Carriston's Gift

[TOLD BT PHILIP BRAND, M. D., LONDOX.] [CONTINUED.] CHAPTER IX. A day or two after I had witnesssrl what I must cali Carriston's second siizure we wera favored with a visit from thj man whosa services we had secured to trace Madeline. Since he had received his instructions we had heard nothing of his proceedings untü he now called to report progress in person. Carriston had not expressed the slightest curiosity as to where the man was or what l he was about. Probably he looked upon the amploymeut of this private detectivo as nothing more useful than a salve to niy oonscience. That Madeline was only to be f ound through the power which he professed to hold of seeing her in his visions was, I folt certain, becoming a rooted bslief of his. Whenever I erpressed my surprise that our agent had brought or sent no información, Carriston shrugged his shoulders and assured me that from the first he knoiv the man' a rosearches would be fruitless. However, the fellow had called at last, and, I hoped, had brought us good newg. He as a ghb-tonguad man, who spoke in I a confident, matter-of-faet way. Wheu ha saw us he rubbed his hands as one who had j# brougbt affairs to a suecessful issue and now 1 meant to reap praise and otb.er rewards. I His whole bearing told me he had made an I important diseovery; so I begged him to be I seated and give us hig news. Carriston gave him a eareless glance and I at some littlo distance from us. He looked as if he thought the impendiug conununicatioB scarcely worth the trouble of listening to. He might, indeeJ, from his loóles have ben the most disinterested person of the threeu He eyen ieft me to do tha questioaing. "Now, then, Mr. Sharpe," 1 saiJ, "let us hear if you have earned your money." "I think so, sir," replied Shaf pe, lookíng I curiously at Carriston, wio, strange to say, I heard this answer wjh supremo indilïer% ence. "I think I may say I hare, sír," contlnued I the detective, "that is if the gentleman can I identify these articles as fceiug the young I lady's property." Thereupon he produced tvom a thick le( I ter case a ribbon, in which was stuck a süI Ter pin, mcunted with Scotch pebbles, an ornament that I remembered haying seea Madeline wear. Mr. Bharpe handei them to Carrisron. Ha examined them, and Isaw bis cheeks flush and his eyes grow bright. "How did you come by this'' he cried, poiutins to the silver ornanit u:. "l'll teil you presently, sil-. Do you recognize it}" "I gare ít to Miss Rowan myself." "Tuen we are on the right track," I cried, joyfully. '-Goon. Mr. Sbsrpe.' I "Yes, gentlemen, we ave certainly on the right track; but, af ter all, it isn't my faulí if the track don't leal exactly whre you wish. Yüu see, when I hearJ of this mysterieus disappearance of the lady I began to concoct my own theory. I said to myself, when a young and beautiful " "Coníoundyour theoriesT' cried Carriston, flercily. "Uo ou with your tole." The mau gave his interrupier a spiteful glanc '. "Weil, sir," besaid, "as you gave me strict instructions to watch a certaiu gentleman closely, I obeyed those insti uctions. of course, although I kne w I was on a fool's errand." "Will you goon!" cried Carriston. "If ou know where Míís Rowan is, say so; Vour money will be paid you the moment I Tind her." "I don't say I know exactly where to flnd the lady, but I can soon know it' you wish me to." "Tell your tale your own way, but as íliortly as possible," I said, seeing that my excitable friend was preparing tor another outburst. "I found there was nothing to be gained by keeping watch on the gentleman you mentioned, sir, so I went to Scotland and tried back f rom there. As soon as I worked ou my own lay I found out all about it. The lady went from Calleniar to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to London, from london to Fo'.kestone, and from Folkestona to Bouloug." 1 glanced at Carriston. All his calmnes3 seetned to have returued. He as leaning 5aiust the mantelpiece, and appeared quite (.