hanged. Upon my own account, I have not one shadow of fear of you, nor one grain of pity."

Mr Inspector Brain placed and replaced one of his huge hands softly over the other, as though playing on an invisible concertina; his head, too, moved in time to Maggie's words; altogether, he looked the very personification of harmonious but inaudible applause.

"So far as I am concerned, then, Dennis Blake," continued she, "you are free to leave this house, upon the proviso that you never enter it again, nor attempt to address me either by word or letter, nor venture to soil my husband's name by breathing it through your perjured lips. Disobey me in this in the least particular, and the law shall take its course with you from that moment; and what that course will end in, you have just heard."

"Silence, silence;" exclaimed the inspector warningly, perceiving Blake about to speak. "This is the last chance of getting out of your hole, my man, that you will ever have, and I recommend you not to throw it away. This great piece of good fortune is not only far beyond what you deserve, but I have my doubts whether it is not defeating the ends of justice. A hair in the balance would just now decide me to take you by the collar, and lay you by the heels at the police office, which you would only exchange for the county jail and that, again, for Her Majesty's establishment at Portland. So far as you are concerned, I will go a step farther than this lady, and say that it would be an inexpressible comfort and satisfaction to me to see you there; so you had better keep a civil tongue in your head, or, since that is probably impossible, be silent. I say, I am not at all sure that I am not overstepping my duty in permitting such an audacious reprobate and villain as you have proved yourself to be, to escape punishment. This lady, it is true, by not appearing against you,

might cause the charge of extorting money to fall to the ground; but not only have I heard with my own ears your voluntary confession of having committed a burglary under this roof, but I have seen the evidence of the fact with my own eyes. You talk-in his absence of having some "hold" upon one whom all who know him know to be an honest gentleman; but that hold (whatever it may be) is as nothing, let me tell you, to the hold I have on you. I have got you as tight as any terrier who has his teeth in a rat's neck—and, by the Lord Harry, I have a mind to shake you out of your skin! Still, taking into consideration the circumstances of the case, as respects this lady-and without the least regard to you whatever-and since she has formally declined to prosecute you, I will, for this time, let you go at large. Only, I also have one proviso to make: don't you stop at Hilton; don't remain within ten miles of the beat of Inspector Brain, because you will find the air unhealthy for you. It ain't often that these bracelets, which become your wrists so well, are unlocked so easily.-Not a word; not a syllable; now go."

Mr Dennis Blake was not a gentleman given to poetic metaphor, or he might have likened himself, on this occasion of his departure, to the month of March, which is said to come in like a lion, but to go out like a lamb. The air of proprietorship which he had assumed on his arrival, had utterly disappeared, and was replaced by one of extreme dejection. He shambled rather than walked out of the parlour, nor did he venture to breathe a syllable, even of thanks, to the inspector for seeing him out of doors. Nay, when he found himself alone, except for the snow-flakes, and journeying homeward to the wretched lodgings that he had, doubtless, calculated upon soon exchanging for more eligible apartments, he did but mutter to himself, in dismal monotone, the reiterated

word "Blank, blank!" in reference, doubtless, to the unexpected aspect of that document upon which he had built so much, and which Mr Brain had considerately returned to him on his departure; moreover, his countenance was that of one who, after he has promised to himself a magnificent prize in the lottery of life, has drawn a blank.

CHAPTER XXXV.

NEWS AT LAST.

THERE has been many a battle gained similar to that after which the conquerer exclaimed: "One more such a victory, and I am undone." And so it was with Maggie, as she sat that night in the parlour at Rosebank, when the ally who had so largely contributed to her enemy's discomfiture had left her, to enjoy her triumph alone. Such another conflict, no matter how signal might be the success attending it, would, she felt, be utterly beyond her strength. Spiritless, prostrate, utterly exhausted with her own exertions-though she had but stood on her defence throughout-she was mistress of the field, and that was all. She had read how largely the element of chance enters into the calculations of war; how its greatest successes have been attained by a lucky stroke, and how vain would have been the foresight of the most skilful generals, even when the dove-tailing of this and that event with one another has come off beyond all anticipation, had not some mischance, which they have not reckoned on their side at all, befallen their foe and thus she knew it had been with her in respect to Dennis Blake.

She had calculated on the virtues of the terminable ink to confound her husband's accuser, and on the presence of the inspector of police to inspire him with terror; and they had not failed her; but, notwithstanding this good fortune, all would have been fruitless but for the unexpected confession

from Blake's own lips, by which he had been placed, independently of his offence against herself, within the power of the law. Throughout that terrible interview-trying enough had she been alone, but ten times more trying since she had had to weigh every word before she spoke it, with regard to its effect upon her hidden audience, as well as on the man with whom she was face to face-she had borne up to the last, though every nerve was strung to the utmost, and her very blood had stood stagnant more than once; but now that it was over, it seemed that the victory had been purchased at the cost of life itself. In her complete and utter prostration, she could hardly believe that she was the self-same being who had endured the experience of the last two hours, and never shown-but once-a sign of that weakness which she had felt in every fibre, and the exhibition of which would have been ruin. The thought of her husband's peril had alone sustained her, and now the peril was past, her strength departed with it.

Yes; the peril was past, at all events for the present; but the Thing that had caused the peril-alas, no longer Nameless-had not passed; could never do so, as it seemed to her, but must remain before her eyes continually, a worse than Belshazzar's warning, since it was written in letters of blood. That much of Dennis Blake's narrative was true she could have no doubt: no more doubt than Inspector Brain would have had, had it not been for that impotent and baseless finale to which all had led, but which had never, of course, for an instant imposed upon herself.

Without doubt, Blake had done the things he said he had done-indeed, they were sufficiently discreditable to be genuine -and it was even difficult for her to refuse credence to much that he had said of others. She perfectly well remembered— notwithstanding that she had so stoutly denied it-imitating, at Richard Milbank's request, the autograph of her present husband. Richard had been praising her skill in caligraphy