In the next place Jim is called upon for his narrative-and at once proceeds

"You know, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy and Mr. Quirks that I was the last person who saw Mr. Frank-that is to say of his friends-and that I was following him at my best speed when I was unfortunately knocked down and lost sight of him."

"Excuse my mentioning it Brinkwater," says Quirks, "but you will admit that you were a great idiot to get knocked over just as you were most wanted. But you were younger then you know. Go on."

"Indeed, Mr. Quirks," Jim resumes, "I have never forgiven myself the stupidity of that action to this day. Well, Mr. Quirks and Mr. and Mrs. Hardy after that evening I always felt that somehow it was my duty to be on the look-out for Mr. Frank on the other side of the Bridge. Hour after hour have I wandered about the streets in the Borough on the chance of picking up some clue to his whereabouts; and day and night have I racked my brains for some reasonable course of procedure. But I believe I should never have hit upon it of myself. Providence was kind to me and to us all. There lives near to my mother's house a young man who has a milk round. He has not enjoyed the educational advantages of some of us [Jim looks towards Quirks and he nods in return] so he brought to me, about a fortnight since a letter he said he had picked up on his round and requested me to read it. Judge of my surprise and delight on seeing Mr. Frank's writing! I tore open the letter and devoured its contents. It was a pathetic appeal to the finder of the letter to take the enclosure to No. 4, Wexford Street (Mr. Quirk's house) and went on to say that the writer was a prisoner in a house as to the situation of which he was ignorant beyond the fact that it was near to and might be seen from the river. In the note enclosed Mr. Frank gave instructions by which we might discover him. I consulted with Mr. Quirks and he interceded for me with Mr. Masters, the result being that I obtained leave to spend an hour of each morning away from the office. That hour I spent each day in a boat on the river. Distracted with fear of missing the signal agreed upon, I rowed up and down not knowing on which side of the Bridge I should look for it. It was the fourth day I had been upon the look-out when I fortunately saw the signal; and I can tell you that I felt supremely happy when my eye rested on it. Backward and forward I rowed, keeping my eye upon a certain window, which I noticed was barred with iron, and at length was rewarded by a sight of a figure I believed to be Mr. Hardy. His attention was speedily arrested by the peculiarity of my movements and we were soon exchanging signs of mutual recognition. As we were so engaged Mr. Frank suddenly left the window and I saw no more of him that day. The next, I was in my old place at the usual time and saw him again, when he made a sort of sawing motion across the bars of the window which I took to be a request for a saw or file, and shook my head to signify that I had nothing of the sort with me. Thereupon I saw him push one of the bars out of the perpendicular and hastily replace it, which was a pretty good intimation

that he was ready to escape. I beckoned to him. He shook his head and I was at a loss to know how to proceed. Still waiting, as nearly stationary as the motion of the water allowed, I saw him again take two of the bars in his hands, forcibly separate them at the bottom, get through, and drop out of sight. I shall never forget the dreadful anxiety of the half hour during which I lost sight of him, nor the ecstasy of the moment when he crept out of a dark archway, struggling through the mud towards my boat. He managed to scramble into it; and I can tell you I was as proud and happy at that moment as if I had the Queen of England on board. It is true Mr. Frank!"

"Jim, I believe you most thoroughly," says Frank, "but finish your tale."

"There is but little more to tell. I suggested that he should wash the mud off in the river, as wet clothes would not excite so much notice as muddy ones; and then I rowed to the stairs and from there marched him off in triumph to Mr. Quirks's house, and I am happy to think I have at length had a hand in restoring him to you all."

And now the whole family press round Jim to shake him by the hand and tell him what a noble fellow he is. But, over this we need not dwell, as all eyes are next turned towards Frank, who might be expected to answer the questions put to him if he had a dozen tongues to do it with and the questioners would pause to give him a chance.

