ing marks of being an opera-dancer, yet did she not wholly fail to his memory. There was a gush of tenderness in her soul as she murmured his name, a lingering hope that he might yet prove worthy, which spoke much for the gentle but earnest love which she bore to the poor youth, whom she had met under such peculiar circumstances.

Miss Cornelia Pointer, with Miss Marino Rhino, invited both at Smith's request, were the first arrivals. The former still dwelling, though somewhat less sanguinely, on her affection for Wilson, viewed Miss Cartwright with some little jealousy, which however the candour, as well as a kindness of manner exhibited by that young lady, speedily dispelled. Still, how ever, a little of feminine malice appeared in a question propounded shortly after her arrival.

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"Yes," said Miss Pointer, almost ready to choke, while the tears stood in her eyes. "Then are you sure that he is not as bad as he has been represented?"

"Mrs. Cartwright," replied Cornelia, "Mr. Smith is a deep and deceitful man. But you are pale, you are ill?”

"No! No!" cried Mrs. Cartwright; "but you give shape to thoughts I would fain have kept down. Go on."

"And rely upon it, he would not traduce this young man without a sinister object."

"Child! child!" cried the young mother," are my awful dreams then true?"

"Mr. Walters," said Emma, the pretty servant, opening the door, while the lively little brunette blushed rosy red.

The unfortunate poet, who was in the very last stage of misery, and who had accepted the invitation sent him by Smith, in

dently agreeably surprised at the presence

ready made one or two calls with the con

แ "He did," said Mrs. Cartwright;" but as I have heard but an indifferent character of him, I did not call my daughter in."

"Indifferent character," cried Miss Pointer, indignantly; "why there is not a more worthy or better-hearted young man in London."

"I am assured that he is a professed gambler,'' continued Mrs. Cartwright.

"Whoever assured it, told you a falsehood. I believe he has played cards at a cigar shop, but not since the first evening when he met Miss Cartwright, and when he was brought home very late by Mr. Smith."

"By Mr. Smith," said the mother, glancing uneasily at her blushing child.

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Ah, yes, Mr. Smith, who, with all his serious ways, is as sly as a fox. Why, he lent him money to play with."

Mrs. Cartwright, much agitated again, looked at her child, while the Count's daughter blushed confusedly-they were speaking of her father's evil genius.

"Miss Pointer," continued Mrs. Cartwright, "it is no use disguising that this young man is smitten by my daughter, and I think the poor child is not indifferent as to him; you will therefore understand my anxiety about him."

number of the expected guests, tea was served, and the cosy little party were about to partake of the refreshing beve rage, when a carriage stopped at the door, and a violent knock and ring followed. "Who can it be?" said Mary.

"Emma is coming up," replied her mother.

The door opened.

"Madam and Miss Berly, and Mr. Maurice Herbert," said the girl.

Mrs. Cartwright rose to her feet, and stood as if petrified.

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"Mrs. Hastings," cried Madam Berly. 'My dear madam," said her friend. "Frederick and the lady of the carriage," thought Mary.

"And you are my niece," said Madam Berly, turning to Mary; "let me introduce you to two cousins, Eugenia and Maurice."

"You the child of my husband's sister," exclaimed Mrs. Cartwright, addressing him she had known as Wilson.

"Yes, madam,” replied Maurice, “as I learn but just now myself."

"But what means all this?" said Mrs. Hastings, almost wildly.

"That H. Smith is a villain of the blackest die; that he has used every nefarious scheme that could be devised to ruin

8

"My God!" cried the wife; "and I have been his dupe. But my husband?"

"He is evidently near at hand," replied Madame Berly; "we have already advertised in search of him."

man."

"I forgive him," replied Mrs. Hastings; "but Smith has come home. What is the time?"

"A quarter to ten," replied Madam Berly; "but courage; keep all we know concealed until to-morrow."

A dead silence followed, for all looked upon an interview with the apothecary with horror. He came slowly up stairs; and, to their inexpressible relief, passed

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"My father will not return," said Miss Marino Rhino, whom Walters had raised up, "until the morning."

"My dear madam," exclaimed Maurice, who had been pouring forth his heart to Mary, "trust to us, he shall be found, and the doer of all this evil shall be punished."

"God grant it," said Mrs. Cartwright; "but now come, my friends, let me offer you some tea, and then will we all narrate our chequered fortunes."

The whole party complied; Maurice and Mary at once taking settled places one by the other, while Walter and Caroline could not but follow so excellent an example. Eugenia and Miss Pointer, left with out cavaliers, entered at once into conversation; while the two elder ladies in lower tones revealed all that they knew connected with the villany of H. Smith.

