They gazed at each other in mute bewilderment. Could she— could she do this thing? But this was-just-exactly what she did. And now you know most of the unhappy story of these poor girls. That is to say, you know all that Christina told her uncle the evening he arrived.

III.

AT HOME AGAIN.

"COME in," said Christina. "Let me show you the "I know it," said her uncle.

way."

He stopped in the hall and looked around. By the light of the lamp, Chris observed that their newly recovered uncle was a man who once had been handsome, and had still what is called a distinguished look. He had straight and regular features, with very bright eyes. When he took off his hat (which he proceeded to hang up as if he was going back to his old peg after an absence of a day or two) Christina observed that his hair, which was still thick and abundant, was gone completely grey. A grey head and a big brown beard make up rather picturesquely together. Christina saw, further, that he had full bright eyes, which ought to have been short-sighted, but were not. He also possessed, which Chris could not see by reason of his thick moustache, a singularly sweet and sensitive mouth.

"An old

"You are trying to find out what I am like ?" he said. fogey of fifty-two is not much to look at. Let me rather look at you. Yes! You have my father's mouth and my mother's eyes. You are very pretty, my dear." He gently touched her hair as if it was something sacred. "You must try and like me a little, if

you can."

Then he opened the door of the library and looked in. The lights were lit, but the room was empty.

"The same books," he said, "and the same old chairs. Well, I am glad that my brother made no alteration. Was he in Holy Orders? Did he succeed my father in the parish ?"

"My father in Orders? Oh, no!"

"What did he do, then ?"

"He did nothing," replied Christina. obliged to do anything.'

"Of course he was not

Uncle Jack looked puzzled, but said nothing.
Christina led the way to the drawing-room.

"You will find," she said, "Mrs. Branson here with her friends. When you have talked long enough with her, you will find me waiting for you in the porch, or here. I have a good deal to tell you. Go in and introduce yourself. Unfortunately, I can no longer spend my evenings in the drawing-room."

Her uncle opened the door and stepped in.

He found himself in the large low room, which he remembered so well, only it was now very differently furnished. And in the little tables, dainty chairs, china, and cabinets, there was little to remind him of his mother's old drawing-room, with its heavy round table and chairs stiffly arranged.

He stepped into the room looking about him. Within, as it seemed to him, they were acting a play. There was, sitting in an easy-chair, a middle-aged lady, to whose usually placid features the fervour of recent conversion-though this Uncle Jack did not know -had given a novel and rather incongruous expression of enthusiasm. This passion belongs rightly to the young. She was reading a proofsheet aloud. Before her stood with a note-book a young lady, dressed in some plain-coloured stuff, made into a costume just exactly as if she were going to take a header from the hearth-rug into mid-ocean. I hope I make my meaning clear; the costume is not in itself unpleasing, but seen in a drawing-room it makes one's head to reel, and one's eyes to swim.

"It's mum

"It's a rehearsal!" said Uncle Jack to himself. micking. And in my mother's drawing-room. She's a page, I suppose. Good Heavens !"

At the table, partly on it, there leaned a youth, though when Uncle Jack looked more closely he perceived that the youth was probably a young lady. She was dressed in a crimson silk jacket, a white silk waistcoat, a plain male shirt front with a diamond stud in it, a cruelty-collar, and white tie; and below, terminating at the knee, a garment which might be called petticoat or divided skirt, or Turkish trousers, or anything you please, so long as you get the true idea of what she wore. Below this garment were white silk stockings, and red leather shoes with gold buckles. She wore double glasses, and had light short curls. She was certainly striking, and even attractive; but her mouth and chin were too strong, and her expression lacked repose. Her features were marked and yet delicate, reminding one rather of an American than of any English type of beauty. She, too, was listening to the pamphlet, but without a note-book.

"A full-dress rehearsal !" said Uncle Jack to himself. 'What the devil does it mean?"

Beside the lady in the jacket and other things aforesaid, there sat a young man-Uncle Jack supposed he must be a young man from the testimony of the upper lip, whereon was a beautiful, small, silky moustache of fair hair, curled, twisted, and oiled, a miracle of art. He was a young man of five-and-twenty or so, of fair pink and white complexion, pale blue eyes, and very light, straight hair, worn long, parted down the middle, and combed behind his ears; he was as handsome in his way as the lady in the waistcoat and collar was in hers. Yet there was a shifty and uncertain look about his eyes; and the lines of his figure wanted, so to speak, a firmer handling. He was clothed in a curious costume, reminding the beholder of bals

masqués and visits behind the scenes. It was constructed after the Syrian fashion, and made chiefly of black velvet, with a little lace. It closely resembled the costume of the lady He sat in a long, low armchair, with one leg folded under the other, gracefully suggesting a dallying with Oriental modes.

The elder lady went on reading from her proofs:

"In short, the whole history of Man's rule has been the longcontinued use of the bludgeon. By this he seized on power; by this he held it. He made laws for his own advantage, and enforced them by the bludgeon. He inculcated his religion, carried on his courtship, ruled his state, and subjected his household-by the bludgeon and the heavy boot.'

"This is forcible, Antoinette," said the young man with a little lisp, turning to the lady in the crimson silk jacket. "Forcible as

well as true-ah! so true-with the bludgeon and the heavy boot." "I would write up the passage still more strongly," said Antoinette. "It is a side of the question which cannot be shown too clearly."

66.6

Take from him his bludgeon, his power to do mischief; forbid him to strike, and he becomes as harmless as"Here the lady happened to look up from her proof and saw the stranger standing in the door. Behind him stood Christina. She stared, dropped her paper, sprang to her feet, and held out her hands with a cry of welcome and surprise.

