Mr. Dawbarn

" Would y ou have the kindnesss to step this way, sir, into Mr. Dawbarn's room?" These words were addressed by a banker's clerk to a young man whose dress and manners were a vulgar compound of groom, betting man, and pugüist. The sporting gentleman swaggered by the desks and the clerks, looking infinite disparagement at the whole concern, and wa ushered through the doublé doors into presnce of Mr. Dawbarn. Mr. Dawbarn was the principal banker in Bramlingdon, and Bramlingdon was the county town of the little county of Mufford. It consisted of one long, straggling street, beautifled by five oíd churches, each a splendid specimen of architecture, which contrasted strongly with the Town Hall, the Corn Exchange, and the Market Place, which were modern buildings, and unpleasaut to look at. "Mr. Studden," said Mr. Dawbarn to the young gentleman of sporting appearance, "I have to talk to you, sir, very seriously ; sit down, if you please." Mr. Studden sat in a chair au if it were a saddle, shut oue eye knowingly, and examined the tliong of his whip with the other. "Mr. Studdeu," coutinued the banker golemnly, "I have been informed that you have overdrawn your account to the amount of' "Yes; I know all about that, governor," broke in Mr. Studden. "I've beea told so twice." UI therefore gave directious that the next time you preseuted a check, you should be shown iu here to me," said the banker. "That is - a eneck of my own drawing." "Quite so." "Well, now I in here," said Mr. Studden, goading the side of his imaginary horse with his lef t heel; "respectful comps, and should like to know your littlu game. What's to be done?" "Mr. Studden, I hav knowu you from a boy." "Well, I know that." "And I now see you a ruined man" "Hold hard, Matilda," interrupted Studden; "not ruined - pushed for the moment - on my knees, but not staked. I've been unlucky on the races this last year - unlucky at play. Why, last night I lost a pot at loo, and then that girl behaved to me in" Mr. Studden," said the banker, closing his eyes, "I catinot listen to a catalogue of your cri - cri - imprudenees. I am the father of a family, and" - "Cut that, governor I" broke in theamiable Mr. Studden. "What I want is money, and not preaching - no preachee and floggee too. This is the state of the odds. I've overdrawn my account, good; will you let me have some more? tin, 1 mean. If yon will, I am sure to retrieve myself. I've some splendid things on, but must. have the ready - ti - iddity - rhino." "Mr. Studden," said Mr. Dawbarn, "I do not understand your jargon, nor is such language the sort of thing I am accustomed to hear. You have lost the fortune left y u by your father in gambling, horse racing, and - and the like. For the last seven years I have seen going to irretrievable ruin. As you had a long minority, and no friends to ad vise you, I have tried to help you, but I regret to say, your complete ruin is inevitble - inevitable. " "Bet you üfteen to one it isn'tl" said Mr. Studden. "What you oweme," continued the banker, not noticing the interruption - "what you owe me I sha 11 never trouble you for." "Bless youl" said the irreverent Studden. Mr. Dawbarn's face reddened "Mr. Studden," he choked out, "I am not accustomed to be treated with rudeness, and I don't mean to begin now. I would have given you some advice, sir." "Don't want it, thank you." "Good ad viee, parental ad vice ; but it will be'of no use, I can see." "Not a bit." "I shall leave yon therefore to the pursuit of your career of profligacy, and may it - may it" - Mr. Dawbarn stammered, for he feit that he was proposing a toast at a public meeting - "may it prove to you that - that - that" "Out with it, governor," said tbe insolent young sporting man. "No, sir, I will not out with it," said the banker, majestieally. "I will not say what I was going to say." "Are you quite clear what you were going to say?" inquired the young man, who respected neither age nor wealth. Mr. Dawbarn covered his defeat grandly. "I will not detain you any longer, Mr. Studden." He rang the bell. "I wish jou good day, sir; my servant will show you out." "Very good, governor," said Mr. Studden, dismounting from his chair, or saddle. "You throw me over - very good ; and just at the moment when I could make a colossal fortune. If I had your capital, or you had my talent and speculated - ka foozilum! - wbat might not be made with the tips