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anonymous letter. The question took me by surprise, and I answered that I had re ceived several, but had always considered them not worthy of notice, and only fit to be burned; and then I asked him if he had ever received one in all his life which was worth a second thought. Then, with some little hesitation (remember 1 was but young as compared with my traveling companion), he produced from his pocket one which, so far as I can now recollect, was in these words: "Do you know that that precious scamp of a son of yours has seduced a young shop-girl and is now living with her in London." This, he told me, was the letter which he had received on the Sunday morning when I had gone out to Compton, and which had brought about his sudden attack of illness. The ice being now broken, I showed him the postscript to my agent's letter, but at that moment our conversation was inter rupted by the stoppage of the train at a way side station, and the unwelcome intrusion of a stranger, so that further private conversa tion was impossible; but just before our journey's end, we were again left alone. I had been meditating deeply what I should say next, but I was relieved from all doubt by the words which the archdeacon spoke in firm, clear tones: "Mr. Borret, if my son has wronged the girl he must marry her, and you and I must see to it before it be too late; he must not stand before the judgment seat of heaven with that sin staining his soul." How infinitely small the man whose life and being belong to the other world makes us feel who pride ourselves on our philosophy as men of the world. The miserable plati tudes with which I had thought to palliate his son's conduct vanished like an unextinguished street lamp before the clear light of morning, which flashed from the stcadv eye of the good old archdeacon, and I shrank from it, abashed by its clear shining. I had telegraphed to my agent that the archdeacon would travel up by the after noon express, and asking him to get a com fortable lodging for him as near his son's

as possible, intending myself to go to my old favorite hotel, Wood's in Furnival's Inn. On our arrival at Padclington Station, we went at once to Bernard Street, where we learned that George was still alive, but that he was passing through the critical stage of the fever, and the next few hours would probably decide the momentous question of life or death. As the landlady of the house had prepared a comfortable room for the archdeacon in the same house, I felt that my further presence in the house of sickness would be an undue intrusion, so, after com mending him to her care, and obtaining her promise that she would summon me from my hotel without delay, if anything made it desirable, I started oflf for Wood's, when, just as the door was closing on me, I caught sight of a face on the stairs, for one moment only and it was gone; and it was not until I was in the cab hastening on my way to Wood's that I recalled the face. It was the face of Connie Morgan, and no other. Oh, Connie, pretty Connie! so pure, so modest, as I thought you to be! How could you do it? Why did you not confide in me as your friend before it was too late? Well, well, it may be all right yet, and it shall be, if I have my own way, and if there be time. But will there be time? Yes, a special li cense will do it, and it can be had at any time from the Archbishop's Registry, the Faculty Office in Doctors Commons. But then Con nie is not of full age, and has no natural guardian to give consent, and there is not time to get a special guardian appointed, still less to get his consent. Dare I suppress my knowledge of the fact that she is under age? Yes, I will run all risks in such a case, even if I go so far as to tell a white lie to the good archdeacon, I am sure Heaven will forgive me. So the thoughts chased through my brain, and my firm resolve was made before I lay down to sleep; and my conscience when I awoke the next morning approved mv re solve of over-night. My reader may sit in judgment upon me, I do not fear his verdict.