íttioved by Mr. Sharpe's c]ear statement asto thu route Madeline had taken. Of coure," oontinued Mr. Sharpe, "I was not quite certain I was tracking the rlght person, although her description corre6ponaej witu tll. Ukwsis you gave me. But as you ara sure this árdele of je a el y bs longed ta thi lady ycu want, ths matter is beyondadoubt." "Of coursf," Ï said, seeiug tbat Carriston had no iutention of speaking. '■'U'here did you finí itf' "It was left bahind in a bedroom of one of the principal nótela in Folkestono. I did go over to Boulong, but after that I thought ï had learned all you wouul care to know. ' There was something in the raan's manner which mada me dread what was coming. Again I looked at Carriston. His lips were curved with conterupt, but he still kept silence. "Wby not have pursued your inquiries past Boulong?" 1 asked. "For this reason, sir. I liad loarned enough. The theory I bad concocted was the right one, after all. The laciy went to Edinburgh alone, right enough; but she didn't leave Edinburgh alone; nor shedidn't leave London alone; nor she didn't stay at Folkestone - where I found the pin- alone; nor she didn't go to Boulong alone. She was accompauie 1 by a young gentleman who called himself Mr. Smith; and, wuat's more, she called herself Mr3. Smith. Perhaps she was, as they lived like man and wife." 'Wh'ther the fellow was right or mistaken, this explanation of Madeline's disappearance sjamed to give me what I can only compare to a sinack in the face. I sta red at the speaker in speschless ustouishment. If the tale he told so glibly and circumstantially was true, farewell, so far as I was concerned, to belief in th3 love cr purity of women. Madeliae Rowan, that creature of a poet's dream, on the eve of her marriage with Charles Carriston, to fly, whether wed or un wed mattered little, with another maní And yet she was but a woman. Carriston - or Carr, as she only knew him - was in her eyea poor. The companion of her flight might have won her with gold. Such things have been. Stil' My rapid and wrongful meditations were cut short in an unexpacted way. Suddenly I saw Mr. Sharps draggeJ bodily out of his chair and flung against the wall, while Carriston, standing over him, thrashed the man vigorouly with his own asli stick- a ■venient weapon, 90 convenient that I feit Mr. Sharp3 could not have selected a stick more appropriate for his own chastisement. So Carriston seemed to think, for he laid on cheerfully soine eight or ten good cuttiag strokes. Nevertheless, being a. respectab'e doctor and man of peace, I was compalled to interfere. I beid Cairiston's arm, while Mr. Sharpe struggW to his feet, and after collecting his uat anl his pocketbook stood glaring vengefully at his assailant, and rubbing the while such of the weals on hi3 back as he could reach. Annoyed as I feit at the unprof essional iracas, I could scarcely help laughing at the mans appearance. I doubt the posjibility of any ona looking faeroic after such a thrashing. 'Til have the law for this," he growled. "I ain't paid to be beaten by a madman." '''tou're paid to do my work, notanother's," said Carri8ton. "Go to the man wbo has overbribed you and geut you to teil me your lies. Go to him; teil him that once more he has failed. Out of my sightl" As Carrision showed signs of recommenoing hostil e operations, the man flsd as f ar aa the doorway. Thero, being iu comparativa safety, he turned with a malignant look. "You'll smart for this," he said; "when they lock you up as a raving lunatic, l'U try and get a post aa keeper." I was giad to see that Carriston paid no attentLou to this parting shaf t. He turied his back scornfully, and the fellow left tha room and the house. "Now are you convincedi" asked Carriston, turaing to me. "Convinced of what? That his tale Í3 untrue, or that he has been mislead, I am quite certain." "Tush! Thatisnot worth consideration. Don't you see that Ralph has done all this? I set that man to watch him; he found out the espionaje; suborueJ my agent - or your agent, I should say ; sent him here with a trumpad up tale. Oh, yes; I was to believe that Madeline had deserted me - tuat was to drive me out of my senses. My cousiu is a fooi. af ter all!" "Without further proof J cannot believe that your suspicions are correct," I said, but I must oh u I spoke with some hesitation. 