At length he commences :- "My dear, dear, friends. You all know the dark and painful event that was the indirect cause of my disappearance and of your kind suffering on my behalf. When I left Grayling Court on that memorable day I was in a tumult of excitement and bitter thought. Instead of deriving consolation from the fact that I was suspected being innocent it seemed to me only to aggravate the evil. Tortured in mind, I could fix on no line of conduct that appeared to promise me any satisfaction. You have heard how Jim saw me on the Bridge and there lost sight of me." He then narrated the chase after the cab and what followed to the time of his incarceration. "I will not grieve you with an account of all the mental suffering I endured while Skofling's prisoner; and I need scarcely tell you that the keenest of my sorrow lay in my separation from you and the prolonged pain I knew your kind hearts would suffer on my account. Beyond depriving me of my liberty Skofling inflicted no injury upon me. Again and again did he tempt me with the offer of liberty if I would enter into his wicked plots, always stipulating that I should bind myself by the most solemn oath not to divulge his secret; indeed, on one occasion he offered me my freedom on this condition alone. That was a temptation, but when I thought of it-that I could not accept my release on such terms without in a measure compromising my own honour-I had strength to resist and overcome it, believing I should eventually be delivered.

"My days passed wearily enough as you will conceive, having nothing to do and but few books to read. Paper and ink were, however, supplied to me with which I whiled away many an hour. I was taken from

the room into which I first went to one on a higher storey, and that, with but little change, was my constant prison. Fortunately I could see the river; and the signs of life sometimes amused and at other times tantalised me. Well, I spent much of my time in trying to devise some way of escape, and occasionally I thought I should certainly go mad if I did not get away; though on the whole, and thanks to you dear mother! I was enabled to calm my mind with proper thoughts. I have brought away with me the diary I wrote, for as it was not deemed possible that I could escape neither was it thought necessary to deprive me of it, and you will be able to learn therein more than I need tell you. I will now hasten to the incidents attending my escape. There was one woman in the house, engaged in its menial duties. It was part of her duty to wait upon me. Something of her history I learned from day to day when once I had broken through the taciturnity she observed during the first months of my detention. She was involved in the conspiracy, and had a son in Russia engaged in furthering its objects. One day she came to me in evident distress, her naturally hard features softened, and traces of tears on her cheeks. She told me her son had been detected, tried, and executed for complicity in this conspiracy. I could not have believed the woman capable of so much feeling until I beheld her bowed down with heart-breaking grief. Previously to this I had often tried to induce her to aid me to fly, but she always offered the sternest opposition to the mere mention of it; though I could plainly see she was not uninterested in my situation. Well, when she lost her son, I told her I knew a mother who had also lost a son and that he was standing before her and she might restore him to her. She seemed struck by this idea, and from that time I began to have good hopes of her assistance. The most I could induce her to do, however, was to drop the letter, of which you have heard, in some street where it might be seen and forwarded to its destination. How that letter fared Jim has told you; and how sagaciously he acted upon it you also have heard. from the first that my only hope was from the river; and one of my earliest preparation, was the procuring of some instrument for cutting through the bars. For a long time I failed utterly. A knife was allowed me at dinner but was always carefully removed. One day however, I discovered that two knives had been brought, one of which I contrived to detain, and with that, working every day a little, I sawed through the wood in which the bars were embedded, just after I had despatched the letter."

"And why did you not put in the address, Frank ?

"The woman would not permit it. I had to write almost to her dictation. Had she been found out certain death would have followed." "And what became of the young lady, Frank ?" enquires Mary.

"That I do not at present know. I went the day after my escape with a detective down the river and pointed out the house, which he found out from a neighbouring street, but all the inmates had fled no one seemed to know whither."

Question upon question poured in upon Frank when he had done, which it would take too much space to repeat. Suffice it to say that all is now well with the Hardy family. Called upon to suffer deeply together they are now united in happiness and prosperity.

With them this blessed Christmas day the peace and joy are too deep for boisterous mirth. Theirs is purest happiness, though tinged and chastened by a touch of sadness; and so, the last wild peal of those Christmas bells speaks to their spirits in the angelic words—

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

RнO PI.

STORM AND CALM.

The winter wind howls fiercely round the house,
And beats and batters at each rattling pane.
Though baffled oft, it swift returns again,
And wildly shrieks our terror to arouse,
With sounds like demons holding deep carouse,
Or Bacchanals with frenzy-fired brain.
But vain its fury; all its powers are vain
To shake the peace we feel, myself and spouse.

For here we sit beside the glowing fire,

And hand in hand recall the bygone days;
The flowery paths we trod; the sunny Mays
Which have been ours; the realised desire,
Whose memory is a theme can never tire.

So calmly love with recollection plays.

J. A. L.