disorder, no doubt, he had left one lying among his own papers, and made the fatal mistake of tearing from it the scrap on which he had written the address.

He saw it all as he stood there, still gazing at the piece of paper, while his rugged face grew darkly red and then again a miserable sallow, and the perspiration sprang out upon his forehead. He felt that the archdeacon's eyes were upon him, that the archdeacon was waiting for him to speak. He saw the mistake he had made, but his brain, usually so ready, failed to supply him with the explanation he required.

'You understand?' Mr. Bonamy said slowly. 'The question is, how this letter came to be in your room that evening, Mr. Clode. That is the question.'

'I cannot say,' he answered huskily. He was so shaken by the unexpected nature of the attack, and by the strange and ominous way in which the evidence against him had arisen, that he had not the courage to look up and face his accuser. think-nay, I am sure, indeed-that the rector must have given me the paper,' he explained, after an awkward pause.

'I

'He is positive he did not,' Mr. Bonamy answered. Then Clode recovered himself and looked up. After all, it was only his word against another's. Possibly he is,' he said, ' and yet he may be mistaken. I cannot otherwise see how the paper could have come into my hands. You do not really mean,' he continued with a smile, which was almost easy, 'to charge me with stealing the letter, I suppose?'

'Well, to be quite candid, I do,' Mr. Bonamy replied curtly. Nor was this unexpected slap in the face rendered more tolerable by the qualification he hastened to add—' or getting it stolen.'

The curate started. This is not to be borne,' he cried hotly. He looked at the archdeacon as if expecting him to interfere. But he found that gentleman's face grave and troubled, and, seeing he must expect no help from him at present, he continued, 'Do you dare to make so serious an accusation on such evidence as this, Mr. Bonamy?'

'On that,' the lawyer replied, pointing to the paper, and on other evidence besides.'

The curate flinched. Had they found Felton, the earl's servant? Had they any more scraps of paper-any more selfwrought damning evidence of that kind? It was only by an effort, which was apparent to one at least of his hearers, that he

gathered himself together, and answered, with a show of promptitude and ease, 'Other evidence? What, I ask? Produce it!'

'Here it is,' said Mr. Bonamy, pointing to Jack Smith, who had been standing at his elbow throughout the discussion.

"What has he to do with it?' Clode muttered with dry lips. 'Only this,' the barrister said quietly, addressing himself to the archdeacon. 'That some time ago I saw Mr. Clode replace a packet in the cupboard in the rector's library. He only discovered my presence in the room when the cupboard door was open, and his agitation on observing me struck me as strange. Afterwards I made inquiries of Mr. Lindo, without telling him my reason, and learned that Mr. Clode had no business at that cupboardwhich was, in fact, devoted to the rector's private papers.'

'Perhaps, Mr. Clode, you will explain that,' said the lawyer with quiet triumph.

He

He might have denied it had he spoken out at once. He might have given Jack the lie. But he saw with sudden and horrible clearness how this thing fitted that other thing, and this evidence corroborated that; and he lost his presence of mind, and for a moment stood speechless, glaring at his new accuser. did not need to look at the archdeacon to be sure that his face was no longer grave only, but stern and suspicious. The gasjets flared before his eyes and dazzled him. The room seemed to be turning. He could not answer. It was only when he had stood for an age, as it seemed to him, dumb and self-convicted before those three faces, that he summoned up courage to mutter, 'It is false. It is all false, I say!' and to stamp his foot on the floor.

But no one answered him, and he quailed. His nerves were shaken. He, who on ordinary occasions prided himself on his tact and management, dared not now urge another word in his own defence lest some new piece of evidence should arise to give him the lie. The meaning silence of his accusers and his own conscience were too much for him. And, suddenly snatching up his hat, which lay on a chair beside him, he rushed from the room.

He had not gone fifty yards along the pavement before he recognised the mad folly of this retreat-the utter surrender of all his hopes and ambitions which it meant. But it was too late. The strong man had met a stronger. His very triumph and victory had gone some way towards undoing him, by rendering him more open to surprise and less prepared for sudden attack. Now it was too late to do more than repent. He saw that.

Hurrying through the darkness, heedless whither he went, he invented a dozen stories to explain his conduct. But always the archdeacon's grave face rose before him, and he rejected the clever fictions and the sophisms in support of them, which his. ingenuity was now so quick to suggest.

How he cursed the madness, the insensate folly, which had wrecked him! Had he only let matters take their own course and stood aside, he would have gained his ends! For a minute and a half he had been as good as rector of Claversham. And now!