'Proof! A clever man like you ought to see ampie prooi in the fact of tbat reten havins twice called me a raadman. I have ssen hini but ouce before - y ou knoiv if I then gave him auy grounds for making such an assertiou. Teil me, from whoni could he have ]earnJ the word except trom Kalph Carri I I was bo rad, if only to a,ra niv own reputation for saïacity, to coni 13 bb it tho point poted by Cariiston had rais&l cjrtd.n doubtj in my tiúml. But if Ralph Carristoa really was trying by some finely wroug'at seheino to bring about what he deured, there was all the more reaaon for great caution to be exei'cised, "I am sorry you beat the fellow," I said. "He will now swear right and laf t tbat you are not in your senses. " "Of course he will. What do I care!" "Only remember this. It is easier to get put in an asylum tban to gt out of it." "It is not so very easy for a sane man like myself to be put in, especially whon he is on bis guard. I have looke J up the law. There must be a certiflcate signed by two doctors, surgeons, or, I believe, npothecaries will do, who have seen the supposed lunatic alone and togethor. IU1 take vory good care I speak to no doctor save yourself, and keep out of the way of surgeons and apotbacaries." It quite cheered me to haar him speaking so sensibly and collectedly about himself, but I again impressed upon hira the need of great caution. Although I could not believe that bis eousiu had takon Madeline away, I was, aftr the affair with the spy, inclined to think that, as Cariiston averred, he aimed at getting him, sine or insane, iuto a madhouss. But after all these days we were not a step nearer to the discovery of Madeline's whereabcuts. Carriston made no sign of doing anything to facilítate that discovery. Again I urged him to intrust the whole affair to the pólice. Again he refused to do o, adding that he was not quite ready. ÏUady for what,_ I wooderedl CHAPTER X. I must contese, in spite of my affection for Ouriston, I telt inclined to rebol against the couroe which matters were takiug. I was a proiaic ruatter-of-fact medical man; doiug ny work to the best of my ability, nd anxious when that work was done that my hours of leisure should bo as froe from worry and caro as possible. With Carrlaton's ndvaüt severa! disturbing elementa entered into my quiet life. Lpt Ralph Carriston be guilty or innorant of the extraonlinary crime which his cousin laid at his door, I feit certain that he wa3 anxious to obtain possession cf the supposed lunatic's person. It would suit his purposes for his cousin to be proved mad. I did not believe that even if the capture was legally effectod Carriston's liberation would be a matter of great difficulty, so long as he remaineJ in his present state of mind ; so long as I, a doctor of some standing, could go into tho witness box and sivear to his sanity But my old dread was always with me - the dread that any further shock would overturn the balance of his sensitive mind. So it was that every hour that Carriston was out of my sight was fraught with anxiety. If Ralph Carriston was really as unscrupulou-s as my friend supposed; if he had really, as S3emoJ almost probable, suborned our agent; he niight by some crafty trick obtain the needf ui certifícate, and some day I should come home and flnd Carriston had been removed. In such a ca;e I foresaw great trouble and distress. Besides, after all that had occurred, it was as much as I could do to believe that Carriston was not mad. Any doctor who knew what I knew would have giveu the verdict against him. After dismissing his visions and hallucinations with the contempt which they deserved, the fact of a man who was madly, passionate y in love with a woman, and who believod tJat she had been entrapped and was still kept in restraint, sitting down quietly, and letting day after day pass without making an effort towards fiuding her, was in itself prima facie evidence of insanity. A sane man would at once have set all the engines of detection at work. I lelt tbat if once Ralph Carriston obtained possession of him he could make out a strong case in his own favor. First of all, the propased marriage out of thedefendant's own sphere of life; the passing under a false name; the ridiculous, or apparently ridiculous, accusation made against his kinsman; the murderous threats ; the chastisement of his own paid agent who brought him a report whioh might not seem at all untrue to any one who knew not Madeline Eowan. Leaving out of the question what might be wrung from me in cross-axamination, Ralph Carriston had a strong case, and I knew that, cnce in his power, my friend might possibly be doomed to pass yeai-s, if not his vhole