turned to stone, and did not care a rap what became of me, not even to be made a vizier; which, I assure you, Charlie, is no joke in its way."

"Well, at all events, you must come home now and enjoy your good fortune."

"I am not sure about that," said he.

Recollect,

she has grown accustomed to be mistress-I have grown accustomed to be vizier; she won't like to be contradicted, and it's a thing I never could bear, and what I never allow on any account. Now, if I went home, she would not be mistress, and, as sure as fate, she would contradict me. better as it is."

Next morning he sent for me again.

Maybe it's

"I have been thinking," he said, "of all that strange story you told me. I am all changed since we parted. I hardly know myself to be the same man I used to be, and I am not sure if I should treat Sophy well. But ask her to come out here, and then she may try. If she likes me in this outlandish place, I will go home with her; if we quarrel here, no one will be a bit the wiser, and I can continue to be dead."

"But," said I, "have you no encumbrances? Perhaps she might object to the details of your establishment."

"Not a bit," said Jerry; "I have none of your

Eastern prejudices; let her come, and she will find nobody to disturb her."

So she did come, and after living in Nepaul for two years, brought Jerry back in triumph to Branley Hall. And such is the true version of a tale which made some noise in the newspapers a few years ago.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE JOCKEY.

HIS anecdote was pleasantly told, and well

TH

received. The conversation then became general, and we talked the usual round of weather, crops, and politics, and at last the subject of horseracing and the Derby was brought up.

"Pity the whole concern is so blackguard," said the colonel. "From the racing peer to the betting peasant, they are all scamps."

"They are so, I believe," said Mr Rendelson; “and yet I once had professionally to investigate a case which disclosed some singular traits among them of a different cast. The story is perfectly true, although so strange as hardly to seem credible.

"Very early in my professional life, and therefore a great many years ago, I was consulted by a gentleman of large fortune, well known on the turf, under the following singular circumstances. It seemed that my informant in the course of that year had a racehorse which was first favourite for one of the great

races, and that this horse had broken down most suspiciously while almost in the act of winning the race. The owner-I may call him Mr Stanton, although that was not his real name-was exceedingly annoyed and disgusted, and particularly displeased with his trainer and jockey, by whom the animal was ridden. He resolved to dismiss the jockey, break up his stables, and give up the turf altogether.

"The jockey, whose name was Tom White, had previously stood very well in the racing world, as a keen and honest lad. He had been distressed beyond measure at his failure, and had shed bitter tears in the moment of defeat. He assured Mr Stanton that the accident must have been owing to foul playthat the horse had been got at somehow-and that without greater precautions than had been used, no gentleman need attempt to train.

"Mr Stanton believed that this was substantially true, but was firmly convinced that Mr Tom White was not unacquainted with the source of the calamity. He therefore remained firm to his resolution of selling his stud, and dismissing White; which last he did. Tom got an engagement in the North, and left that district of country altogether.

"Tom made but little remonstrance against his dismissal. What he most seemed to feel was leaving

the yearling colts, in which he had taken much pride, and in particular one of which he had great expectations, and had called, on his own account, the 'Red Rover.' He was rather a bony, shapeless animal, and judges thought little of him; but Tom, who revered no one's opinion but his own, was always loud in his praises to his master. His last words, as he was leaving were, 'Don't 'ee sell the couts, squoire-don't 'ee sell "Red Rover"-he be a rare 'un, he be;' and with this friendly caution Tom White went on his way, and was seen no more.

"In the spring following, Mr Stanton advertised his stud for sale. Two days before the time appointed, the stud-groom presented himself to Mr Stanton, while at breakfast, with a face of ashy paleness and trembling limbs.

666 Please sir, "Red Rover" be stole,' was all his faltering tongue could express.

""Red Rover" stolen! That is impossible, my lad. He was locked up in the stable last night—I saw it done myself.'

"They be off wi' him this morning, anyhow,' said the lad. 'His stall was empty when we went at seven o'clock, and we can't see him nowhere.'

Although Mr Stanton had not the same exalted opinion of 'Red Rover's' capacity that Tom White

had, he thought him a promising colt, but so utterly