Are you in your senses, Emily?" said Mr. Huntingdon as he stared at his wife with astonishment not unmixed with alarm.

"Perfectly. They have been restored to me. I repeat, I have made up my mind that this young man shall marry Florence-that is, of course, if he chooses to take her."

"I do not not understand you, Emily. You have made up your mind? Excuse me, I have no wish to speak harshly, but in this matter you will have to be guided by your husband."

"My husband? I have no husband."

Geoffrey started and gave a hasty glance at his wife. "I suppose " he said slowly, "you have some meaning in your wild

talk."

"I think I have. Geoffrey Huntingdon, I have not been a happy woman. You have not made life pleasant to me, but I have borne it patiently and quietly, although by nature I am not patient nor quiet; and do you know why I have borne it? Because I thought that I had spoiled your life. It is no use talking over the time when you were jealous of me without a cause. I forgave you and I was sorry for you. I suppose I loved you very much, for I know I wished and tried to alter my very nature, that we might live in harmony for the future; and to think of it!" she exclaimed excitedly "the shame of it almost stifles me, to think that you-you, my accuser-you, who resented the most innocent actions on my partyou who prized my honours as your own and could not bear the shadow of a stain on either, you as soon as you left me, could sell your honour and mine to the first creature that was wretched enough to catch your profligate fancy! Geoffrey Huntingdon, when you married Alice Chalmers, you ceased to be my husband! My God, to think what I have been all these years since. Thank Heaven, I am free at last!"

Geoffrey had risen from his chair, and stood gazing steadily at his outraged wife, although his countenance was haggard and awfully pale.

"So you have heard it," he said, in a low voice, "Well I do not deny it. I cannot excuse myself, and I would not if I could. Do as you please about leaving me, you have a right to do as you like, and your wishes, in that respect shall be attended to, but you must not suppose that I shall leave you to dispose of my daughter.

"Your daughter? Mr. Huntingdon? You have no daughter." "This is going too far Mrs. Huntingdon. I may have lost you, but how have I lost my daughter?"

"How did you lose her? why you sold her! sold her to hide your own disgrace, and save yourself from punishment."

"I did this?" cried Geoffrey, losing all his self control and his face flushing with rage, "how dare you say so?"

"Because it is true. If you did not know it, you were the cause. I tell you, she sold herself on your account. Think of the price, and take the worthless value."

She flung the certificate of his marriage with Alice Chalmers before him.

"Thank Florence for it, if you dare, to-morrow. As for me, I will never see your face again.'

She gave one look at the wretched man as he staggered into a chair, and fell forward with his head on the table; and then she turned and left the room as quietly as she had entered it.

She had ordered the coachman to wait for her, and she was driven back to Mrs. Schlagenweit's. That worthy lady noticed nothing in particular in the manner of Mrs. Huntingdon as she said good-night.

The wife had felt no pity for her husband when she left him, but she might have done had she known all. Who can tell whether she was aware of the deadly poison on the weapon with which she pierced his breast. Probably she did not know, for mad as she was, in her craving for revenge, she would have spared him that. Besides she was a pure-minded woman, and coarse ideas were foreign to her nature. But, alas for Geoffery, it was not so with him he had never believed in purity since his youth.

He had been jealous of his wife, not because he had reason to suspect her heart, but because he judged her by his own. But there had been one chamber in his heart which he had kept pure and clean, and Florence reigned there, and now the avenger had come, Florence had sold herself! The devil had twisted the very meaning of the words in his tortured brain, and he fell a prey to the lawless and uncertain thoughts that men imagine, howling. Geoffrey Huntingdon was crushed at last.

They found him in the mornrng lying beside the chair, where his wife had left him. There was a amall heap of white ashes on the table before him, and a pistol-bullet through his brain.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

OLD FRIENDS.

Two years have passed away since Geoffrey's death, and there has been many changes. The Hoy Tavern, at Silverbeach, has change hands. It is kept now by Mr. Thomas Crooney, who was formerly head waiter at that place of entertainment. He is assisted by Mrs. Crooney, who left the service of Mrs. Masterton to rej in her husband. A great deal of romance attaches itself down at Silverbeach to the history of the Crooneys. According to the most

authentic records, Crooney and his wife had been separated by angry relatives when they were both young and newly-married. He had gone to sea as a ship's steward, and had been wrecked on desert islands. She had gone into service and left no trace behind. It was supposed that the faithful couple had been seeking each other for years, until a chance at last restored them to each other's arms. Polly Hooper was imagined to have done her best to reunite them. Ill-natured people said that Mr. Crooney had got over his grief for the loss of Mrs. Crooney, and would have married Polly if he could. Mr. Crooney in his secret heart was not exactly sure whether he would or not. He said to himself, one Sunday evening as he stood contemplating a tombstone in the Silverbeach churchyard, "Sacred to the memory of Henry Mowbray."

