bridesmaids had all driven away-the Major, who had been ill at ease during the ceremony, in a terrible state of despondency and doubt-how could they, he asked, now that it was too late-how could they have trusted so implicitly this new-comer, this man of whom they knew nothing-this Uncle Jack?

All were gone, except Uncle Jack himself, who stood in the church porch with a stranger, a man who had been present during the ceremony, and had taken as much interest in it as a super in a tragedy, or a mute at a funeral, and, with a little bundle of papers, waited in the porch while the people thronged out.

66

"Now," said Uncle Jack, we had better do what we have to do without further delay."

Mrs. Branson was so much affected by her brother-in-law's quiet confidence and his promise to return after the wedding with something to put it mildly-not too pleasant for her, and with Antoinette's forebodings, that she fortified herself with the presence of her solicitor. He was a young man, although a solicitor, but he was ageing rapidly, which was in his favour; there is always hope for a young solicitor when he gets thin on the temples. This young gentleman brought with him a copy of Mr. Samuel Branson's will to assure himself and his client of her powers and rights. So that when Jack Branson and his companion arrived, they met a little group of three, Antoinette forming one.

"Your stepchildren," said Uncle Jack, "are married."

"Without your consent, madam," said the lady's solicitor. "By their father's will, then, the estate is your own.'

That, I suppose," observed Antoinette sharply, glancing at Jack, "cannot be disputed."

"On the contrary," said Jack.

"Quite the contrary," Jack's companion repeated.

"I thought so," Antoinette murmured. I knew there was a trap."

"Pray, sir," said Mrs. Branson's solicitor, "if you have any objection to make, do so through me.'

"I have instructed this gentleman," Jack_replied; "who is a partner in the firm of Longwynd, Spinnet, and Taxum, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, to follow the usual procedure, if any should be required. I have also instructed him to make it quite clear to you, for your client, that my conditions are final."

"Your conditions ?" The young solicitor drew out his copy of the will. "Your conditions, sir?"

"My conditions are that Mrs. Branson leaves this house immediately-within one hour; that she takes out of it nothing but her dresses, jewels, and personal effects. One moment, sir. You shall, I assure you, be thoroughly satisfied immediately. Such treatment as she dealt to her stepdaughter I deal to her. She must leave the house within an hour; she shall have an annuity of two hundred pounds a year. If she refuses, she shall have nothing."

"He will do it," said Antoinette. "He will certainly do it."

"What is the meaning- -" Mrs. Branson began. But her jaws stuck, as the old books used to say, and she could not finish her sentence. Her cheeks were pale, and her look scared.

"And what about me, Jack ?" asked Antoinette. my Secretary, to be thrown out of window ?"

"Am I, with

"Pray use your own convenience, Miss Baker. Under the circum

stances

"Yes-I understand. Do you know, Jack, it has been a very fine thing for those young people that you turned up? If it had not been for you, I should most certainly have married Harry-I should have made him marry me, whether he liked it or not; but I doubt whether I should ever have made him a man after my own heart. There isn't the making of my kind of man in him. Very likely, too, the discipline would have killed him. Don't think that I should have beaten him, or deprived him of his beer, or anything; but he would have had to obey and do as I told him, and I doubt whether he would have been happy."

"What, in the name of goodness, did you want to marry him for?"

"You are a big, strong man, Jack, and, I think, with a head upon your shoulders; and can't you see that Harry is rich enough for any woman? I am not mercenary at all for myself, and I have enough to live upon; but I am zealous for the Cause. I do not want a husband, nor do I want his money; but, for the Cause, it would be better if I were married, and if I could live in a big house. Now you see. Good-bye, Jack. If you were younger and more amenable I would much rather marry you. I would indeed."

"The other one-the She-man," said Jack, "will be put out of doors or through the window immediately, neck and crop, if he ventures to come back."

66 Valentine, I suppose--ye-yes. He has gone to London on an errand for me. He shall not come back here. Indeed, it would be useless. I don't think he will be so much help to us as I thought at first. What we most want is a big, strong, healthy, contented-looking man, who will also show his obedience to the Intellect of Woman. You would look the part to perfection, Jack. Look here"-she laid her hand on his arm-" if you like to think of it, though your hair is gone grey, I am ready to marry you. I am indeed. Look at me. Am I pretty enough for you? Your money will be quite as good as Harry's, and your manner is finer."

"None for me, thank you," stammered Jack in great confusion, as if he had been asked if he would take something after his walk. Mrs. Branson all this time sat staring at this brother-in-law of hers, who thus made shipwreck of all her plans and herself as well. Somehow, she knew that the game was up. There was nothing but obedience possible for her. Her importance was gone; her career ruined; and she felt with bitterness that it no longer mattered,

as she would have no money, whether she belonged to the Cause

or not.

Then Jack went away, leaving the partner in Messrs. Longywnd, Spinnet, and Taxum behind.