I have! I know the way out, Chawles"- this Mr. Studden addressed to the servant - "you needn't show me. Mr. Dawbarn, I have the honor to be, sir, yours truly, ever to command, et cetera- cetera - cetera. " Mr. Studden departed with a flourish, leaving the banker in a state of the most wrathful indignation. Mr. Dawbarn was a great man in Bramlingdon and accustomed to be treated with respect and deference and servility, and though so excellent a person, Mr. Dawbarn was something of a humbug, and the young man's manners had convinced him that ho knew it, and it is very annoyiug to men of 50 years of age to be found out by their juniors. Mr. Robert Studden, or, as he was called, Mr. Bob Studden, or Mr. Rip Studden, swaggered past the cashier and clerks with the ease of a jockey and the grace of a groom. A dozen steps from the door of the bank ho met a clerk whom he stopped. "Halloa!'' ho cried, with graceful badinage, "Munro, how goes it?" fc' "How do you do, Mr. Studden?" inquired the clerk. "Don't be in such a hurry. Well, how is she, eh?" .. "Mr. Stud- I" "Don't be afraid, my boy. I'm not the man to spoil sport. Why not bolt with her? Bolt! I'd land you my last fl ver to help you. I saw you the olüer morning. Ri-tol-de-rol, Iol-li-day. " Mr. Studden closed one eye, thrust his tongue into his cheek and strolJed down the one long, straggling street of Kramliugdon, the pink of spurting self conscious vulgarity. CIIAPTER II. In a small country town it is impossible that anything can be kept secret, except murder, and then rumor pointe to so many probable crimináis that justieo and detective policomen become lost in surmise, and embarrass the innocent that the guilty may go freo. Slow to detect murder, the provincial intellect is swift at tho discovery of love. Had Romeo met Juliet at a fancy ball in Peddlinguani, instead of at a qnerade In Verona, and afterwards prowled about the garden of his mistress' father's house, the Signori Capulet and Montague would have been inf ormed of the oecurrences iarly on the following morning by several competent and credible eye witnesses - all of the gentier sex, and the majority on the other de of five-and-thirty years of age. It was Christmas day, cold, clear and frosty. Mr. Dawbarn was dressed in his brightest black, and his cravat was as a monument to the most irreproachable of laundresses. But Mr. Dawbarn was pale and agitated, his head shook and his hands trembled, till the papers he held in them rattled and crumpled. When a servant opened the dining room door and announced "Mr. Munro," Mr. Dawbarn turned paler, and when the young clerk whom Mr. Robert Studden had so playfully rallied a fortnight before in thestreet entered, the banker trembled more violently. "Mr. Munro," said the banker, when the door was closed, "you - you - you doubtless know why I bave sent for you - on this festive oeca - sion - sion, todayP' The young clerk, who was as pale as Mr. Dawbarn, faltered out, "No, Kir," with so transparent an effort that the banker saw that the young man perfectly understood the reason of the interview. "Your conduct, sir, has been such that I - I - I do not know how to address you," stammered Mr. Dawbarn. "That you, sir, my servant, my paid and galaried servant, should have so abused my confidence ; should have so dared to try to so injure me is- is- what I did not expect from you. I know all, sir, all. You are discharged from the bank thia moment." A pang shot over the young man's face. "You will not be allowed to enter there again. This quarter's salary is there, sir." The banker put upon the table a small paper packet. "As I shall not suffer youtotake your place at your desk again, there is a half year's salary." The banker placed another small packet on the table, and the clerk made a deprecatory motion with one hand. "I insist on it, sir, and shall take no denial. I also insist on your leaving Bramlingdon tonight, or to-morrow morning, at the latest. Should you have any debts here, leave a list of them, and today being Christmas day, I will see that one of the clerks pays them the day af ter to-morrow. There can be no excuse for your remaining, and your absence, sir, is a matter of much more importance to me than a few paltry pounds ; so I will hear of no objection." Mr. Dawbarn paused and drew breath, and the young clerk looked at him and then at the window, as if out into a far distance beyond. "My