Laura Hammond, crossing the hall after tea, heard the outer door open suddenly behind her, and, feeling the cold gust of air which entered, stopped and turned, and saw him standing on the mat. He had let himself in in this way on more than one occasion before, and it was not that which in a moment caused her heart to sink. She had been expecting him all day, for she knew the crisis was imminent, and had been hourly looking for news. But she had not been expecting him in this guise. There was a strange disorder in his air and manner. He was wet and splashed with mud. He held his hat in his hand, as if he had been walking bareheaded in the rain. His eyes shone with a wild light, and he looked at her oddly. She turned and went towards him. 'Is it you?' she said timidly.

'Oh, yes, it is I,' he answered, with a forced laugh. I want to speak to you.' And he let drop the portière, which he had hitherto held in his hand.

There was a light in the breakfast-room, which opened on the hall, and she led the way into that room. He followed her and closed the door behind him. She pointed to a chair, but he did not take it. What is it?' she said, looking up at him in real alarm. What is the matter, Stephen?'

'Everything!' he answered, with another laugh. 'I am leaving Claversham.'

'You are leaving?' she said incredulously.

'Yes, leaving!' he answered.

6 'To-night?' she stammered.

'Well, not to-night,' he answered, with rude irony. "Tomorrow. I have been within an ace of getting the living, and I-I have lost it. That is all.'

Her cheek turned a shade paler, and she laid one hand on the table to steady herself. I am so sorry,' she murmured.

He did not see her tremor; he heard only her words, and he

resented them bitterly. Have you nothing more to say than that?' he cried.

She had much more to say-or, rather, had she said all that was in her mind she would have had. But his tone helped her to recover herself-helped her to play the part on which she had long ago decided. In her way she loved this man, and her will had melted at sight of him standing downcast and defeated before her. Had he attacked her on the side of her affections he might have done much-he might have prevailed. But his hard words recalled her to her natural self. What would you have me say?' she answered, looking steadily across the table at him. Something, she began to see, had happened besides the loss of the living-something which had hurt him sorely. And as she discerned this, she compared his dishevelled, untidy dress with the luxury of the room, and shivered at the thought of the precipice on the brink of which she had paused.

He did not answer.

'What would you have me say?' she repeated more firmly.
'If you do not know, I cannot teach you,' he retorted, with a

sneer.

'You have no right to say that,' she replied bravely. "You remember our compact.'

'You intend to keep to it?' he asked scornfully.

She had no doubt about that now, and she summoned up her courage by an effort. Certainly I do,' she murmured. 'I thought you understood me. I tried to make my meaning clear.'

Clode did not answer her at once. He stood looking at her, his eyes glowing. He knew that his only hope, if hope there might be, lay in gaining some word from her now-now, before any rumour to his disadvantage should get abroad in the town. But his temper, long restrained, was so infuriated by disappointment and defeat, that for the moment love did not prevail with him. He knew that a tender word might do much, but he could not frame it. When he did at last find tongue it was only to say, 'And that is your final decision?'

'It is,' she answered in a low voice. She did not dare to look up at him.

' And all you have to say to me?'

'Yes, all. Except that I wish you well. I shall always wish you well, Mr. Clode,' she muttered.

"Thank you,' he answered coldly.

So coldly, and with so much composure, that she did not guess the gust of hatred of all things and all men which was in his heart. He was beside himself with love, rage, disappointment. For a moment longer he stood gazing at her downcast face. But she did not look up at him; and presently, in a strange silence, he turned and went out of the room.

CHAPTER XXV.

HUMBLE PIE.

THE success of reticence is great. Mr. Bonamy and his nephew, as they went home to tea after their victory, plumed themselves not a little upon the proof of this which they had just given Mr. Clode. They said little, it is true, even to one another, but more than once Mr. Bonamy chuckled in a particularly dry manner, and at the top of the street Jack made an observation. "You think the archdeacon was satisfied?' he asked, turning to his companion for a moment.

'Absolutely,' quoth Mr. Bonamy; and he strode on with one hand in his pocket, his coat-tails flying, and his money jingling in a manner inimitable by any other Claversham person.

At tea they were both silent upon the subject, but the lawyer presently let drop the fact that the earl had accepted the rector's resignation. Jack, watchfully jealous, poor fellow, yet in his jealousy loyal to the core, glanced involuntarily at Kate to see what effect the news produced upon her; and then glanced swiftly away again. Not so swiftly, however, that the change in the girl's face escaped him. He saw it flush with mingled pride and alarm, and then grow grave and thoughtful. After that she kept her eyes averted from him, and he talked busily to Daintry. 'I must be leaving you to-morrow,' he said by and by, as they rose from the table.

'You will be coming back again?' Mr. Bonamy answered, interrupting a loud wail from Daintry. It should be explained that Jack had not stayed through the whole of these weeks at Claversham, but had twice left for some days on circuit business. Mr. Bonamy thought he was meditating another of these disappearances.

'I should like to do so,' Jack answered quietly, but I must get back to London now.'