all good faith, of course. Mind you, I never laugh at my profession. It's the grandest one on the face of the earth. I believe fully in my own powers. Only I believe in my own limitations too."

"Yes," said Joost. "And what did uncle die of?"

"I should say," replied the doctor, cautiously, "that the cause of death was a rush of blood to the brain, probably under the impulse of some strong excitement; and of course the heart gave way. It had been unsound for a long time, you know. Failure of the heart's action, in fact. But really, as far as some of the symptoms went, he might have choked himself-or- been choked. Strangulation, in fact. Yes-um, um-one hardly likes to say it but, really strangulation. However, of course, that is evidently and entirely out of the question. You were with him at the time, were you not? And really, Avelingh, you ought to know more about it than I can, considering you studied medicine. He had ahem — been

drinking a good deal, I believe?”

"Yes," said Joost, gravely, "he had.”

"Just so; in fact, I should say, between you and me, he was more than half drunk. Excuse plain speaking. It is a most exceptional case. Really, without a post-mortem, it would be impossible to say what your uncle died of."

"You filled in heart disease,'" said Joost.

"Undoubtedly; yes, and truthfully. If his heart had been all right, he would have been alive this day, unless, of course, he was choked — which he was not. And, as I was saying at dinner, he might have been alive in spite of his heart. A strange business, a very strange business." The doctor smoked reflectively. Joost did not speak. "By the bye, Avelingh," Dr. Kern went on presently, "I never give professional advice unasked, but if you were to consult me about a pleasant place to spend a month or so next summer, I should say: Try Godesberg. Pleasant place; a little warm in the full season; excellent hydropathic establishment. Plenty of compatriots."

"You say so because I broke that glass at dinner," cried Joost."You think me nervous! Nonsense, doctor. Look here!" He held out his injured hand, to show how steady it

was.

"That goes for nothing," replied the doctor. "Mind, our bodies are brittle enough at the best. No use breaking them and spilling the wine. With some of us they're like ginger-beer

bottles, and the ginger-beer works from inside till they burst. The human frame divine, you know, and all the rest of it. And -no advice, of course; I never give advice unasked- but if I were you, I should some day (no hurry) go to Godesberg."

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They are getting up to join the ladies," said Joost.

THE JONKER'S LEGACY.

THE carriages were called at ten, and Joost and Agatha went off together. The various guests began to disperse along their several roads, and Van Asveld, having walked up the village street with a friend, turned down a quiet lane, which led to his own abode. He stepped out briskly, smoking as he went, and reviewing the events of the evening. The great Charity interested him little, or rather he looked upon it with feelings of mingled irritation and disgust. He considered it, naturally enough, as a gigantic bid for popularity, and the only stupidity about it, when viewed in that light, seemed to be that exactly the same object might have been attained with one fifth of the money; four fifths therefore appeared absolutely wasted even from the donor's standpoint. Why should all the wretched old paupers in the province, after having been happy and contented in hovels all their lives, want to die in a palace? Surely an old beggar must feel as uncomfortable in such a mansion as he, Van Asveld, would be in a miserable hut! Pigs in the pig-sty; horses in the stable. That was the law of nature and of ahem God.

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Uppermost in the Jonker's mind was the thought of his dead cousin's great wealth. Avelingh must be rolling in gold,” he reasoned, and the recollection of his own conversation with the Baron Van Trotsem on the very morning of the old man's last day on earth came back to him with revived bitterness. Often and often, since that fatal day, he had recalled the farewell scene, the old baron's promise of a considerable legacy, the cruel disappointment when the will was proved to speak of no provision at all. Even now, after ten years, Arthur stamped his foot upon the frozen snow at the recollection. "Life had gone hardly with him," he thought, and not untruly. The failure of that one hope, at any rate, was as vivid, as irritating to-day as when first it became unpleasantly patent to him and to all his creditors. Somehow he had convinced himself that both Joost and

the baron had done him a personal injury by allowing death to supervene before the necessary testamentary arrangements had been definitely made. He did not reason much about it; but he liked Avelingh none the better because of that gentleman's good luck.

From these reflections upon what might have been, the Jonker naturally dropped into a review of his present financial position. There could be nothing very attractive in that, and he was not displeased to find his attention diverted by the discovery that he was rapidly gaining on some one who seemed to be strolling leisurely on a few paces ahead. Walking briskly, as he was doing, he had almost come up to the figure in front before he noticed it at all. "Who could be out in this lonely spot at such an hour?" he asked himself. "A tramp perhaps. The burgomaster's clerk must see to that." Whatever Van Asveld might be, he was anything but a coward. He increased his speed and came alongside of the man. "Good-evening," he said. There was no necessity for courage of any kind. It was only Joost Avelingh.