accounts, sir" he began, when the banker interrupted him. "Will be found quite right, I daresay. Had you only robbed me of money, sir, I should have been better pleased. I have treated you only too well, and in return see what you have done." Mr. Dawbarn struck his clenched hand upon the table. "But no matter. Do I understand that you will leave Bramlingdon to-nightP' Munro took his eyes from the window, and, looking full in the banker's face, said: "Lucy." Mr. Dawbarn's face turned searlet, and he again struck the table. "Don't mention my daughter's name to me, sir, if you please. I j won't hear it! How daré you? There, sir, are the rubbishing letters you have sent to her, and if you have any sense of deceney or honesty left, you will return those you have of hers - of - of my daughter's." Munro took up the letters his former master had tossed to him. "Did you hear me, sir?" asked the banker. "I beg your pardon." "I say, will you give me back her letters, and will you leave Bramlingdon to-night?" There was a pause, and the bells of the church rang out for morning service. "I can make no promise, sir,'' replied the young clerk, very clearly. "I bave a duty to your daughter as well as a duty to you. If ehe desires that I should" "You set me at defiance, do you, sir?" burst ín the banker. "Very good, very good; but ' dont suppose that if you stay here forever that you will see my daughter, or be enabled to write to her. If you stop in Bramlingdon, she goes. Next week she travels with her mother to London, abroad, anywhere, away from her father's presumptuous clerk, who, because his master asked him a few times to his house, to sit at his table, and treated him as an equal, so far forgot himself as to lift his eyes up to his daughter, his only child." It had been a terrible Christmas morning in the banker's house. Mr. and Mi's. Daw barn had been informed that their only daughter, Lucy, rose every morning early and had an interview with the young clerk, Munro, in the kitchen garden, the door of which opened into a lañe, and of which door either Lucy or the young clerk, or both, possessed a key. Lucy had been f orced into confession, and had gone on her knees to her papa, and wept and implored him not to hurt her Oeorge. She had given up all his letters, which she was in the habit of placing under her pülow every night, and which letters Munro had written stealthily in banking hours and placed in a certain portion of the wall, near the tooi house in the kitchen garden. Mr. Dawbarn went on wildly and frightened Mrs. Dawbarn, a good, motherly woman, into a fit. When Mrs. Dawbarn recovered, Miss Lucy went off into a swoon, and her father and mother had to recover her, and Mr. Dawbarn was in agony lest the servants of his household should be cognizant of the disturbance, whicb was an entirely unnecessary excitement on his part, as they, the servants, had known all about it for the last eight months. Poor Lucy was told that Munro was to be immediately sent away, but that sho and her mamma were to go to church that day, as their absence might be remarked by a devout but curious congregation, and that she was to bathe her eyes and look unconcerned, easy, comf ortable and composed. As Lucy and her mamma passed the door of the dining room, Lucy heard the young clerk's voico. She knew that she should never see him again, and she could not resist her impulse. She ran to the door, seized the handle, and would have opened it, but her mamma pulled her away, and on the other Bide Mr Dawbarn rushed to the door and put his back against it. Munro strode to the window, that he might take a last look of his mistress as she left the house. "Good-by, George dear, good-by!" cried poor Luey in the passage. "We shall never see each other again ; but good-by and goodby and good-by again." CHAPTER III. A year had elapsed since Lucy Dawbarn had bidden larewell to her father's clerk through the dining room door. He had left Bramlingdon and gorie no ono knew whither. Neither letter nor message carne to Lucy ; she was too strictly watebed. She often walked in the garden and looked at that portion of the wall whero they had concealed their letters. The good old brick that they used to tako out and put back again was a thing of the past. In its place there was a bran new red brick cemented by bran new white mortar that you could seo a mile off. Lucy hd been to London, and had been