however, he had endeavoured to do so in a manner that would be the least injurious to his client; and it was a consolation to know that his conduct was approved by public opinion. (Applause.) He would not detain the Court. His explanation, made before the coroner at Longreach, was already in the papers, fully reported; and he had only to say in conclusion that nothing could be more ample than the confession which his unfortunate client had made, and was prepared to repeat in open court, if necessary, prior to his laying violent hands upon himself. His client was beyond further defence, the prosecution was above reproach, and he begged to thank the magistrate for his patience and forbearance during a most painful and cruel investigation.

The magistrate, ignoring both Mr. Holland and Mr. Cuffing, congratulated Lord St. Barnard upon the complete justification of the prosecution of the unfortunate man, and also upon that immediate recognition from the noblest lady in the land, who was a pattern to all classes, to all society, now and for all time.

During the day the Westminster Palace Hotel and Grassnook were besieged with callers. At night the cards on Lord St. Barnard's table at the hotel might have been counted by hundreds; while at Grassnook Mr. and Mrs. Breeze expressed such joy over supper in the servants' hall that Jeames was almost scandalised at their behaviour.

"You had better go alone, Barnard," said Kalmat, firmly, when the two friends parted that night at the Westminster Palace Hotel. "It is necessary that I and White should have a final interview with Cuffing, and then comes back peace to the house of St. Barnard."

"But when shall we meet again, my dear fellow? I cannot bear the idea of parting with you. I have not yet given up that suggestion of yours to live for some years out of England. Moreover, I"

"No, my dear friend," said Kalmat, "it is not necessary now. Events have taken a turn which we did not anticipate. It was a selfish dream, too, that dream of mine, in which I saw you and her, and your children, in the Far West, with myself teaching your boys to hunt and shoot; a selfish, ill-considered plan. It would have been a mistake. Don't think of it. I will go back alone. I only am fit for that kind of existence which wants nothing from society, from the world."

'My dear friend," said his lordship, clasping Kalmat's hand. "You have conquered Society; your triumph has been great,

your justification is complete.

last."

"You were that Fate."

Fate has been good to you at

"Let that thought, so flattering to me, sink into your heart. Tell her I was by your side in the hour of danger, and I ask no greater reward. And think, my dear Barnard, how unfit a man who can be so satisfied must be for cities and civilisation. No; for the present we part here. Some day we shall meet again. If we do not, we shall sympathise so strongly with each other in joy and sorrow that we shall know when we are happy, and feel each other's sadness. Do you believe in that kind of sympathy, a love, a regard that is electrical and travels as swiftly as lightning; that is not checked by space, by seas, by mountains; and does not come to an end even with death ?"

"I think I understand you," said his lordship; "but I wish I could influence your decision; I am sure it will be a great disappointment to my wife not to meet you again, not to thank you herself for all you have done for us."

"Believe me, my decision is the wisest; say all that your kind heart may dictate about me. Telegraph me to-morrow how you find her; and the sooner you can bring her home to her children at Grassnook the better. Their sweet voices and the soothing calm of the Thames meadows will do more than all the doctors in the world to restore her to herself; and let me give you a last word or two of advice in the interest of our patient. When she has recovered consciousness she will look back upon the Bow Street persecution and its attendant circumstances as a dream. Encourage this until she is well and strong; it will aid her recovery."

"You are the best and wisest fellow in the world," said his lordship.

"Good bye," said Kalmat; "it is time you were on your way." "I cannot say good bye," said his lordship, with an undisguised expression of emotion; "say we are to meet again soon.”

"Yes, soon."

"And you will keep me acquainted of your movements ?"

"I will," said Tom, with a responsive tremour in his voice. "God bless you," said St. Barnard, pressing his hand to his lips, "my dear, dear friend."

And Kalmat stood alone. He sighed and wiped his eyes, which were wet with tears.

"It is best so," he said; "it is best so."

VOL. XII. N.S., 1874.

SS

CHAPTER XIV.

IN TWO HEMISPHERES.

Two years have elapsed since Kalmat and Lord St. Barnard parted at the Westminster Palace Hotel.

The early part of the time was full of pain and anxiety for St. Barnard. It was some months before his wife came out of that serious illness. The summer and the autumn were spent at Boulogne; but Clytie recovered in the midst of her little family. The children were sent for; and a house was taken overlooking the bay. Here, as consciousness and strength returned, the true memory of things came back. There are illnesses which blot out the past, and Lord St. Barnard cherished a faint hope that there might be blanks in his wife's memory; but it all came back to her, the time before she was taken ill; it came back by degrees like a returning tide, until at last it had filled all the little niches in memory's temple, and the past was complete.

Then his lordship had to tell the story in his way, with special annotations; then he had to read extracts from the newspapers, and show her how her innocence had been established, not in his eyes— for that were unnecessary-but in the opinion of the public.