life, under restraint. íáo I was aniious, very auxious. And 1 feit an anxiety, scarcely second to that which prevailed on Carriston's account, as to the fate of Jtfadeline. Granting for sake of argument that Carriston's absurd conviction that no bodily harni had as vet been done her was true, I feit sure that she, ■with her scarcely less sensitivo nature, must feel the separation fnom her lover as much as he himsolf feit the separation from her. Once or twice I tried to comfort myself with cynicism- tried to persuade myseK that a young woman could not in our days b spiritad away- that she had gone by her own free wül- that there was a man who had at the eleventh hour alienated her affections from Carriston. But I could not bring myseli to beliove this. So I was placed Letween the horns of a dilemma. If Madeline had not fled of her own free will, some one must have taken her away, and if so our agent's report was a coined oné; and, if a coined one, isuei at Ralph's instance; therefore Ralph must be the prime actor in the mystery. But in sober moments such a deduction eemed an ut ter absurdity. Althongh I have said that Carriston was doing nothing towards clearing up the mystery, 1 wrong him ia so saj-ing. After his own erratic way he was at work. At such work, tooi l really lost all patienca with him. He shut hhnself up in his room, ont of which he scarcely stirreJ for three days. By that time he had completed a large and beautif ui diawing of his imaginary man. This he took to a well-known photographer's, and ordered several hundred smallphotographs of it to be preparad as soon as possible. The minute description which he had given me of h's fanciful creation was printed at the foot of each copy. As soon as the first latcli of these precious photographs was sent home, to my great joy lie did what he should have doue Uays ago: yielded to my wishes, and p'ut the matter into the hands of the pólice. I was glad to flnd that in giving details of what had happened, he said nothing about the advisabilityof keeping a watch on Ralph Carriston's proeeedings. He did indeed offer an absurdly large reward for the discovery of the missing girl, and, moreover, gave the officer in charge of the case a paoket of photograph of his phantom man, telling him in the gravest manner that he knew the original of that likeness had somi L Ing to do with the disappearance of Miss Kowan. The officer, who thought the portrait was that of a natural I eing, took his instructions in good faith, although he seemed greatly surprised when he heard that Carriston knew neither the name nor the occupation, in fact, knew nothing concerning the man who was to be sought for. However, as Carriston assurei him that findingthis man would insure tha reward as much as if he found Madeline, the offlcer readily promised to combine the two tasks, little knowing what waste of tima any attempt to pciform tho latter must be. Two days after this Carriston came to ma "I shaü leave you to-morrow," he said. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Why do you leave?" "lam going to travel about. I have no intention of letting Ralph get hold of me. Bo I mean to go from place to place until I find Madeline," "Be careful," I urged. "I shall be careful enough. Til taka care that uo doctors, surgeans, or even aoothecaries g j t oa my track. I shall go just as tbs üt s.-izti, ni. If I can't say one day wbere I shall be the next, it will be impossibi.' for that villain to know." This was not a bad argument. In fact, if he carried out Ms resolve of passing quickly from placo to place I did not see now he could plan auything more likely to defeat the intontions with which we credited his cousin. As to his finding Madaline by so doine, that was anothor m?.tter. His idea seemed to be that chance wouM soonor or later bring kim ia contact with the man of his dream. However, now that tbe search had been intrusted to the proper persons bis own action in the matter was not worth trou! ling about. I gave him many cautions. Ha was to be quiet and guarded in words and marnier. He was not to converse with strangers. If he found himself dogged or watched by anyone he was to communicate at once with me. But, above all, I begp;ed him not to yield again to his mental inlirmity. The folly of a man who could avoid it throwing himself into such a state