visiting not only hor father's and mother's relatives but the magnates of tho county, and had seen all sorts of pleasures and fashion and distraetïon, and at the end of six months had returned very thin i and pale. She had been home but a few weeks when the news came that young Munro had sailed i from Liverpool for New York. It reached Lucy's ears through a sympathetic servant maid. The next morning she sent word that she would lfke to have a cup of tea sent to her up stairs in her own room, as she had a headache and begged to be excused from th breakfast table. Mrs. Dawbarn knew that she had heard of Munro's departure for America, but she did not dare to mention even the name of the objeotionable elerk to her husband, who was entirely ignorant of the young man's movements. Two or three dayg after the doctor was sent for. The medical man hummed and hawed and said that his patiënt was low. Lucy grew worse and worse. A consultation was held. The young lady's disorder was pronouneed to be nervous fever, and one white headed old gentleman from London suggested to Mr. and Mrs. Dawbarn that if the young lady were engaged he should not advise the postponement of the ceremony. "You see, my dear Mr. Dawbarn," said the old gentleman, "your dear daughter's malady is partly mental. She has here no employment, that is, no fresh employment for her mind. If you could substitute new duties, fresh impressions, she would recover quiekly. Her energy is wearing her to pieces; she wants, so to speak, to begin her life over again. If- if her partner has not yet been chosen"- here the eyes of the father and motber met- "let her travel, let her choose an occupation, give her something to do. I know a young lady- much the same kind of case - who took to painting, and found considerable benefit from the study and the practice. Italy, now, might créate a desire to cultívate some art - say music, eh? Your dear daughter is not strong; her mind is too much for her body." Lucy was taken to Harrogate, to Cheltenham, to Leamington and Scarborough, then to the south of France and Italy. When she returned to Bramlingdon she had to be lifted from the carriage. Her father, who had not seen her for two months, was struck with the visible alteration in her face and figure. He himself carried her to her room and wa hardly conscious of his burden. She said she was tired with her journey and would go to bed. Mr. Dawbarn descended to dine with his wife, and meeting on the stairs with the sympathetic housemaid who had informed Lucy of Munro's departure for America, and asking the girl why she was crying, and receiving for anBWf r that it was for Miss Lucy, he discharged her on the spot. It was a dismal dinner. Husband and wife spoke but little, and when one caught the the other's eye there was a great show of appetite. Mr. Dawbarn drank a considerable quantity of sherry. When the cloth was removed the eonversation flagged. Neitber dared begin the consultation they feit was inevitable. Before they went into Lucy's room to look at her as she lay sleeping, Mr. Dawburn put his arm around his wife's waist and kissed her on the forehead, a proceeding which made the good old lady tremble very much and her mouth and nostrils quiver. Side by side in the dark the couple lay awake ín their luxurious chamber, starting at the reflection of the window irame upon tbe blinds. The father began. "Jemima." "Philip," said the mother. "What do you think of Lucyr The mother hoaved a deep sigh. "Good Godl" said the banker, "when I took her up in my arms I could hardly feel her weight. She was like a feather- like a feather. Jemima, you're crying, my love. Teil me, honestly, now, honestly, candidly, as you think. Teil me, teil me. " The wife threw her arm around her husb. d's neck and sobbed: "I fear that we shall lose her." It was 6poken, and death was recognized as a presence in the house. "D'ye think there's no hopeJ" "Only one, and that a very poor one." Mr. Dawbarn feit a mental qualm, for ha knew what was coming. "What's that f" he asked. "You'll be angry with me, Philip, if I teil you." "Angry, my dear? no, no, not a bit," Raid the father. "You know what I mean." The banker sighed. "Do you mean" he began. "Yes, I do," replied the mother. "If Lucy could see or hear of that young man, I believe she would recover. I'm sure it would do her good." There was a long pause. Mr. Dawbarn groaned in spirit, but he feit