"Jack Branson! Is it really and truly Jack come home again, after all these years?" She gave him both her hands, which he took and held, looking into her face.

"It is none other. And you surely-surely you are my old friend Loo Bazalgette, though you were but a slip of a thing when I went away."

"Louise Branson," she said, with something of a blush, because, in truth, there were memories of love-passages between them, and such recollections are always awkward. "I married your brother." "Ah! then you are mother of that pretty girl who- He looked round; but Christina had shut the door and left him. "Christina is my stepdaughter. I was your brother's second wife," she explained coldly, so that Jack perceived at once that there was something wrong. Then he shook hands with her again.

"I hear from my niece," he said, "that my poor brother is no more. Presently you will tell me all. Is this this young gentleman "-he pointed to the mummer with the moustache" my nephew ?"

"I sincerely wish he was, Jack. Your nephew, I am sorry to say,

takes a much less serious view of life."

If, Jack thought, taking a serious view of life means dressing up like a Tom Fool at a fair, what can a frivolous view mean?

"Let me introduce you to my friends," Mrs. Branson continued. “Antoinette, this is my husband's brother Jack, whom we have all

thought dead. Jack, this is Miss Antoinette Baker, the leader of Woman's Cause in this country. She is one of those rare and colossal intellects which it is more than a privilege-an education -to encounter."

66

"Glad to see you back again, Jack." She held out her hand, which he shook mechanically, feeling as if he must be in a dream. "In our School," Mrs. Branson went on, we always address each other by the Christian name, in token of equality. This is Mr. Valentine Vandeleur, one of our disciples, and a most valiant soldier." Jack thought that never had valour been so carefully disguised. "You will join us, Jack, before long," said the hero; and Jack longed to have him alone for a few minutes in the open, just to wring his neck for his cheek, yet reflected that one just arrived after thirty years must be prepared to find a good deal that was strange.

"This is our Secretary," said Mrs. Branson, indicating the young lady in the bathing-dress, who bowed and blushed and seemed to be conscious that if things were somehow a little otherwise, she would be happier. But what she wanted did not appear.

"We will go into the library," said Antoinette. "Come, Valentine. Come, Ella. We will leave you to talk about old times. I suppose, Jack," she said, "that in the countries you come from very little is known as yet of the Cause ?"

66

"Very little indeed," said Jack, stroking his big beard. "If you please you shall become our missionary. He is a finelooking man, Louise," she said, with a pleasant condescension. "He looks fairly intelligent. I have no doubt that with a little training he might be useful to us."

"You hear, sir? added Mr. Vandeleur. He put his glass in his eye to say it, and what with his little lisp, and his conceit, and his dress, he made Uncle Jack still more long to kick him. "Such a compliment from our leader-the illustrious Antoinette-the most colossal intellect in England-is indeed worth having. Remember that no nobler work exists than to advance the Emancipation of Woman and the Suppression of the Bludgeon. Hasten, sir, to make yourself worthy of such a compliment."

"Good Lord!" said Uncle Jack, recovering as they shut the door.

"You left me, Jack," said Mrs. Branson, "a weak silly girl"You were mighty pretty, too, I remember," added Uncle Jack. "Oh! Pretty-pretty-what is that? Beauty has no use, my dear brother, except to win young men over to our Cause. It is a weapon, and a very important one, so long as men continue weak: that is, so long as they continue to be men.'

"Yes," said Uncle Jack, "that seems quite true. It is a weapon, and a good strong one. But what do you want? What does it all

mean ?"

"It means, my dear brother," she replied, with flashing eyes, "that we have at last awakened to a sense of our true position, and

are resolved to demand and to enforce our rights. Sit down, and before we say another word, I must read you my pamphlet and make you a convert."

"Never mind the pamphlet, my dear sister. Tell me about my nephew and niece."

"I am sorry," said Mrs. Branson, "that I cannot welcome you to a harmonious house. My stepchildren have of late, owing to the influence of a Snake, showed a most disrespectful and disobedient spirit."

Uncle Jack said nothing, but remembered Cicely's mysterious words about a right-minded uncle.

"I must, however I really must-read you my pamphlet before we begin to talk, if only to show you my present position."

Then Mrs. Branson read her pamphlet. It was a strange welcome. Uncle Jack sat listening, but hearing nothing. After thirty years the house was the same; to him it was full of the ghosts of the past. He had heard his father's voice in the library; his mind was charged with the memories of his youth. He would have been sitting in the dark garden talking with Louise of the bygone days and here she was stamping up and down the room, brandishing her papers in his face, shouting her arguments with shrill and strident voice. What did it mean? Was the old house turned into a lunatic asylum?

"Thank you," he said, when the paper was finished.

"Have I shaken you?" asked the Enthusiast.

"Very much indeed. But, my dear Louise, no one is made a convert all at once, you know. Put away your papers, and let us talk. I have got thirty years of talk. Let us begin with thirty years ago.

"Thirty years ago, Jack, you were in great disgrace."

"I was.'

"You had been rusticated from Cambridge; you were in debt; and you had kissed the curate's daughter-after you had had certain love-passages with-with more than one other girl in the place."

"That is quite true. I was a disgrace, I was told, to the family. So I went away. Looking back, I don't think I had done anything very disgraceful. As for the rustication, it was only for screwing up the Dean; as for the Cambridge debts, they amounted to no more than a hundred or two; and as for poor Evelina and that unlucky kiss, which my father saw from the library window, perhaps too much importance was attached to the deplorable incident."

"Above all, Jack," said Mrs. Branson, when the first flow of question and answer was subsiding, now that you have come home, I rely upon you to bring the children to a sense of duty. Pray understand me clearly. I am resolved never to give my consent to any engagement with the children of a man who has so