ought to be apparent to him. "Not oftener than I can help," was all the promise I couM get from him. "But see her I must sometimes, or I shall die." I had now given up as hopeless the combat with his peculiar idiosyncia y. So, with many expressions of gratitude on his part, we bade each other f arewell. During his absence he wrote to me nearly every day, so that I might know his wheroabouts in case I had any news to communicate. Brt I had none. The piliej failed to find the fainte. c'.ew. I had been called upon by them ouc or twice in order that they might have every gram of informution I could give. I took the liberty of advisin them not to waste their time ia looking for the man, as his very existente was problematical. It was but a fancy of my friend's, and not worth thinking seriously about. I am not sure but what, after hearing this, they did not think the whole affair was an imagineJ one, and so reíaxed their efforts. Once or twice Carriston, happsning to ba in the neighborhood of London, carne to see me, and slept the night at my house. He also had no news to report. Still, he seemed hopeful as ever. The weeks went by until Christmas was over and the New Year begun ; but no sign, word or trace of Madeline Rowan. "I have seen her," wrote Carriston, "several times. She is in the same place- unhappy, but not ill-treated." Evidently his uallucinations were still in full force. m j. At first I intended that the wliola of this tale should be told by mvself ; but upon getting so far it struck me that the evidence of another actor who played au important part in the drama would give certain occurrences to the reader at first instead of sacondhand, so I wrote to my fnend Dick Fenton, of Frenchay, Glouceitershire, and begged him, if he found himself capable of so doing, to to put in simple narrativa form his impressious of certain eveiits which happened in Januar3% lsiitj; events in whiehwe tivo were concerned. He has been good onough to comply wltfc my request His coimuunication fcllou's. TAKT THE SKCOND. [TOLD BY RICHARD FENTOIÏ, OF FRENCHAY, CLOUCZSTERSHIRE, ESQCIRE.J CHAPTER I. As my old friend Phil Brand has asked me todo this, J roppoia I must Brand is a right good fellow and a elever fellow, but has plenty of crotcaets of his own. The worst I know of him is that he insist-s upón having his own way with peopla With those who diffelfrom hún he is as obstinate as a mulé. Anyhow, he has always had his own way with ma This custom, so far as I am concerned,'Cornnienced years ago, when we wore boys at school together, and I have never baon able to shake off the bad habit oí giving in to him. He has promised to see that my Queen's English is presentable, for, to teil the truih, I am more at home across country than across foolscap, and my fingers know the feel of the reins or the trigger beter than that of the pan. All the same I hope he won't take too many libertiss with my style, bad though it may be; for oli Brand at times is apt to get- well, a bit prosy. To hear hini on the subject of hard work and the sanctity thereof approache the sublime I What freak took me to th little God-forsaken village of Midcombe in the depth of winter is entirely between myself and my conscience. The cause, having no bearing upon the mattere I am askeJ to teil you about, is no one's business but mine - I will only say that now I would not stay in such a place at uch a time of the year for the sake of the prettiest girl in the world, let alone the bare ciiance of meeting her once or twice. But one's ideas change; I am now a good bit older, ride some two stona heavier, aud have been married ever so many years. Peihaps, after all, as I look back I can flnd some excuse for being such an ass as to endure for more than a fortnlght all the discomforts heaped upon me in that little village inn. A man who sojourns in iuch a hole as Midcombe must give some reason for doing so. My ostensible reason was hunting. I had a horse withme.and asecond-ratesubseription pack cu slow-going mongrels did meet soinewhere in the ijeighborhood, so no one could gainsay my explanatiou. But if hunting was my object. 