that his wife was right. "I had such better views for her," groaned the. banker. "Yes, my dear, I know you had," said the wife, pressing his hand. "Lord Landringa was most particular in hls attentions, and Sir Theophilus Hawdon absolutely spoke to me about her. " "I know he did," said the acquiescent wif e. "Think of Lucy being Lady Landringa or Lady Hawdon I county people- and then of her being Mrs. ohl" ■ "It's a sad thing, dear, but what can we do now that she's so ill- poor thing I And if we could save her life" Mr. Dawbarn turned in the bed. "I'U ask Topham about it to-morrow." (Topham was the doctor.) "I'U hear his opinión." "I have asked him," said the mother, "and he agrees with me. " "But how can It be done?" asked the banker, turning again rostlessly. "I can 't ask the fellow to marry my daughter." "No, but you can offer him a situation in the bank." "Suppose he refuses." "He won't refuse." "But how can I flnd him? Where is he?" "In America," answered Mrs. Dawbarn. "America!" repeated the banker, sitting up in bed. "Then how the deuce is he to be got at?' "Advertise for him. If he will apply to So-and-So, he will hear of something to his advantage. I asked Dr. Topham's advice about all that." "Advertising is not respectable," said the banker; to whieh his wife made no reply but the word 'Lucy.' " "Besides," continued Mrs. Dawbarn, after a short pause, "if you don't like advertising, eend somebody after him to ünd out where he is." "Send somebodyl Send who? "Oh, that Mr. Studden; ho's doing nothing and I are say will be glad of the job." "I suppose that Topham advised that too?,' "Yes, he did." "I thought I recognized Topham's interest In that young vagebond. I suppose you and he have talked this matter over naw some time." "land Mr. Studden " "No, you and ToDham." '■Yes.'" "And you'vo arranged it all between you." "Yes." "Why didn't you teil me this before, Jemima?" "I was afraid." "Af raid! Afraid of what?" "Of you." "Of me, Jemimif Don't you think I lovl my child as much is you f' Tm sure you do; but you men don't onderstand some things." "But Topham'a a man," remarked the puzzled banker. "But then he's a doctor," was the reply. Mr. Dawbarn groaned Inwardly, as a posslblecoronet presentad itself to his mind'i eye - and then faded away. "I suppose yon must have it your own way," he said. "May I, PhilipP' asked hi wife, putting her arm around his neck a seoond time. "Yes, I believe youYe in the richt. But won't the shock- the surprise hurt herr 'Til answer for that May I teil her tomorrow?" "Yes," sighed the vanquished father. "Bless you, Philip!" said the good raother; and she kissed hér partner, and both wife and husband slept the sleep of the just. CHAPTER IV. "Lucy, my dear," said Mrs. Dawbarn the next morning as she entered the invalid's chamber, "I and papa have been t-llnng about you." "Yes, mamma," said Lucy, with an evident want of interest in the subject. "And what do you think he saysï" "Don't know, mamma." "He's going to make some alterattons in the bank." "Oh, Indeed!" Miss Lucy had not the (mallest solicitude about the bank. "And what else do you thinkl" "Oh, mamma, I am so Ured," Raid Lucy peevishly. "What else do you think he means to dof' continued Mrs. Dawbarn, bending her matronly head over her daughter's face, and pouring into her ear words that made the girl flush scarlet and her eyes flash. "Oh, mamma, it can't be true!"' "My love, could I deceive you?" "No, dear mamma, no; but oh, is tttrue? Kiss me, mamma dear. I am so happy and so thankful, and - and in a little time, when I've thought over how happy I am, papa may come in, and I'll kiss him and thank him, and teil him how grateful I am too andn But poor Lucy could get no further, and sobbed and wept with delight. "My darling, kiss me now," said her father, advancing from the door, behind which he had watched the effect of the news. "I'll do anything to make you happy - anything." "O papa! my own papal" "My darling, you'U love me now again as you used to do, won't you? and- and- there's Mr. Bob Studden's knock. IU1 send that fellow off to New York - I mean to Liverpool, this very night." Mr. Bob Studden was waiting in the dining room. He was so changed in face, dress, appearance and manner that when Mr. Dawbarn saw him he started and said : "Are yon Mr. Robert Studden Í" "Yes, Mr. Dawbarn, it's me," said the familiar voice. "I dare say you find me changed. I do