leave early in the morning. O no, I forgot to-morrow is Sunday; well, then, I shall stay till Monday morning. Look to him, I charge you, as if he were your own."

Barbara went to Mr. Wolcombe, and took his arm, saying, with a half-smile, "You must take me for a couple of nights more." Treading silently in the long grass, the three left the spot, while Abel remained sitting on a tombstone near the child's grave, and looking after the retreating forms with a pallid face and wild eyes.

When the familiar creak of the gate told him he was alone with the dead, one great sob broke from him, and he sat bent double, with his head in his hands, and his fingers buried in his hair, the cold dews falling fast around him.

CHAPTER XXII.

UNDER CURRENTS.

An hour or two later the widow sat in her arm-chair, looking strangely wan and hopeless: all the wintry, grey light had come back to her eye, as she turned from time to time towards the stairs, listening nervously to every sound, and shrinking in apprehension from her every thought. He was safe upstairs, that was one comfort; but he had not spoken to her on entering, and she could see by his looks and gestures that his interview with Barbara had only plunged him into deeper despair. It had failed then. The widow had been mistaken when she fancied that the meeting

1

in such a spot, and the better knowledge which Barbara would gain from it of her husband's career during those eight years of absence, and of the motives of his return, would have revived in her heart the old love, and have swept away in one natural gush of affection all lesser obstacles.

As the widow sat turning these thoughts over in her mind, and asking herself-what next?-she heard a step, that she thought she knew, outside the door. It came close, but seemed to come very softly;-but the door did not open; the person, whoever it was, must be listening. The widow was frightened for an instant, but, recovering herself, seemed to understand; and went to the door, and opened it without noise, and there, just as she anticipated, was Barbara, looking like a spectre that shrank from the sight of humanity, and yet was desirous to speak and be spoken to.

"Is it you, Barbara? Come in."

Barbara paused a moment, and her bloodless face seemed to confront the widow's questioningly. The latter answered it, saying,-"Yes, we are alone."

"But he-?"

"Is upstairs."

"Thank God!" inly murmured the anxious, tremulous soul, but the white lips could only be seen helplessly to move.

They sat down, and for a time did not even look at each other, much less speak. But the widow saw that her own secret fears were also Barbara's fears, and she also saw that her daughter was as unwilling as herself to give them definite form or appellation.

At last, when the long silence had become perfectly intolerable, Barbara rose, and said hastily

"Mother, do not mistake anything I may say or do just

now."

"No, no. I understand."

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Well, then, I must go up to him."

"Yes."

Barbara began to steal softly up the stairs, but returned to whisper:

"I shall not go into the room if I can feel satisfied with what I may hear. Go on with what you were doing. If he knows you are moving about, he will be less under

constraint."

"Call me if you need me," said the widow.
"I will. I will slightly stamp on the floor."

And so saying, Barbara went up the stairs, while the widow began to bustle about, so as to cover the sound of the footsteps, and let the Inventor know that she at least was not watching him.

She would have spared herself the trouble and pretence could she have looked in upon him, and seen how utterly had passed away from him all consciousness of ordinary things.

Ile sat at a little table on which was his hat, and a black travelling bag, ready packed, as if for immediate departure. A lighted candle was close before him, which he had forgotten to snuff, and which by its heavy yellow flame seemed to throw into deeper and more ghastly shade the black lines under his eyes, and the quivering muscles that played about the mouth. He seemed to have emptied his pockets and other receptacles of all their contents in the shape of papers, documents, letters, &c.; and to be examining them one by one, and burning them, generally

without a word or comment by voice or gesture. But there were two or three things among the rest which he seemed to shun instinctively so long as he could; and it was not till these alone remained that he appeared to formally recognise their presence. He paused; seemed to reflect, or to concentrate his energies, before he meddled with them; and at last he rose, paced the chamber to and fro for a minute in deep silence, before he seemed able to proceed with his task. But he sat down again, and took up a card, and gazed at it long and earnestly.

As Barbara stood outside the door, listening as though her own life depended upon the power and accuracy of her ears, yet feeling her heart beat so tumultuously as to confuse if not altogether overpower every other sensation, she could from time to time hear him break out in low, dreamy, but agitated tones, which seemed to be uttered by one who mourned in sleep; or who, if awake, spoke like one already half-dead to the world, but yet only too vividly alive to its pain. And so, himself unconscious of what he did, Abel gave her from time to time, by some passionate exclamation -some broken sentence-the key to his thoughts. What was it he gazed on now? She gently unclosed the door, and forced it a little open, so that she could observe his movements, as he sat with his back towards her. She knew then what he gazed on. Her portrait! As she was. Yes, thought Abel, they went to Gowerend together one holiday, to get that in token of their reconciliation, that morning, by the well. From that pale-tinted, slender, immature bud, what a glorious flower had opened upon the world! And that was his! Was? He smiled a terrible smile, and kept it upon his face all the time that he was

engaged thrusting the card into the flame. It seemed as though it would not burn, however he tried it-cornerwise, or sloping, or level. The card shrivelled, but still she looked upon him (for he could not turn that side to the flame), answering his smile, with so different a one, so filled with divine tenderness, that the agony of the flame seemed to burn into his soul, and he was ready to shriek with a kind of sympathetic agony for her. The cold drops came out upon his forehead. The blackened card, with the hand that held it, dropped on the table; and the latter shook under its quivering weight, as he stayed thus irresolute for a few seconds, while the unnatural smile faded slowly from his cheek.

Must he burn it? Dare he not place it on his heart? No one would know it away from Barden Brow. Or, if she did know, that fact alone could not injure her. Nay, might it not do good? What if, when she saw there was no more to fear from him, some of the old feelings began to revive; for she did love him once; he was sure of that. He should rest happily in his grave, did he but know there would come a day when she would look upon it with moistened eyes and some lingering regret. Again he paused, and again he burst out with a kind of horrible mirth, that no longer merely smiled, but laughed loudly :

"So, even in an hour like this, I can go on juggling with facts. Fool! ask the right question, and take an honest answer. Suppose all to be as thou sayest, and she had-and why should she not have some day or other?new ties, another husband, would the discovery be a very happy one for her then? To work, man, to work?"

Again the Inventor held the card-picture in the flame;