1 got precious Uttle of it. A few days aíter my arrival a bitter, biting frost set in- a frost as black as your hat, and as hard as uails. Yet stül I stayei ou. From prívate information receiveii no matter how, when or where- 1 kuew that some people in the ne'ghborhood had organized a party to go skating on a certain day at Lüymere, a une sheet of water some distance from Midcombe. I guessed that somaone rhom I particularly desired to meet would be there, and as tue skating at Lilymere wa3 f re a to any one who ehose to take the trouble of getting to sueh an out-of-theway place, I hired a horse and an apology for a dog-cart, and at 10 in the morning startoJ to drive the twelve miles to the pond. I took no one with me I had been to Lilymere once before, in bright summer weather, so fancied I knew the way well enough. The sky when I started was cloudy; th6 wind was choppiug round in a way which made the effete rustic oíd ostler predict a change of weather. He was right. Beíore I had drivon two miles light snow began to fall, and bv the time I reached a wretched littls wayside inn, about a nvle f rom the Mere, a film of white covered the whole country. I stabled my horse ns well as I could, then, taking my skates with me, walked down to the pond. Now, wbether I had mistaken the day, or whether the threatening fall of snow had made certain ]eople chango their minds, I don't know; but, to mv annoyanee aad vexation, no skíttr were to be sean, and, moreover, the uneut, white surface told ino that none had been on the pond that moraing. Still, hoping they might com) iu spite of tha u oathor, I put on my skates and went outsiile-eJginp; and grape-rining all over tha place. But as thore was no parson in particular - in fact, no one at all - to note my powers, I scon got tired. It was, indeed, dreary, dienry work. But I waited and hoped until the snow came down so fase and furiously tliat I feit sure that waiting wai in vain, and tbat I had Jnveu to Lilymara ior notbing. Baek I went to tb.3 little inn, utterly d!. gusted with things in ganeral, and feeling that to break soma oae's uea 1 wculd be a relief to me in tny present state oí inind. Of eourse, a sensible man would at once hay got his horse bo'.ween the shaf ra and dr; ven home. But, whatever I may b3 now, in those days I was not a sensible man- Brand tvill, I know, cordially indorse this rjmark- the accommodations of the ina was not such as to inducs ona to linger within its precincts; but the fira was a right good one, and a. drink, which I killfully manufaciured out of some hot beer, not to be despised, and proved warming to the body and soothing to theruffljd temper. Sol lingered over the big ftre until I began to feel hungry, and upon the landlady assuriug me that she coulii cook a rasher, decided it would be wiser to stay whgre I was until the violence of the snow-storm was over; for coming down it was now, and no mistake! And it kept on coming down. About half-past three, when I sorrowfully decided ); was bound to make a move it waï ing faster than ever. I harne3sed my norse, and laughing at the old woman's dhmal prophecy that I should never get to Midcombe in such weather, gathered up ths reins and away I went along the white road. I thought I knew the way well enough. In fact, I had always prided myself upon remembering any road ones driven over by me ; but does any one who has not tried it really know how a heavy Lail of snow changes tbe aspect of the countiy, and makes landmarks snares and delusionst I learned all about it then, once and for all. I found, also, that the snow lay much deeper than I thought eould possibly be in so short a time, and it still feil in a manner almost blindmg. Yet I went on bravely and msrrily for soine mil;. Then cama a bit of uncertainty Which of those two roads was the right onei Tbis one, of course- no, the other. There was no house near; no one was likely to be passinj in such weather, so I was left to exercise my fre9, unbiasad choice, a privilege I would willingly have dispensed with. However, I made the best selection I could, and followed it for some two miles. Then I began to gi-ow doubtful, and soon persuadinj myself that I was on the wrong track, retraced my step?. I was by this time something like a huge white plaster-of-Paril figure, and tha snow which had accumulated on the old dog-cart made it run heavier by half a ton, more or less. By the time I carne to that unlucky junction of roads at which my misfortunes b?gan, it was almosfc dark; the sky as black as a tarpaulin, y.t sending down the