myself." He was indeed altered. In place of the spiek, span, new, natty, dressy, shiny, oily, varnished Bob, the delight of barmaids and the envy of grooms, stood a shabby, corduroy trousered, waistcoatless vagabond, smelling of straw and porter. Mr. Dawbarn hesitated before he asked him to sit down. "I got your letter, sir," said Bob, whose manner was as def erential as his clothes were shabby, "and came on immediately. Sorry I couldn't present myself more decently; but uch is f ate." "What are you doing now, Mr. Studden?" asked the banker. "At present, sir, replied Bob, "I am stableman at ths Cock and Bottle." "Good graciousl" "It's not what I could wish, sir, but it's better than nothing. I'm sorry to say I'm only employed there two days a week - Mondays and market days ; but stil!, what with odd jobs, I manage to grub on." Mr. Dawbarn looked at the ex-betting man's wan face and wistful eyes, and asked him if he would take a glass of wlne. Bob shot a quick glance, and said that he would; and in the keen look Mr. Dawbarn read hunger. "The sherry," said the banker to a servant, "and bring lunch- some cold roast beef- and - you know; and when we've lunched. Mr. Studden, we'lltalk business." Mr. Studden's performance upon the beef was so extraordinary that the banker feared that he would commit involuntary suicide. It was with a feeiing of intense relief that he saw him attack the cheese; but tho attack was so prolonged that Mr. Dawbarn feared lest the suiloeation the beef had lef t unaceomplished should be effected by the Stiltou. "Not any more, sir, thank you," answered Bob to his host's complimentary question. "I never tasted such a cheese - and as for the beef, it's beautiful. I haven't tasted animal f ood for these ten days. For red herring ia not animal food any more than a lump of palt is, and I'm sick of red herrings. Soak 'em in as much hot water as you like, they always taste of lucifers; perhaps because they lie next to 'em in the shop. I may thank you, Mr. Dawbarn, for a real meal such as I haven't had for- for" The wine Mr. Studden had drunk seemed to have got into his head, and from his hoad j into his eyes. Men are strango ereatures - and even betting men are men- and whether it was tüe memory of bygone days, or the wine, or the bread, or the butter, or tho beef, or the cheese that affeeted him, cannot be ascertained, but one of these causes, or some of them, or all, caused Bob Studden to lay his head upou his arms, and to cry copiously. He then began accusing himself, and saying that he was a bad lot ; that he was miserable and repented; that his life was an hourly curse to him; that he knew he had brought it all upon himself; tbat all his friends had deserted him, particnlarly those who had shared his hospitality, and even his money, when he was prosperous ; that the man who owed his rise in life to him, and whom he had assisted at a crisis, had behaved to him with an of me; I'H be faithful and true, sir, nd Öod bless you, sir, and - and" Here Bob broke down again, and even stift Mr. Dawbarn was compelled to use nis cambric handkerehief as Mr. Btudden used his coat sleeve. Bob was furnished with letters; among tbem was one from Mr. Dawbarn addressed to Munro, which inclosed a note from Luey, which contained only these words, written in a large, trembling hand: "Comeback tome - oh I come back to me, mydear; and soon, if you would see again upon this earth your own LuCT." A few hours after Bob was seated on the roof of the night coach, and as it rattled past the banker's house he saw a ligbt in Lucy's chamber. Although the night was cold the window was thrown up, and a thin hand waved a handkerchief. CHAPTER V. Two years elapsed and there was no news of the missing Mr. Munro. Letters arrived frequently from different parts of America from Mr. Bob Studden, who evidently found bis task to be more difflcult than be bad supposed. America was a large continent, and It was not so easy to flnd one particular man upon it. Poor Lucy amused herself by reading books and perusing maps. She liked to wonder if Oeorge were there - or there, and what soit of place it was. She arranged all Mr Bob Studden's letters of intelligence in chronologica] order and compared them with the books and the maps, and so traced his progresa. She always knew wheu an American letter arrived by an instinct for which she was at a loss to account herself ; but for all these