"He will find me much changed, but not in heart," said, later in the evening, the tearful but hopeful wife; "but how could he leave me?"

"Rely upon it, my dear friend,” replied Madam Berly, "you have been foully traduced by this black Iago."

"Yes! yes!" cried the wife, burning blushes suffusing her pale and sweet face, "of foul wrong too; but Henry, Henry, had an angel have calumniated you, I would not have doubted you."

"Be sure some proofs, false and black, have been forged."

“No! no! blind that I was, proofs of my own making. Knowing my husband's dislike to foreigners, I secretly assisted a Count, a Pole, and even saw him privately, to give him money."

"A trick, rely upon it."

"That Count was my father, employed by Mr. Smith," said Caroline, resolutely, but sadly; "he has deeply repented, and

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He is discovered," exclaimed Mrs. Hastings, "and he knows it. He is ashamed to appear before us."

"I hope it is so; but now, my dear madam, we must leave it. Courage; we will be with you early in the morning, and I hope with good news."

was

CHAPTER XI.

THE MURDER.

About ten o'clock the same evening, the house where Smith was in the habit of visiting Mr. Hastings was wrapped in dreary and moody silence. The street, which not a crowded thoroughfare, was abandoned to the heavy treading policeman, with now and then a stray passer by. The night was dark and tempestuous, so that the lamps gave feeble and scanty light. Not a star was visible in the frowning and murky heavens, against which the pall of London smoke smote in huge volumes, here black and heavy, and then fading away towards the horizon in brown and broken masses. The wind came chill round the corners, as if in search of a com. fortable hiding-place, gusty and angry, while a dampness in the air promised speedy rain.

A man who stood concealed by the shadow of the house which we allude to, and who had been thus posted for some minutes, now emerged from his hiding place, and after hurriedly glancing up and down the street, put a key in the lock of the yard-gate, and entered. Another key, cautiously inserted in the door which led into the back hall, admitted him to the house. Once entered, he trimmed a lamp which he bore about him, and for a mo

Leaning his head on his two hands, Jenkins-for it was him-gazed vacantly at the dim light, exposing to view his ghastly countenance. The villain was hideous, under the influence of terror and avarice. Two ugly fiends were struggling at his callous heart for the mastery. There was the dream of wealth, of enjoyment, the thousand plans for fortune which visit and tempt the evil-doer; there was the coward conscience, preaching not nobly and well, but with cowering pictures of the gallows; and-for no man at such hour but sees the folly of doubting beyond-the dark night in which the future is veiled for the bad.

Jenkins hesitated. His soul, distended in its foul dwelling by the magnitude of the subject which was forced upon his contemplation, peered beyond. Without knowing why or how, the criminal dwelt with fond lingering on days gone by, when innocence covered him, and the lurid path of destruction had been never trod, and to his seered and battered heart came an indistinct and strange wish that he had never stepped aside. But then hiding the past, and rising up above all, came the idle man's hatred of work and the love of gold ill-won, and his fancy revelled in the contemplation of what gold can give, and this hateful lust-of all the most mean, unworthy, and degrading-hid from his eyes God, man, the joys of innocence, the selfdenials of virtue, the peace which the bad never know, the chances of an ignominious death, and eternity itself.

Once decided, the midnight murderer acted with a caution and care fitted for a better purpose. With a calm consideration of what risks he thus avoided, he stripped himself, until he stood in his shirt and drawers, and then, barefooted, in his hands a knife and lamp, in his heart Satan and all hell itself, with quiet grey eye, his ears watchful of every sound, the Cainstruck man began his ascent of the stairs.

He knew that Mr. Hastings had retired very early to rest, to prepare for his expected excitement of the following day, when it was his intention to discover himself to his family; while his solicitors were to effect the arrest of Smith on a series of charges of a criminal character, of which the embezzlement of large sums of money

There was utter silence in the house. Not a breath, not a sound could be detected, save the persevering creaking of the stairs beneath that man's horrid footsteps, as with cat-like but vain caution he crept upwards. Nothing could hide from his ears the constant sound of the wood as it received his weight, and, despite himself, he thought of the swinging of the gallows

tree.

He looked back down the stairs, and wild shapes were rising menacingly behind, while myriad eyes of fearful things glared out of the darkness upon him. The very stairs seemed to creak as never stairs had creaked before, with a dull and heavy noise, as of groaning. The man's blood coursed madly through his veins, his hand trembled, but before stood the grinning demon of avarice, pointing with crooked and skinny finger to piles of gold, to revelry, and he as head of the feast, hailed by all king amid the infamous.