"Avelingh," cried Asveld, in great disgust. He had expected to be able to make a show of his authority. "What the devil are you doing here, if one may ask?"

"Walking home," replied Joost, quietly. "And unless you object I shall continue my road."

"It's no business of mine, of course!" replied the other. "Only it seems a deuced strange way of getting back."

"I often walk after such an evening," said Joost. "It cools one down wonderfully. Gives one a better chance of sleep.'

It was true. The man who could never be alone or idle by day, rushing from one occupation to another, reading even while he thus rushed, the same man would wander out at night for long, lonely walks. Was it because he knew that, whether in the house or out of it, he must be alone at night? He had put Agatha into the carriage and started down the dark road by himself. It would take him more than an hour to reach home, and the night was bitterly cold, but he had a fur coat on and a cigar between his lips.

"Cools one down! I should think so!" said Arthur. "No danger of that. Freezes one. How is your hand?"

"Quite comfortable, I thank you," said Joost, stiffly.

"I thought you weren't looking well all the evening. I told you so at the time. You looked as ill as a living man

can look while the doctor was speaking during dinner about Cousin Dirk's death."

"It is a painful subject," said Joost.

"Undoubtedly. Though scarcely so for you, I should say. Oh, yes, of course, and all that. No doubt. and all that. No doubt. And I quite believe you, but if I were to say it was a painful subject for me, a very peculiarly painful one, I am afraid the cynical world. would sooner believe me."

"I suppose you mean," said Joost, "that you would have liked my uncle to leave you some money. I have often heard that you were disappointed about some such matter, and I have wanted to speak to you about it. But I do not see why the memory of my uncle's death should therefore be peculiarly painful to you. You would not be any the richer, I feel sure, if he were alive to-day."

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“No,” said Van Asveld, brusquely, "but I should have been richer if he had lived a little longer, or he was a damned old liar."

They walked on for several minutes in silence. At last, when Joost spoke, there was an unmistakable tremor in his voice and yet it only gave utterance to the two simple words: "How so?"

"How so?" repeated the other; "I can't tell how much yon know, Avelingh, and for all I could prove, you may be as ignorant and as innocent as a new-born babe. Mind you, I don't for one moment insinuate you are not. Only, I can scarcely understand that, living with you all day, as the old man did, and bursting out into voluble rages as he was apt to do also, he should never have let out anything to you of his plan for me."

"My uncle's volubility," replied Joost, "restricted itself to a very limited circle of "—he was going to say "epithets," but he substituted "interests." "There is no reason, as you say, why you should believe me, but, if it is any satisfaction to you, I have no hesitation about declaring on my word as a gentleman perhaps you do not consider me entitled to give that?” "Every man is a gentleman," said Arthur, haughtily, “in that sense."

"Thank you. On my word as a gentleman, or, if you will, my Bible oath that, as far as I had, or have, any cognizance, my uncle, at any rate till the day of his death, had made no plans whatever on your behalf."

"Just so," said Van Asveld, "I don't doubt your word. I dare say the old close-fist wouldn't blab. But you yourself make a restriction. Might I ask you to explain it?"

"Why not?" replied Joost. "On the last day of his life my uncle mentioned your name in connection with his will. He told me why should I not repeat it?- that he would rather leave his money to you than suffer me to disobey him. It was said in a passion, as a threat. That was the only time I heard of any intentions on your behalf. And as I tell you, the words seemed but a passing allusion. I have no more to say on the subject."

"But I have!" cried Arthur, hotly. "A great deal more! That remark was not a passing allusion, as you choose to call it. I know better! Perhaps I know more than you do. On the very morning of his death I was closeted with Cousin Dirk, as you will scarcely have forgotten, and when I left him, I took with me the solemn assurance, the all but written guarantee, that I should be handsomely remembered in his will. He passed me his word on it. He told me I might trade on it with the Jews or my future father-in-law. And I tried to that very afternoon with old Moses; only he wouldn't see it, damn him! And he was right in the end, as he told me afterward, the hoary scoundrel! But, for all that, if the old beast had only lived a little longer, I am sure he would have kept his word, for he was a gentleman, hang him, with all his faults, and that's more than many of us can say."

"Do I understand," asked Joost, "that my uncle gave you his solemn assurance on the day of his death that he would leave you money?"

"Yes," replied Arthur, "didn't I say so?"

"And he told you you might trade on reckon on - his

promise?" "Yes," repeated Arthur. "Do you want the whole story again?"

"He did not, I presume, mention any particular sum?"

Arthur hesitated a moment - barely a moment. He recalled the whole conversation of that eventful morning, its minutest details stood engraved in his memory forever; he remembered the terms he had proposed and his cousin's answer to them, and he considered that he was hardly prevaricating when he answered: "There had been a question between us from the first of some forty or fifty thousand florins."