sources of consolation, for all her mother's and father's solicitude, she grew weaker and weaker. She took no air but in an invalid ohair. Her father walked by her side grave and dejected. Stealthy shadows took possession of the banker's house. They flitted on the Windows, lingered on the staircases and hang about the passages ; and the good folks of Bramlingdon looked sad as they passed the banker's, over which, as over those It contained, there hung the sanctity of a great sorrow. Two long, long years and two long, long months Lucy waited and hoped, each day her pale cheek growing paler, and her light form lighter, and toward Christmas she waa unable to be lifted from her bed. Dr. Topham said that he had exhausted the resources of his science ; and when the poor girl turned feverishly, and, with a slight access of delirium, asked for the fiftieth time if there were no news, the doctor beckoned thebanker and his wife from the sick room and said: "I'veanidea! This caunot last long - she must be quieted somehow. She keeps ing for news; now news trom America would quiet her and she migbt sleep." "We have no news," said the single minded banker. "No," replied the doctor, "but we can make some." '■Makesomc!' "Fabricate it - invent it. Don't you seef' "O doctor!" remarked the tearful mother, "to deceive a poor creature on the threshold of death!" "To snatch her from death," said Dr. Topham. "It must be done. It is the last chance. Wo must write a letter from Studden thia very night." "But - but- but - it is forgery I" stammered the banker. "Besides," said Mrs. Dawbarn, "Lucy knows Mr. Studden's hand and alway examines theenvelopes." "Then," said the doctor, "we must do it by telegraph " "Telegraph!" "Yes. In a few minutes you will receive a telegram from Mr. Bob Studden, saying that he has just arrived at Liverpool with - with a companion." "Who'll send itP "I will," said the doctor. "But when- when she finds that Studden is not in England - what thenf' "We must think of something else," said the undaunted Topham. "The case is desperate, and something desperate must be tried. Ou and taik to her, Mrs. Dawbarn, and I'll send the telegram." With a strong feeling of conscious guilt Mr. and Mrs. Dawbarn put into their daughtêr's hand a telegram containing these words: "From Robert Studden, Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, to Charles Dawbarn, Bramlingdon. "I have just arrived in Liverpool. I have news of Mr. M. I hope to be in Bramlingdon by Thursday. " Lucy read tbe telegram and sat up in her bed. "He's como, mamma!" she said, and her eyes flashed and her cheeks flushed. "He landed in England this morning - I feit he did - about 9 o'clock. Ho will be here soon, George will- very soon - very soon. Mamma, pleasetell Eliza to put out my lilac f rock. Ha liked lilac- and to como and do my hair - and- and - and- teil Eiiza to come to me- and 1 can teil her what I want myself . " Tho father and mother exchanged glances that said: "Here is the consequenco of our deception. VV hat can be dono next?" Tha thought had hardly been interehangod before a smart rap was heard at the street door, and a servant camo ia with auuther telegraphio dispatch, which ran thus: "From K. Studden, Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, to C. Dawbarn, Bramlingdon. "Just arrived here with Mr. Munro. Shall start by night train, leaving here at 1:30. M. and self will be at Bramliugdon to-morrow. Telegraph back " "How absurd of Topham to send two telegrams!" said Mr. Dawbarn, whon he and his wife wero alono, "a3 ií one would not bring mischief enough. He must be inad. " Dr. Topham entered the house, and inquired how his plan had sueceeded. "Oh, Lucy is very much delighted and agitated," answered Lucy's father. "Wliat we shall do with her when she flnds the news not true, 1 do not know. But, Topham, why the deuce did you send two telegrama?' "Two I" echoed Topham. "I only sent one. " "Yes, you did." and loud trousers and cravat, Ho addressefl Mr. Dawbara as "colonel," and assumed a. maiinor that savored equally of the quarterdeck and the counter- half pirate, half bagman. ''As Í advertised you, colonel," he explained, "in the various letters Lrom the various diggings where I flxed my temporary location when 1 set foot in New York, I could flnd small trace of G. Munro, but I followed up that trace, and dogged eternally wherever he had made tracks. At last