CHAPTER XVI.

MISS LINCH.

THE fracas, as the Hilton newspapers termed it, between John Milbank and Dennis Blake was settled out of court, as Mr Linch had foretold it would be; but that did not curb the gossips' tongues, which made very free with Maggie's name. She formed for some days the chief topic of conversation at the Sans Souci club, not only in the card and billiard rooms, but, I am sorry to say, among the more grave and reverend seigniors, who discussed the circumstances of the case "with a world of coughing and noise," engendered mostly by suppressed significance. The theories on the matter were very various-some even contending that Blake was Maggie's champion against the aspersions of Milbank; but almost all opinions were unfavourable to John. A man who could brick up a cellar with good wine in it, neither drinking it himself, nor permitting others to drink it, was not likely to receive much quarter in genial male society. Nor did he fare much better with the ladies; their keener instinct directed them nearer to the truth, but they did not spare him the more on that account; and, of course, they were capable of “saying things" from which the masculine mind shrank appalled. Of all this, Herbert Thorne and his daughter knew nothing for many days; his condition kept him within doors, and Maggie stayed at home to nurse him. They had read the account of the rencontre with Dennis in the paper, and after

wards that the matter had been compromised; but they had heard nothing more, and they could not understand why John did not look in as usual.

The engraver endeavoured to explain it on the grounds of delicacy this unfortunate quarrel had arisen on Maggie's behalf, and John might well conceive that his appearance would be painful to her; perhaps he even blamed himself for his part in it, though the printed accounts showed he had acted under great provocation. Blake, drunk and dangerous, had insulted him in the street, and being mildly put aside by that quite resolute arm of his, had spoken daggers about Poulter's Alley, whereupon John had knocked him down, just once and it must be confessed that the once had been enough. Denny had fallen to pieces beneath that "shot from the shoulder" like a box of matches; it seemed as though John had been husbanding his strength throughout his inoffensive lifetime to deal that terrible blow.

It was a shocking catastrophe, no doubt, but Maggie secretly admired John for his part in it more than she had done for all his passive virtues, and this she would have done even had the girl he had thus championed been dead Alice Grey. It being herself, she experienced also a shock of tender gratitude. Certainly, as even her father said, it would be embarrassing for her to meet John; but she longed to thank him for his advocacy-though she blamed its haste and violence—and, since she must see him sooner or later, it seemed foolish in him, though quite in accordance with his shy, retiring ways, to keep aloof. As days, however, went on, and weeks, without his coming, she began to speculate whether he would come at all; and also to consider whether the mere fear of her displeasure was not the cause of his absence; and though her father forbore to discuss the matter with her, she saw, by the failure of his spirits, that he missed John's visits exceedingly, and, like herself, had begun to conclude that

there would be no renewal of them. The improvement in his physical health was become much less marked, though his enforced idleness was borne with his usual patience. One afternoon there was a ring at the door-bell which startled them both, since visitors of any sort were very rare with them now. "Thank Heaven, there is John at last!" cried the engraver. Maggie did not reply, for she could not be so sure of John's ring as she had been of Richard's; and besides, now that the moment had come for the interview so long delayed, she half wished that it might yet be postponed her pale cheeks flushed and her heart beat high as she listened for that slow, firm footfall on the stairs, which had in itself something of the owner's character. Poor Richard used to bound

up them three steps at a time.

:

It was, therefore, with almost a sense of relief that she heard a female voice in conference with the servant below, and her father exclaim peevishly: "Why, it is that stupid, tedious woman, Martha Linch, after all."

Martha Linch was a stupid tedious woman, with a perennial flow of small-talk, that would have worn away the heart of any husband, though it were made of stone; but the maxim that there is "not stuff enough in a fool to make a good man," does not somehow apply to women. Miss Linch was an eminently good creature, and would have made the lawyer's home a happy one had he only been deaf; as it was, he was away from it a good deal on week-days working at the law; on Sunday preaching the gospel-being, as Mr Roberts said, “a professing Christian, but a practising attorney;" and not being Martha's husband, he passed the hours of the night in silence, which recruited him. It was only her tongue-at once a speaker and an "unruly member "-that was in fault with her her hand was ever ready to help her fellow-creatures, to smooth the pillow, and soothe the pain of the humblest. When the engraver had been taken ill, she had volunteered

to assist Maggie in tending him, an offer which was declined with thanks, though with decision; but the rejection had not offended her. Nothing offended Martha Linch, except wickedness and vice, and such things as offend Heaven. But she never intruded where she was not welcome, and she knew that the engraver did not enjoy her society, so her visits in Mitchell Street were like those of angels. Once in six months or so this "old belle with her clapper," as coarse Matthew Thurle had been wont to term her, was wont to call on the Thornes, and the present was one of her state visits.

Upon this occasion, the clapper seemed to be somewhat "muffled," nor had her words and manners the bird-like vivacity for which they were generally distinguished, as she flew from twig to twig of small talk with untiring wing. Perhaps the melancholy condition of the engraver restrained her; she saw at once that he was not yet able to be at work again, and her kind eyes glistened as they fell upon his disused tools. After a few words of genuine condolence with him, she addressed herself confidentially to Maggie.

"He is better though, is he not, dear?" whispered she; "only, while the grass is growing the steed starves, and it is so sad to be out of work. My dear brother has told me you seemed getting on quite comfortably, or else I should have called, of course; you would have sent to me, if you had wanted any help, I hope. Well, that shows the advantage of putting by against a rainy day. I am sure it does you both credit, to have managed to rub on, and hold your heads up, without borrowing. That is most satisfactory; after all, though, between friends, what is a little money advanced? Obligation, indeed! That's rubbish!"

Maggie was growing very hot and uncomfortable under these well-meant phrases, every one of which had a barb for her; when her father came to the rescue, by inquiring after John Milbank. Miss Linch immediately assumed an air of

gloomy reserve, ill-fitting as a Spanish cloak thrown over a Highlander. "He is tolerably well, I believe," said she significantly; "as well as can be expected, quite."

"My good woman, what do you mean?" inquired the engraver, always impatient of poor Martha. "That is a phrase I have never before heard applied to a person of the male sex."

"Well, he's worried and troubled, of course. It was most injudicious of him to do what he did; and you never can stop people's tongues by knocking them down ever so often in the street-quite the contrary. My dear brother compares him to Cadmus, a gentleman about whom you probably know more than I. Every tooth that he knocked out of Mr Blake has sprung up an armed man against him."

"I understand the metaphor," observed the engraver dryly; "but what I can not understand is, how a man like John Milbank can be put out of sorts by malicious tittle-tattle. Why should he shut himself up like a hermit because fools speak ill of him?”

"He was never much of a man for going out into society," suggested Miss Linch; "and I believe he goes down to the office, and so on, much as usual."

"He seems to have quite deserted his old friends, however," remarked the engraver with irritation; "and you may tell him that I said so, if you please."

"O father!" interposed Maggie pleadingly.

"Well, really, you see it is such a very delicate matter. It is nobody's fault except the scandal-mongers', I know; but I don't quite see how John is to come here as usual; not on his own account, of course, Mr Thorne-in a man's case, nothing signifies-but out of delicacy to somebody else;" and Miss Linch looked significantly at Maggie.

"What! because a drunken reprobate tells a vile story of an honest girl-a story, too, that turns out on investigation