It was not true, of course, that everybody believed in the honesty of the lady of Grassnook. Half a dozen hags of Dunelm gossiped adversely about her at Dunelm; but they were the representatives of the proverb about "old maids and mustard," and they must have some sort of revenge for their spinsterial misery-and so they may pass. London Society of course recanted all it had said; not with the confession and suicide of Ransford, but with the gracious message from the Court, with the restoration of Lord St. Barnard, not exactly in his former position, but with still higher distinction. Wyldenberg and Barrington, and the gutter-tribe in morals who associated with them, still talked at their monkey-clubs of the days of the Delphos Theatre and the rehearsals of Miss Pitt. The jealous and envious, the immoral, the scandal-mongers, the disappointed, and the general mongrels of the world shook their heads and winked their bleary eyes; but it is better to have the ill-opinion of curs and sneaks and things that crawl and creep than to be praised by them. Fancy Caliban talking of his "friend" Prospero and saying pleasant things of Miranda !

Clytie had some sad thoughts in her mind about this wretched

minority of the sour and unworthy. She would have liked all the world to believe in her; but her husband put the case to her pretty much as we should all have put it under the circumstances, when Clytie was strong enough to talk freely, which was not until late in the autumn of that most painful year.

66

If you are happy and content," she said one evening towards the close of their stay at Boulogne, "it is not necessary that I should say I am happy; but I sometimes think it was selfish, most selfish, for me to marry you. But I resisted, did I not? Once it even entered into my mind to do or say something that should make you dislike me."

"That would have been impossible."

"But," continued the loving wife, looking out in the calm evening upon the sea, "I found that I loved you, I found my heart sending out messengers after you, the time began to be a blank when you were not there; and then I grew selfish."

"Not selfish, generous," said St. Barnard, "for to have lost you would have been to lose all interest in life."

"Is this so truly, after all that has happened, or do you speak in this way as my husband because you are my husband, and because you are a true and high-minded gentleman? I would not wrong your noble heart, but it is so sweet still to hear you say you love me."

'My dear wife, I hold myself so fortunate in having you here by my side well again, your eyes clear and bright once more, your voice the same soft musical voice I first loved, that I think myself specially blessed, the more so that once, only for a moment, I doubted you. That is a cruel thing to say."

"No, no," said Clytie hurriedly, "I am glad of it; I am glad; it enhanced your faith the next moment: and it makes the present still happier to know that I might have been separated from you—to feel that there was this danger."

"Between a man and woman who love each other truly there need be no secret of thought, or word, or deed. When I talk to you I converse with myself; I would hold it wrong not to show you my heart, unless its doubting should have overshadowed its faith and love; and then, indeed, it would not be my heart. That the hint of a cruel thought crept in there for a moment is evidence of its humanity; that my lasting love rushed in in battalions and turned the invader out is my only answer to your just resentment."

"My own dear love, do I not say I am happier for this knowledge of even a passing danger?"

"It was on my mind to tell you this, and now the only shadow of

our lives has passed away like that cloud upon yonder bit of sea, leaving no trace behind; for I reckon that other cloud as nothing, since it did not affect our own mutual feelings. And I would have you, my own dear wife, go back to London, the brave and noble woman you are; go back, a queen in society, a countess in your own right; not to be a slave to fashion, not to give up your time to form and ceremony, but to take your position and live it when and how it shall please you. In had entered into my mind

to invite you to a solitary life, even to accept that wild, poetic invitation of Kalmat to visit his golden West, and let the world slip by us as it listed; but we owe a duty to our children, to the name of St. Barnard, and to ourselves; and there will be much real happiness to be welcomed backed again by your friends the Stavelys, the Bolsovers, by Tamar and Lady Semingfield, by the Dean, and the others who stood by you. No, we will return to the duties of our station; but we will reserve quiet days for ourselves at Grassnook, and next year repeat that happy tour in Italy which commenced our married life."

She laid her head upon his shoulder and looked through the autumn sunshine into the promised spring..

The latter half of this two years brought back the light of happy days to Grassnook. Again the merry laugh of childhood went up to heaven with the song of birds. The well-known shallop glided quietly down the river in the evening shade as first it did when the new countess smiled upon the old home of the Barnards and brought back to the ancient house the summer of youthful days. And they had a house in town, famous for its atmosphere of art, celebrated for its reunions of fashion and intellect. Genius had one chief hope-to lay its offerings at the feet of the Countess of St. Barnard. Intellect rejoiced in the freedom of his lordship's dinners, the fame of his lordship's guests. Goodness and beauty obtained endorsement only at the countess's assemblies, and the scene of the lady's triumphs was that unpretentious house at Gloucester Gate, the gift of the old Earl, her grandfather; thus completing the poetical justice of the situation, so far as the lady was concerned, far more closely than she could ever dream of. And it was well for her peace of mind that she nor her lord himself had any knowledge of the old Earl's vow. "No. St. Barnard, you shall rescue her, if possible, and save her from her self, if Fate permits. But Bankside and Weardale and Grassnook shall go intact to my nephew and his children"; and forthwith he laid the train that should explode all his selfish plans. Bankside and Weardale and Grassnook flourish under the smile of Frank Barnard's