white feathery flakes thicker and faster thm ever. I feit inclined to curse my folly in attempting such a drive, at any rat I blamed myself tor not having started two or three hours earlier. I'll warrant that steady-oing old Brand never had to accuse himself of such foolishness a-i mine. Wall, I took the other road; went on sime way; caras to a turning which I seemed to remenrber, and, not without misgmngs, followed it. My niisgivings increasei when, after a littls while, I found the road grew full of ruts, which the snow and darkness quite concealed from ma until the wheels got mto them Evidíntly I was wrong again. I was just thinking of making the best of my way out of this rough and unfrequented road, when - there, I don't know how it happened, such things s;ldom occur to me - a stumble, a fall on the part of my tirei horse sent me flying over the dashboard, with the only consoling thought that the reins were stil! in my hand. Luckily the snow had made the falling pretty soft. I soon picked myself up and set about estimating damages. With somt difficulty I got the horse out of the harness, and then feit f ree t o inspect the dog-cart. Alas! after the manner of the two-wheel kind, whenever a horse tbinks fit to fall. one slmf t had snapped off like a carrot; so here was I, five miles apparently from anywhere, in the thiek of a blinding snowstorm, left standing helpless beside a jnded horse and a broken cart - I should liko to know what Brand would hare done undor the circumstauce As for me, I reflectad for some minutes - reflection in a snowstorm is weary work. I reasoneJ, I believe, logically, and at last carne to tbis decisión: I would follow the road. If, as 1 suspected, it was but a cart track, it would probably soon lead to a habitation of some kind. Any way, I had better try a bit farther. I took hold of the wearied horse, and with snow under my feet, snowflakes whirling round me, and a wind blowing right into my teeth, struggled on. It was a journey 1 I tbink I must have been three quarters of an hour going about a quarter of a iniK I was just beginning to despair, when I saw a welcome gleam of light. I staeri toward it, fondiy hoping that my trouble were at aa end. I found the light. stole through tbe ill-fitting window-shutters of what saemed, so far as 1 could make out in the darkness, to be a small fai-m-house. Tying to a gate the knotted reins by which I had been leading the horse, I staggered up to tbs door and knocked loudly. Upon my honor, until I leaned against that door-post I had no idea how tired I was - until that moment I never suspected that the flnding of spcedy shelter meant absolutely saving my life. Covered from head to Toot with snow, my hat crushed in, I must Lava keen a pitiable object. ■ No answer carne to my first sumuiona, It was onl y af t?r a second and more imperativa application of my heel that the door deigned to givo way a few inches. Through tho apertura a woman's voica asked who wi there. "Let me in," I said. "I have missed my way to Midcombe. My horse has fallen. You mint give me shelter for the uight Open tha door and let me íd." "Shelter! You can't get sheltered hora, mister," said a mans gruff voice. "Tais ain't an inn, so you'd be3t Le off and go elsewhere." "liut I must come in," I said, astounded at sucu inhospitality; "I can'tgoastep further. Open the door at once!" "You be hanged," said the man. " 'Ti my house, not yours." ' 'But, you f ooi, I mean to pay you well for your trouble. Don'fc you know it means death wandering about on such a night as this? L?tmeinl'' "You won't come in here," was the brutal and boorish reply. The door closed. That I was curaged at such incivility may be easily imagined; but if I said I was tboroughiy f j'.ghteued I believu ik ons n ould be surpris'd. As geí-tin- into t„; honae moact simply lifo or death to me, into that honse I deternüned to get, by ioor or window, by fair nuans or by toul. So. as the door ele sed I lmrlod myself against it with all the migut I could muster. Although I ride mnch heavier now thaii I lid then, all my weight at that time was bine and musele. The violence of my atlack tore froin tho lintel the staple which helil the chain; the door wout tack with a bang, and I felí forwarj into the house, fiilly revolved to stay thare whether welcome or unwelcome. [CONTISIED IX OI-R NEXT.]