. About that year I believe the writer had died. The letters were all signed D., and always sealed with a wafer. There was hardly anything in the whole correspondence which threw any light upon Mrs. Dandelow's story. It was clear that the writer had never seen his and her child when-for some unexplained reason-he had been separated from her; clear too that he felt a deep resentment against some one who had compassed his exile because he would not give up the woman he had loved so passionately; clear that he was consumed by a fierce and continual longing to return to her and to see his boy, whom he mentioned again and again. I cannot doubt that he died at his post, wherever that was, and I infer from one allusion in the letters that the provision made for Mrs. Dandelow and her son came from him, whoever he may have been. I have a strong suspicion—which, however, must be taken for no more than its worth-that the writer of the letters was a scion of some Dutch or Flemish family of position, and perhaps of high rank.

Under all the letters there lay a small packet wrapped up in tissue paper, and tied round with a piece of black ribbon. On it was written, in what I believe was Mrs. Dandelow's hand, These I got from your son before he sailed to America.'

The packet contained two documents. One was a copy of the 'marriage lines' of John Dandelow and Mahalia Hodge, which had been celebrated on the 6th of June, 1821; there is no need to say where. The other was a warrant dated two months later, and signed by a magistrate for the county of A., for the apprehension of John Dandelow on a charge of causing the death of Mike Hodge.

The certificate of marriage was enclosed in a small bag; it was much creased and soiled, and had evidently been carried on some one's person for years. The warrant I think must have been kept in a pocketbook; the constable, or whoever it was to whom it had been issued in the first instance, had guarded it vigilantly, and, as I conjecture, biding his time till he could get a chance of serving it; using it in the meanwhile as an instrument by means of which he might levy blackmail upon Mrs. Dandelow.

I had been reading the letters for six consecutive hours before I came to the end of my task, though they were fairly legible and not more than twenty or thirty in number. I replaced them in the box. The lid stood open. The sun had risen. I threw myself back in my chair and stared vacantly at the table before me, trying to think, then I fell asleep from sheer weariness.

The servant coming in to open the shutters awoke me. I shut the box, took out the key, and went to bed. They let me sleep on heavily for hours. It was ten o'clock before I came down. One whose tact and wisdom never fails asked me no questions. Only once she placed her hand gently on my shoulder, and looked inquiringly into my face. I felt, and I was, stupefied. Had I any right to conceal this thing from Dandelow? How could I tell him? What good could come of it? The hours went by. At last I took my hat and walked rapidly along the road, utterly incapable of seeing what the right course was for me to pursue. When I reached Mr. Dandelow's, Polly had already opened the door for me. She looked as dazed as I felt myself to be. In a tone of reproach she said to me, 'You should have come before, sir; he wanted you. You're too late now-he's dead!'

By Mr. Dandelow's will everything was left to Polly with the exception of some few bequests to friends whose very names were strange to us, and who were found out only by the help of Mr. Norton. There was one legacy of fifty pounds to the boy Lawrence Smith, whom God sent to my late wife to vex her.' The money was left in the hands of Polly to be used for the boy's advantage or furtherance in life, but absolutely at her discretion. The legacy proved to be a lapsed legacy. When inquiry was made as to what had become of Lorry, it turned out that he had died in the accident-ward of a certain hospital on the very day and almost at the very hour when the will was executed. He had received some internal injuries. from a dreadful fall during a performance, and never rallied. Polly handed the money to Angus-'It'll do you no good, I'm thinking. But you may have it-Phew!'

:

Polly Battle has changed her name, but not for that of her husband. She has no husband, and vows she never will have. 'Bless you! I don't want anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself, I suppose,' she said to me the last time we met, when I was staying at her very well-managed hotel, where I dare say some of my readers will be staying when they read this half-told story.

AUGUSTUS JESSOPP.