some one told Jane Hodson it was even copied into a London paper. You've set up heroine on your own account, Mary Barton. How did you like standing witness? Ar'n't them lawyers impudent things? staring at one so. I'll be bound you wished you'd taken my offer, and borrowed my black watered scarf! Now didn't you, Mary? Speak truth!”

"To tell truth, I never thought about it, then, Sally. How could I?" asked she, reproachfully.

"Oh-I forgot. You were all for that stupid James Wilson. Well! if I've ever the luck to go witness on a trial, see if I don't pick up a better beau than the prisoner. I'll aim at a lawyer's clerk, but I'll not take less than a turnkey."

Cast down as Mary was, she could hardly keep from smiling at the idea, so wildly incongruous with the scene she had really undergone, of looking out for admirers during a trial for murder.

"I'd no thought to be looking out for beaux, I can assure you, Sally.-But don't let us talk any more about it, I can't bear to think on it. How is Miss Simmonds? and every-body?"

"Oh, very well; and by the way she gave me a bit of a message for you. You may come back to work if you'll behave yourself, she says. I told you she'd be glad to have you back, after all this piece of business, by way of tempting people to come to her shop. They'd come from Salford to have

six months at least."

a peep at you, for

"Don't talk so; I cannot come, I can never face

Miss Simmonds again. And even if I could," she stopped, and blushed.

"Ay! I know what you're thinking on. But that will not be this some time, as he's turned off from the foundry, you'd better think twice afore refusing Miss Simmonds' offer."

"Turned off from the foundry! Jem?" cried Mary.

"To be sure! didn't you know it? Decent men were not going to work with a-no! I suppose I mustn't say it, seeing you went to such trouble to get up an alibi; not that I should think much the worse of spirited young fellow for falling foul of a rival,—they always do at the theatre."

But Mary's thoughts were with Jem. How good he had been never to name his dismissal to her. How much he had to endure for her sake!

"Tell me all about it," she gasped out.

"Why, you see, they've always swords quite handy at them plays," began Sally, but Mary, with an impatient shake of her head, interrupted,

"About Jem,-about Jem, I want to know."

:

"Oh! I don't pretend to know more than is in every one's mouth he's turned away from the foundry, because folks don't think you've cleared him outright of the murder; though perhaps the jury were loth to hang him. Old Mr. Carson is savage against judge, and jury, and lawyers and all, as I heard."

"I must go to him, I must go to him," repeated Mary, in a hurried manner.

"He'll tell you all I've said is true, and not a word of lie," replied Sally. "So I'll not give your answer to Miss Simmonds, but leave you to think twice about it. Good afternoon!"

Mary shut the door, and turned into the house.

Her father sat in the same attitude; the old unchanging attitude. Only his head was more bowed towards the ground.

She put on her bonnet to go to Ancoats; for see, and question, and comfort, and worship Jem, she

must.

As she hung about her father for an instant before leaving him, he spoke-voluntarily spoke for the first time since her return; but his head was drooping so low she could not hear what he said, so she stooped down; and after a moment's pause, he repeated the words,

"Tell Jem Wilson to come here at eight o'clock tonight."

Could he have overheard her conversation with Sally Leadbitter? They had whispered low, she thought. Pondering on this, and many other things, she reached Ancoats.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Oh, had he lived,

Replied Rusilla, never penitence

Had equalled his! full well I know his heart,
Vehement in all things. He would on himself
Have wreaked such penance as had reached the height
Of fleshly suffering,-yea, which being told,
With its portentous rigour should have made
The memory of his fault, o'erpowered and lost
In shuddering pity and astonishment,
Fade like a feeble horror."

SOUTHEY'S 'RODERICK.'

As Mary was turning into the street where the Wilsons lived, Jem overtook her. He came upon her suddenly, and she started.

"You're going to see mother ?" he asked, tenderly, placing her arm within his, and slackening his pace. "Yes, and you too. Oh, Jem, is it true? tell me.” She felt rightly that he would guess the meaning of her only half expressed inquiry. He hesitated a moment before he answered her.

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Darling, it is; it's no use hiding it—if you mean that. I'm no longer to work at Duncombe's foundry. It's no time (to my mind) to have secrets from each

other, though I did not name it yesterday, thinking you might fret. I shall soon get work again, never fear."

"But why did they turn you off, when the jury had said you were innocent ?"

"I was not just to say turned off, though I don't think I could have well staid on. A good number of the men managed to let out they should not like to work under me again; there were some few who knew me well enough to feel I could not have done it, but more were doubtful; and one spoke to young Mr. Duncombe, hinting at what they thought."

"Oh Jem! what a shame!" said Mary, with mournful indignation.

Nay, darling! I'm not for blaming them. Poor fellows like them have nought to stand upon and be proud of but their character, and its fitting they should take care of that, and keep that free from soil and taint."

"But you,-what could they get but good from you? They might have known you by this time."

"So some do; the overlooker, I am sure, would know I am innocent. Indeed, he said as much to-day; and he said he had had some talk with old Mr. Duncombe, and they thought it might be better if I left Manchester for a bit; they'd recommend me to some other place."

But Mary could only shake her head in a mournful way, and repeat her words,

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'They might have known thee better, Jem."

Jem pressed the little hand he held between his