I lost him, and was near thinkin' I was done holler - yes, sir - and do you know why 1 thought I was done holler? He changed his name, and what his last occupation was I could not discover. However, I traveled and travoled on; and how d"yo think, and whar d'ye think, lolonel, I found him out at last?" "I don't know." "It was quite by accident - it was. I thought I'd heard of him in Detroit, but I couldn't find him in Detroit; and I was goin' away by the cars on the following sun up. Not knowing what to do with myself till roosting time, I strolled into the museum - that is - that was a theatre tben. The first man I see upon the stage was G. Munro, dressed like a citizen, in coat, vest and pants, or perhaps I should not have known him. I hailed him, and we started off that very night. We traveled quicker than post, or I should have written. I should have diagnosed him before, but the track was cold, because he had changed his name, and gone upon the stage - a fact which I have uot mentioned to any one but you, nor do I uitend to du - the stage not being considered by the general as business like." Lucy wassoonseen out again in the In valid chair, but her father no longer walked by her side. Ho was replaced by Mr. Munro, who usually propelled it himself. Within eighteen months the young couple were married, and some time after George was maile a partner in the bank. Mr. Robert Studden, by the assistance of his patrón, emigrated to Australia, where he drives a thrivjng business in horses. Before he sailed he spent the Christmas day with the bride and bridegroom. And though our tale ends happily with marriage and dowry, as novéis and plays should end, it is not for that reason a flction, but a true story of true love. gratitude that stung him to the soul ; that he was half starved and had no bed but in the stable; that he was ruined - ruined- and had no hope. When the poor, broken down gamester had exhausted himself, the banker began. He told him that he (the banker) had been advised to offer him (Studden) eraployment because he knew bim to be intelligent, and boped that his past sufferings had been a warning to him for the future; that the business he wished to employ him on was difflcult and delicate, being no less thau to go to New York and from there to wherever else it might be uecessary to travel, in search of Mr. Munro; that money would be provided and letters furnished him, and that he was required to start for Liverpool that very night; that it was hoped he would not lightly givo up a chance that offered him demptiou for the past and a fine prospect lor the future. "PU do it! I'll do it!" said Bob, rising and grasping the banker's hond; 'aud God bless you, Mr. Dawbarn, for fiving a oor outcast devil liko me the chaola. I'll not deceive you, sir, if I do" "Hush, hush, Mr. Studden." "You'll make a man of me, sir - a man! PI] be true as steel. I'll not bet - not on the best horse that was ever foaled. To-night, sir - I'U start this minute, barefoot, if you wished it. X've got & decent suit of clothes in pawii, sir, quite good enough for th llkes "No, I didn't." "Yes, y ou did. Here it is. " The doctor looked at tho second telegram, and said, "I didn't send this." "Nol Whothen?" "By Jove! Ho did I Studden, I mean. Dawbarn, he'scomol he'scomel I only anticipated the truth. It was a medical inspiration - and my patiënt will recover." Mr. Dawbarn lost no timo in telegraphing back to Livorpool. At Lucy's express desire Mr. Studden was instructed to telegraph at every station, that she might know how much nearer and nearer her Georgo was to her. The telegraph boys were up tha whole night, and Lucy kept the telegnams and read thora until she fell fast asleep. When she awoke she found herself unable to rise, so resolved to receive her future husbaiid in state ; and when she had looked in the mirror sho begged her mamma in a whisper to let have some rouge - "not to make me look better, but for fear my palé, white, white eheeks should frighten Cieorge." The heavy hours flew by. George arrived, and was shown upstairs to his f.uthful, constant mistress; and the servauts in the kitchcn held great jubilee, and there waa sweetheartiug below stairs as well as abova. Mr. Dawbarn found Mr. Bob Studden quite au American - according to the notion of Americans imbibed by Englishmen a few months resident iu tht New World. Ho worea "goatee" beard, ïquare toed boots,