"Ah, Mr. Gregory, alias Mowbray, alias Chalmers; it's all along of you, and I don't know now whether I am glad or sorry. She was pretty, Polly was; but the present Mrs. Crooney is more useful. She's sound, just like my port wine, a natural crustiness,' so to speak. Now, Polly's a made-up article, no doubt all them young girls is; but still, she was uncommon nice. I wonder whether she would come as barmaid? I suppose Mrs. Crooney wouldn't have it--women have such low ideas. There's Dr. Sharper coming this way with Mrs. Lumsden. How like her brother she is, to be sure, at, times! only she don't look so impident -goodness knows he was that, to the last. To think of it, when he was dying, too. 'How are you, sir?' says I. 'Going, Thomas,' says he. 'I'd ask you to come to the funeral, only you have not got a graceful walk,' says he. I wonder," mused Mr. Crooney, as he gazed at the tombstone, "why you was always going on about my personal appearance? Ah, well, I forgive you; there wasn't much harm in you, for all your impidence." And then Mr. Crooney nodded his head solemnly to the memory of Mr. Mowbray, and departed to his own home.

Frank Lumsden had left the army, and intended to try his fortune in London. There was no occasion for him to be anxious about his future prospects. Captain Draper had adopted him as a on, and although the Captain was not a rich man he was in very comfortable circumstances. It was pretty clear, too, that Frank's wife would inherit all the property of Dr. Sharper.

"We ought to be good friends," that gentlemen said to Captain Draper; "for your son has married my daughter."

They were talking over Geoffrey's death at the time. It was a subject which always moved the poor Captain to tears.

"It was all very well to call it Accidental Death.'" he said; "but she did it, Sharper. She got hold of the certificate someway or another, and he shot himself for very shame."

"What has become of Mrs. Huntingdon?" asked Dr. Sharper,

after a pause.

"She is at Brighton-sees nobody, and they say has joined the Roman Catholic Church."

"And Florence ?"

66

Oh, she and her husband must be in New Zealand by this time. I believe her mother made no objection to her marriage with Mr. Chalmers. I was a little surprised, for I always thought Florence very proud. I met Mrs. Blimber the other day, and she told me she saw Florence before she sailed. She said she was dreadfully altered, and had grown quite plain. Mrs. Blimber said she quite felt for her; it was so dreadful to have made such a low marriage, and there was no excuse, as the man was not even goodlooking."

"I must say that I thought Mr. Chalmers decidedly handsome," said Dr. Sharper.

"Yes; but women see things with such different eyes. I suppose she thinks Blimber is good-looking. By-the-bye, Sharper, my man is going to leave me; he is to marry Mrs. Mowzle, who was maid so long to Mrs. Huntingdon. I saw her the other day; she it was who told me indeed, that her mistress had joined the Romish Church, and that was the reason she had determined to leave service. I ain't a going to take no vows, Captain Draper,' she said. I told her she would have to do so if she married; but the old lady tossed her head, and said, 'It ain't them vows, Captain; but I ain't going to be made a nun of at my time of life."

"Where is Mr. Alfred Huntingdon, now?" asked the Doctor. "In India still, with his wife. He's in dreadful bad health, and they want him come home; but he won't."

"Are there any children ?"

"No."

"Why, then, after William Huntingdon, Frank Lumsden stands next in the entail !"

"Yes. It would be odd if Alice Chalmers' daughter comes into the Huntingdon property, after all that has passed and gone."

THE END.

THE RISE OF MAXIMIN,

EMPEROR OF THE OCCIDENT,

Compiled by LUCIUS, Keeper of the Imperial Archives at Iscapolis.

TRANSLATED AND EDITED

BY RICHARD JEFFERIES.

INTRODUCTION.

IT incidentally appears from notices scattered over the pages of Lucius, that the Occident in which Maximin arose was a continent of vast extent. We are not informed in what precise quarter of the world it was situated, except that in a general sense it was somewhere towards the west, but it must, in its southern extremity have been shone upon by an almost tropical sun. Knowing, as we do now from the labours of celebrated geologists, that continents have arisen from the waves in one era and disappeared in the succeeding one, there can be no great difficulty in accepting the records here presented. The continent described by Lucius was bounded by a freshwater sea of unknown extent, and contained large rivers, immense forests, deserts, and ranges of mountains. was inhabited by various races of men acquainted with some of the arts of civilisation, but in the main ignorant, superstitious, and cruel. Among these Maximin arises, and though his progress is necessarily attended with bloodshed his chief object is the abolition of slavery and superstition, and the improvement of the race. book now at last translated and given to the world, does not represent all that remains of the literature of the Occident. There remain in the possession of the Editor a variety of memoirs and archives, private and public, full of interesting information, and extraordinary adventure, which may perhaps one day be published.

CHAPTER I.

It

The

Maximin's improved match-lock gun-Starts to visit the duke's daughter— Watches an engagement between troops from Sandover and BrucesterMaximin's books-First workings of ambition-Burning of Sycamore Farm-Final decision.

MAXIMIN tells us himself, in one of his "Notes and Memoranda," that the first idea of a possible rise to power occurred to him upon witnessing an engagement between a column of troops from Sandover and a detachment of the soldiers of Charles VI. (of Brucester) some time in May, Y.F. 744. He started from the