He went on, all senses deadened but the thirst which parched his very vitals for the lucre, which burns up and makes arid many a green and fertile spot in the desert of the heart of man.

The chamber-door was reached, and Jenkins again paused-this time to listen. The door was wide open; nothing separated him from his victim.

Placing his lamp upon the middle of the floor, and preserving in his hand nothing but his knife, he stood up.

to

Again he listened, directing his eye wards the bed on which lay Mr. Hastings. The curtains were drawn, and not the faintest sound of breathing betrayed his presence.

Jenkins trembled like a leaf. The stillness was awful. The dead silence was tremendous, and the murderer's soul fearful, while to his distended nostrils came, with sickening and horrible effect, an odour of blood.

His eyes swam-he reeled-his senses seemed to forsake him, when, rousing his fast oozing courage, he approached the bed, and drew back the curtains.

Jenkins, dead to all intents and purposes for the while, his hands cold, his mouth open, his hair bristling, his knees knocking

and never will he hear from me a word to remind him of his wrong."

She was, alas! quite right, he would never hear a word again of anything from her; but had he lived, would she have kept her vow made in all sincerity? She was a woman, and women are weak.

A loud ringing below now startled them, and a hasty summons brought the apothecary down stairs. Next minute he rushed up and burst into the room.

He was pale, and his eyes were fiercely bloodshot, but his cheeks grew crimson, as he saw the group which composed the assembled company.

Mrs. Hastings," he cried, recovering himself by an effort, "compose yourself to be surprised. The residence of your husband is found."

"I know it," replied the lady, calmly. "I have been anticipated!" he exclaimed, astounded at the quiet which reigned around,

"You have, by my friends here."

"Is it you, Mr. Wilson, to whom we owe this?" said the apothecary, striving to be calm.

"You owe nothing to Mr. Maurice Herbert," replied Madam Berly. "But we know of Mr. Hastings' place of retirement."

"Has the same authority informed you," said Smith, who saw he was among enemies, "that Mr. Henry Cartwright Hastings last night, either committed suicide or was barbarously murdered?"

"Assassin!" said Maurice, "this is your handwork."

And the young man stood with glaring eyes before the apothecary, while the horror-stricken women sat immoveable, struck into icy stillness by the horrible announce

ment.

“You are free in your epithets, young man," replied H. Smith, whose cheek had slightly blanched, "but rest assured this insolence and your quackish attempt at personating Mr. Hastings's deceased nephew, will not go unpunished."

"Leave this room," said Maurice; "villain, away."

"I am in my own house," exclaimed Smith, taking a chair.

At this instant two coaches stopped before the door, and an officer of police, accompanied by Messrs. Paul and Oakam,

as well as Mr. Richard Stuart, entered the

room.

"Mrs. Hastings," said Paul and Oakam, one individual, but portly enough to have been two; "I am under very painful circumstances to make your acquaintance."

"I am Mrs. Hastings," replied that lady, faintly, while she closed her eyes to the horror of the scene.

"Then, madam, I have to inform you that your husband saw me yesterday, that he at once and freely acknowledged the folly of the hallucination under which he was labouring, and had made every arrangement to be reunited to you."

"Merciful God!" murmured Mrs. Hastings.

"This morning," said the lawyer, "I received the painful intelligence of his death under suspicious circumstances. I at once flew to the house he inhabited and took possession of every document in his apartment, as if suicide has been committed, these might lead to an explanation. May I examine them at once?" said the bustling lawyer.

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Yes," groaned the miserable wife. "First a will. Humph-ah-this won't do; ah, yes, quite correct, leaving every farthing in the world to Mr. Habakkuk Smith

"My poor child," said Mrs. Hastings, without a thought for herself. He was gone.

"You see, young man," sneered Smith. "But this document is valueless," cried the lawyer.

"Valueless!" thundered Smith, "you lie." "Don't put yourself out, Mr. Smith," replied the lawyer, coolly; "this is a year and a half old, and I have one of not more than three weeks' date, in which the name of Maurice Herbert takes the place of yours; every form complied with, witnessed, regular as the bank; ah, sir, do you hear that?"

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"My dear cousin," said Maurice, kindly. "It is a forgery," exclaimed Smith, pale as ashes.

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Sir," said the irate lawyer.

"Where, where," cried the little lawyer, Mr. Stuart, who had hitherto stood back in awe of his rich confrere, and who had been unrolling a blood-stained piece of paper, with which the razor had evidently been wiped," where was this found?"