such a curse in my children? How shall I bear it, after all I have done for him? No one did anything for me; and yet I gave him every advantage. I was willing to give him a profession. He got everything he wanted. Thousands and thousands would never have done what I did for him. And look at the way he treats me. I shall never forgive himnever!"

"Where is he? What has he done?" She gasped rather than spoke the words.

"Run in debt; borrowed right and left; made away with everything. Of course, he has run off now. No one knows where he is."

"Run off! Oh, my God! Run off!-it will kill mamma."

me.

"Aye, indeed. God help me!-nothing, but disappointment and trouble everywhere before Last week I lost ten pounds, and nowlook at this little monster. I had better go back to town, and inquire if he has let me in with any other shopkeepers. Heavens and earth! How shall I look any one in the face? Was there ever a being persecuted like me?"

So this distracted parent set off back to town; and Nellie, frightened to death and pale

as a ghost, stole back upstairs to her post. She found her mother awake, her face turned towards the door, watching for her.

'Dicky,―tell him to come to me," said she indistinctly, opening her eyes wide-blue, soft eyes, like her boy's. "Do you hear me?" she added sharply; "send him."

Nellie breathed a prayer for aid, and put forth all her strength; then slowly, and trying hard to master her voice-breaking and trembling in spite of her-replied,

"Mamma, he is not in. I'll send him directly he comes."

"What? Where is he? I insist. He has not been here for days. This moment, Nellie : tell me where is Dicky?"

She

Her cheeks were flushed now, and her eyes seemed unnaturally large and bright. tried to move, to raise herself. The thick tone had disappeared from her voice, and she spoke fast and nervously. Nellie's heart sank within her at this ominous sign.

"I assure you, mamma, you are doing yourself harm; indeed, I will bring him directly. I expect him now at once. Do lie down-let me settle the pillow. He will be in now directly.'

"You are not speaking the truth. He must be ill. Nellie," said she after a pause, looking with terrified eyes at Nellie's pale face, "is Dicky dead, that he has not come to me?"

"Oh, mamma; no, no. Why do you speak so? Why do you distress yourself? Believe me, he will be here directly-by dinner-time; he will indeed."

Her mother spoke no more: she seemed worn out, and laid down her head, moaning faintly. The moment Nellie thought she could quit her safely, she slipped downstairs, and sent a servant for the doctor. How she wished Dorothy were near, or some one, to help her! She feared that another stroke might supervene after the excitement her mother had gone through, and of which she feared a recurrence; for she must know the truth some time, and if Dicky had really run away, it would certainly be the death of her mother. She sat down on a low stool before the fire, and in the darkness and solitude abandoned herself to bitter tears, and to thoughts that were angry as well as bitter. The heedless selfishness of Dicky, the callous indifference with which he had pursued his own ends, and the

terrible result that might be entailed now; the disgrace, the wretched fate in prospect for him, poor misguided child;-all were passed in review. She had had her own troubles and heartaches, as we know, of late; and this seemed to be the drop wanting to fill the cup to the brim. Until late in the evening she remained crouched before the fire. Her father did not return to dinner; and it was the entry of the doctor that roused her at last.

He pronounced her mother to be in a highly dangerous state, and advised that some one be got to watch all night by her.

VOL. III.

15

CHAPTER XVI.

"What vertue is so fitting for a knight,
Or for a lady whom a knight should love,
As courtesie; to bear themselves aright
To all of each degree as doth behove?
For whether they be placed high above
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know,
Their good; that now them rightly may reprove
Of rudeness for not yielding what they owe;
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow."
Faerie Queene.

HOGAN had not followed his fiancée to Dublin. He preferred for many reasons to remain in London. For one, he did not deem it prudent to turn his back on the scandal, slight as it was, in which he had been involved by the inquiry into the affairs of those companies whose assets Mr. Saltasche had carried off. He had, thanks to the timely aid afforded him by the Bursfords, weathered the storm which had nearly engulfed him. As he acknowledged to himself at the time, he had escaped by a hair's-breadth. There were ugly rumours