"The meaning," said the partner, taking the young solicitor into a window, but Mrs. Branson and Antoinette caught a word or two-"The meaning of all this is that-hum-hum-that-hum —hum—”

66

“Good heavens !" cried the young solicitor. "I never knew this." Certainly; there can be no doubt of it. And further, unless your client-hum-hum-arrears-hum-hum-hum-nothing in the world."

66

"God bless me! Pardon me, madam," he addressed his client, 'you are quite sure that the gentleman who has just gone out is Mr. John Branson ?"

"Why, of course he is," said Mrs. Branson. "There is no doubt about it. Dozens of people here have recognised him. He is very little altered, considering."

"Then, in fact, it is very distressing, very; but, my dear madam, I regret to inform you that everything you have in the world probably belongs to him, because, you see

"I suspected it all the time," said Antoinette. "What a pity, what a thousand pities, that he did not come home a few weeks earlier! We could have caught him for the Cause. I would have married him, and—oh ! what a mess you've made of it, Louise! To be sure, you did not show the spirit of obedience I expected in you; you were not worthy of this great fortune; and perhaps things are as well as they have turned out."

The breakfast was over, and the carriage waiting for the two couples. The brides were gone, in fact, to change their dresses. Meantime, the people gathered about the porch with rice to throw. They waited a most unreasonable time. The reason was this.

Uncle Jack was not in the porch with the rest. He was in the Major's study, and the brides were with him.

"My dears," he said, "I have not given you my wedding present. It is here." He handed Cicely a letter in a blue envelope. "Give that to your husband ;" and to Chris another. Keep that yourself, my dear, and open it in the train. You see, I went up to London looking for one thing, and I found another. What I found was that all my brother's estate was mine; absolutely and without room for dispute, mine."

"Yours? Oh, Uncle Jack! yet you told us last night that you had nothing at all!"

"I have nothing at all. I am a Tramp and a Vagabond still. I said that the property was mine; but it is mine no longer. It was left to me by my father, to devolve upon my brother if I should be dead. They took it for granted that I was dead, and he enjoyed

the income during his lifetime. None of you-not even your stepmother or any of her advisers—seem to have known that if I came home it would all be mine. Do you understand now ?”

"Yes-but-but

"Now you see why I was late at the breakfast. I wanted first to turn out your stepmother. This I have done. Next, as regards yourselves. Could you think, Christina and Cicely, that your uncle would come all the way from Australia to be made much of by you two girls, and then to take away your fortunes? A Gentleman Tramp is not necessarily a Rogue. Cicely, my dear, that paper in your hand tells your husband that the estates are his own again. They have only gone through my hands in order to get rid of his stepmother for him. Christina, my dear, that letter in your hand assures you of your fortune, free as when your father thought it was his own to leave you. Children, good and kind, this is my wedding present. Kiss me. Now go to your husbands, who must not be kept waiting. Yes, yes, my dears-perhaps-perhaps-some day. Give me one more kiss."

It was astonishing, everybody said, that the brides, who had both behaved so admirably and kept up so well, came out of the house with eyes full of tears, and on getting into the carriages began, each in her own, to cry and to sob. What did they cry for?

When the Major went to look for Uncle Jack he was gone. And he has never come back since. Where he has gone to, what he is doing unless he is carrying on his Variety Entertainment in Australia-no one knows. But they all live in hopes that some day he will return to see the girls again.

JULIA.

I.

"THERE'S the Family Treasure, Julia.

Now don't forget the Family Treasure, whatever you do. It's three pound four and eight. And owing three months."

"Three four eight," Julia repeated, mechanically making a note of the amount with a stump of a pencil. "He said he'd pay this morning."

"See that he does then. The Treasure's a slippery chap. Lord! the world's full of slippery chaps. We've all got to be slippery, whether we like it or not, we have, because we're poor. Nobody ought to be poor."

The speaker was an old man of seventy or more, perched upon a high stool; a dried-up old man, with short and spiky white hair, and a face covered with lines, wrinkles, and crow's feet. His chin was square, and he spoke with the sharp impatience which belongs to masterful men. In fact, he was a pugnacious man, and a stickler for rights; one of those men who can kick. The fighting and kicking man is invaluable when he has been taught to use his gifts aright. Too often, however, he kicks the wrong persons and fights on the wrong side. This man was so pugnacious that he certainly ought to have become a rich and successful man. But he was neither rich nor successful, because I suppose he had never found himself in the right groove. The office in which he was at work belonged to his workshop, and that was in the City Road, on the north or sunny side of that noble thoroughfare, and very near where it bends southward. The office was only a small slip of a place, eight feet broad and fifteen feet long; there was a small fireplace at one end and a safe at the other; there was also in it a table with a wooden chair; there was a high desk and a stool, and beside the fireplace there was a cupboard. This was the living or keeping room of Mr. Bradberry, as well as his office, and above it was his bedroom, because he was not ashamed to live in his place